by Holly Hart
But I don’t want him to win. I never lose. Winning is part of my DNA.
The elevator pings once. My heart thuds. The doors slide open.
I know I shouldn’t think it, but Penny looks like a million dollars. Her dark, russet red hair falls past her shoulders. It shimmers every time she moves her head. She’s petite – barely makes it past my chest, but the things that are rushing through my head right now, they are barely legal. Like her.
I clear my throat, and run my fingers through my hair. I need to pull myself together.
“You made it,” I say.
Penny flinches.
I didn’t mean to be an asshole, but I know that’s the way it sounded. The truth is, I want to fuck her; I’ve wanted to ever since the second I saw her. I want to throw her over the nearest couch, tug her pants down and enter her. I want to leave my red handprint on her ass. I want to make her mine.
I want all that – but no way does it mean I trust her. Not as far as I can throw her, and I’m pretty sure that’s a hell of a long way.
“I did,” she says. “This place is hard to miss.”
The corners of my lips jerk upwards slightly. For a girl who’s thrown herself in at the deep end, she’s got balls. I’m not sure I’d be cracking jokes in her position.
“I guess you better come in,” I reply, “before that thing heads back down.”
Penny takes a couple of hesitant steps towards me. She drags a wheeled suitcase behind her – just an overnight bag, really. It looks like she hasn’t fully committed to moving in with me. It’s either that, or she lives light.
My eyes narrow as I examine Penny’s face. I can be an asshole, I know I can, but the sight of a pretty girl changes all that. “Is everything okay?”
She speaks too quickly. “Sure, why do you ask?”
“You look like you’ve been crying,” I say.
I regret it the second the words come out of my mouth. I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’re ever supposed to tell a girl something like that. It’s like asking them their weight…
Penny wipes the back of her hand across her face and brushes past me. “I’m fine,” she lies. We both know it. “I just didn’t have time to put my makeup on.”
“I guess I should show you around,” I say.
I turn to follow her, and my jaw drops.
God, Penny has a killer ass. I want to bounce quarters off it, and a whole lot more than that. They say some girls have got cushion for the pushin’, but Penny’s not