Callum scowled at me, then closed the door behind him. I froze. Visions of us doing it on the desk—again—flashed through my mind, and the wetness between my thighs increased.
“Not yet,” he told me.
Sighing, I straightened and let my shoulders slump. “What do you want, Callum? We’ve had our battle. I lost, you won. What more is there?”
For a second, he said nothing. He just stared at me like there was more, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit it yet. Or maybe I was just misinterpreting it and he was trying to calm himself down enough to speak. Either way.
“I just wanted to inform you that Mr. Parker has had a change of heart.”
I blinked. “What?”
He nodded. “He’s decided to go with S&W Publishing instead of Tarvish.”
Although he was saying those words, my mind was having difficulty processing them. I was left with this odd sensation of surrealism, and I wondered briefly if I was dreaming. Sexy Callum was in my office, so it was possible.
“He… why would he do that?”
Callum lifted his shoulders casually, then shoved his large hands into his trouser pockets. “I told him to.”
And just like that, the old familiar anger was back in full force. “You son of a bitch. I don’t need handouts, okay? I do a damn good job, and I don’t need your fucking pity.”
“Jesus, it’s a damn gift,” he growled at me. I liked how low his voice was, the way it seemed to rumble around in his chest first. “Stop being so stubborn and accept it already.”
“Gift?” I demanded. “Why would you give me a gift in the first damn place?”
“Because you’re fucking sexy and I can’t get you out of my head and I like you, all right?”
We both fell silent. It seemed like neither of us could believe what had just come out of his mouth. He likes me. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, giddy and a little stupid.
Shaking my head, I laughed at him. “Jesus, you’re an idiot.”
He grinned at me. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
Although I tried, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. He liked me. It was such a stupid thing to be giddy over, but I was.
“Does this mean you’re going to fuck me on my desk again?” I asked calmly.
His eyes flashed darkly, and his mouth turned into a wicked smile. “I was thinking we’d get drinks or something first, have a real date, but I’m not going to say no to an invitation like that.”
He came to me then, his hands grabbing for my skirt immediately and jerking it up over my legs. I helped him out by undoing my shirt buttons and pulling out my breasts, yanking them out of my bra to give him access. His hand grabbed for my panties and tore them off me, his other hand going to cup my mound.
Our mouths collided and I blindly fumbled with the zipper of his pants. I undid them, reaching for his massive cock. He was hard already.
We didn’t do it on the desk this time. Instead, he lifted me up by my ass and I wrapped my legs around his middle, putting my bare center against his hard member. Then he slammed my back against the wall. He pulled back enough to position himself at my entrance, then didn’t hesitate before sliding in.
I cried out, clutching at his shoulders. He entered me, driving toward his own release. The angle was perfect, putting friction on that little bundle of nerves above my pussy with each stroke.
His rhythm was hot and fast. This was about embracing what was between us, whatever that was, and just tossing caution to the wind.
It was glorious.
His hands alternated between holding my ass and massaging my breasts. His mouth kissed and sucked on my neck until I was pretty sure there would be a hickey later, and I cried out over and over again until we both tipped over the edge.
He lost himself in me, then slipped out. We were both panting, exhausted but sated. He once again stumbled heavily into my chair, but this time he jerked me down with him. I landed haphazardly across his lap.
For a while, we were quiet, but finally, I looked at him and said, “I just want you to know, I generally wear the pants in the relationship.”
He laughed, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “I’d rather neither of us wore pants. Or anything else. I like you much better like this.”
His eyes raked over my exposed breasts and dipped between my legs where my pussy was still visible.
“You’re impossible,” I told him, but I kissed him anyway. It was a real kiss, not fueled by anger or sexual drive. Instead, it was the start of something real. I didn’t know where it would go or whether or not it was a good idea, but I felt better for taking the risk.
When the kiss broke, he smiled at me. “A real date?”
I nodded. “A real date.”
“Maybe sex after?” he asked hopefully.
I laughed. “Nope, not this time. I don’t have sex on the first date.”
Rewriting Romance (Bonus)
Kayla C. Oliver
Chapter One
Trent
Marnie was talking. In my personal opinion, that was all she did. Talk, talk, talk. She was like the energizer bunny, minus the drum and with a permanent scowl on her otherwise pretty face. You would think sleeping with my best friend might change some of that, but no. Maybe that was why I didn’t give two shakes about the blah that was coming out of her mouth. She was my editor, and it was a given that she was trying to make my book better, but I was confident. I didn’t need the fucking help, and I didn’t need it from some woman whose idea of a job was picking someone else’s work apart.
And I wonder why she’s constantly scowling, I thought mildly.
If I was honest about things, it wasn’t really Marnie McKenna’s fault that I was basically zoning out during our little meetings. Sure, I thought editors were full of shit and that I had climbed to the top without them, thank you very much, but my mind was elsewhere and that had more to do with my lack of interest than anything else.
She was wearing purple.
I could picture the sexy little spitfire that was Marnie’s assistant in my head with perfect clarity. She was short, but curvy in the best kind of way. Hips that made you want to put your hands on ’em and tits that begged to be suckled. She had that retro curly-hair thing going on that was fucking Marilyn sexy on her, and I wasn’t a big fan of purple, but damn she made that dress look good.
It would look better on the floor, her standing beside it in those damn killer heels, not a stitch on her…
My mind couldn’t help but wander to the things I wanted to do to her. The least of which was kiss those fire-engine-red lips.
Fucking sexy.
But, of course, there was a small hitch with what my cock wanted. Marnie’s assistant, Courtney Hughes, hated my guts.
It was a real problem point in our relationship.
“Damnit, Harvey, are you even listening to me?”
I blinked, Marnie’s pissed-off voice bringing me back to her office. She was tapping her nude-painted nails on her desktop. Behind the desk, I could see her knee bobbing, telling me her legs were crossed. And her eyes were narrowed in the equivalent to fire and fury.
To my credit—or detriment—I didn’t wince. Instead, I smiled wanly and shrugged. “Sorry, what did you say?”
She opened her mouth, ready to let me have it, when I interrupted her by standing up.
“Never mind,” I told her congenially. “I’m not going to listen this time anyway. I’ve got other stuff to take care of, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
I didn’t think I could make Marnie McKenna any angrier than I had, but as her freckled face reddened, I realized I’d managed to do just that. There was some part of me deep down inside that was slightly terrified of her in the way that all men are terrified of an angry female, but I reminded myself that she couldn’t do anything. I held all the cards.
I was the one she’d signed to S&W Publishing.
I was the one who won her that much-sought-after partner
ship.
And I was the one who was going to make her and her associates a lot of fucking money with my latest soon-to-be best-selling novel.
So she could take her anger and shove it where the sun don’t shine.
“You are two months behind the original deadline!” she ground out from behind gritted teeth. Her hands slapped onto the top of her desk, palms flat, her eyes glittering in anger like a Disney villain’s. “If you don’t get your shit together—”
“You’ll what?” I taunted lightly. “Cancel my contract?”
She ground her teeth together in a really unhealthy manner. I might have pointed that out except I wasn’t an idiot. She was an angry redheaded woman. All I needed to do was find out she was Irish and that would seal the crazy deal.
“Get me the manuscript, Harvey, or it’s your ass.”
That was all she told me and while the warning rang true, I knew there wasn’t really anything she could do.
I smiled broadly, showing as many pearly white teeth as I could. “Sure, sure, sweetheart. I’ll get it to you.”
Before she exploded at me for the sweetheart comment, I sauntered out of there feeling as though I’d won a victory. Maybe that was petty of me, but I was a petty man and big enough to admit it.
As soon as I’d exited Marnie’s office, however, I encountered another angry woman who wanted to wring my neck. Unfortunately, she was the one that I was using as source material for my wet dreams at night.
Fucking sexy Courtney Hughes. She was even a goddamned secretary. How could I not have dirty thoughts about her?
My smile faltered and for just a second I thought about walking back into Marnie’s office just to beg for a little more time to figure out what to say to Courtney. But it was too late. Courtney’s steely eyes flickered up toward me, the rest of her body facing away and sitting up straight.
I suddenly had a lot more appreciation for posture. Sitting straight meant her breasts were pushed slightly forward, round and perky in that tight-fitting purple dress, cleavage begging to spill from the deep-cut neckline. Her back was curved slightly, emphasizing her slim waist as it flared out into those fucking sexy, grab-me-some hips.
I felt my dick harden in my trousers, and suddenly I wished I’d been wearing jeans. They did a little more to hide the evidence of my arousal.
Nothing to do about it, I thought, adjusting my belt in an effort to discreetly adjust my cock.
“Hello, Miss Hughes,” I greeted the little vixen, letting my broad smile turn sultry and sexy.
Her full, bright red lips pursed together tightly as her eyes narrowed, the long lashes silky and dark against her pale skin. When her lips parted, I imagined all kinds of naughty things, including but not limited to sliding my already hardened cock between them. Which of course led to images of her on her knees with an excellent view of her cleavage, followed by her not in a dress, followed by—
Well, the rest is pretty obvious.
Unfortunately, her line of thinking didn’t exactly go the same way.
“Do I look like I’m in grade school, Mr. Harvey?”
Her tone was a shade above nuclear winter. I internalized my wince, managing to hold on to my grin.
Letting my eyes wander over that tight, sexy little body of hers, I dragged them back up to her face as I said, “No, you most definitely do not.”
Her cheeks darkened, but her eyes remained narrowed. “Then don’t call me miss. It’s Ms. Hughes to you.” She turned away from me then and went to typing on her computer. Her little movements were just enough to jiggle those lovely tits, and that held my attention for a moment longer.
Shaking my head, I said, “My apologies, then. Maybe I should just call you Courtney so I don’t mess it up again.”
She didn’t even look at me. “That would be inappropriate, Mr. Harvey.”
Determined to make some headway with her, I put both hands on her desk in front of her and leaned forward slightly. I could smell a soft, flowery scent that she wore, faint so as not to be overpowering. “C’mon, sweetheart. Why not give a guy a chance? You never know, you might find that you like it.”
“It” could have been any number of things, from dating to kissing to my cock buried so deep inside her that she screamed out mine and God’s name in the same breath. I let her decide for herself on that one.
I thought her blush deepened slightly, and I marked that one down as a victory. She was definitely thinking of my cock now.
The downside was a second later, I found out what else she was thinking of. “That’s okay. I already know what I do and don’t like, and I know for a fact that I don’t like a cocky, womanizing asshole. Namely, you.”
The phone rang then, which was probably a good thing because I didn’t know what in the fuck I was supposed to say in response to that.
A player. That was what she thought of me.
Which I would love to wholeheartedly deny in this particular instance, but I couldn’t. I liked my women, and I liked to play with them until I didn’t. Numbers weren’t important so much as the experience was. There was a little tickle in the back of my mind that was telling me that Courtney wasn’t the kind of girl to just play with, but I was ignoring that. Just like I was ignoring the one that was hinting that I maybe wasn’t looking to just play with her.
“Marnie McKenna’s Office, S&W Publishing, this is Courtney,” she answered in a professionally friendly voice. All the while she shot daggers at me like I was a spinning knife-thrower’s target at the circus. “Oh, hey, Callum. Yeah, she’s out of her meeting.”
She transferred Callum back—who happened to be my best friend—then addressed me again. “What are you still doing here? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Before I even came up with an answer, she returned to her computer and plucked away at it.
I thought of telling her to have a nice day or that she should give me a chance again or that I was the “agent” that she’d been talking to on the phone for the last three months, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to say any of that. So I turned around and left, letting the elevator doors close on my image of the spicy, sexy Courtney Hughes.
Chapter Two
Trent
I wasn’t in a foul mood so much as in a depressed mood when I got home. Sarah poked her head into the living room as I plopped down on the couch like a sack of potatoes, complete with a deep, mournful sigh.
Her dark eyebrows rose, her mouth kicked half up in an amused smile. “Really? That bad?”
I grunted in answer.
She shook her head at me, coming farther into the living room. She plopped down beside me. “I know McKenna’s supposed to be a ballbuster, but it’s not like you to be such a weenie about it.”
There were a few things that should be known about Sarah Allens. First, she was a very good friend of mine. The kind of friend that passed the test of time and still managed to not hate my guts. The kind of friend that looked past the bullshit and the drama to see that beneath my cocky exterior, I had a less abrasive, slightly less cocky interior that generally meant I wasn’t a total asshole.
Sometimes.
It was this friendship that let her get away with things like calling me a weenie.
The second thing was that she acted as my roommate, secretary, editor, agent, idea emulsifier, and general business operating badass. Without her, my work fell apart. It was a little unmanly to admit, but I was pretty sure all men had some woman working behind the scenes to ensure his personal success. Generally it was the woman they married, but it wasn’t like that with Sarah. We were platonic friends, pure and simple, and we were both okay with that. For a player like me, it was nice to just have a female friend that I wasn’t fucking on the side. That just got messy.
Lastly, she hated Marnie McKenna, my editor. It wasn’t anything personal, per se. In fact, Sarah had never even met Marnie. But she’d been obsessed with Callum for as long as she’d known him and as long as I’d known her, meaning Marnie was automatically he
r enemy.
“I am not being a weenie,” I defended. “And if I were, it would be a huge weenie, meaning it wasn’t weenie-like at all.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “So you’re saying you would be a dick?”
I winced. “Okay, not what I meant.”
“A cock?”
“Sarah,” I said in warning.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying that McKenna is just an editor. You’ve had loads of them. None made you this miserable before. I don’t see why you’re letting her get under your skin now.”
I mulled over the idea of spilling what was going on with Courtney, but that seemed… complicated. So, much like I usually did, I took the path of least resistance and told her about my meeting instead.
“It’s not Marnie that’s the problem.” I paused and considered that, then shrugged. “Not really anyway. She’s a pain in my ass, but that’s the job of an editor. They stress so I don’t have to, and when shit rolls downhill, there’s heat on her, and so pressure gets put on me. Simple as that.”
“Fine. So it’s not the ballbuster. What is it?”
“The manuscript.” It was more or less the truth. My book was due for publication in only a couple of months’ time, meaning I was way behind. I wasn’t in the red yet, but Marnie had decent reason to be pissed at me, and it wasn’t for the sweetheart comment. She still had to go over everything I submitted—even though it was automatically awesome—and I wasn’t leaving her a lot of time to do that. Worse, I knew it.
Sarah’s eyebrows rose in question. “And?”
“I don’t know what my issue is,” I admitted. It was confession time, much as I loathed it. “I feel like my inspiration has evaporated. Something’s missing. I sit down at my damn computer and see that fucking blank page and want to tear my hair out.”
“You’re bald,” she pointed out mildly.
I scowled at her. “I choose to shave my head. That’s not the same thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Choosing to be bald doesn’t mean you’re not bald.”
“Bald is a term for people losing their hair, not for those who decide their head is too magnificently shaped to deny the rest of the world.”
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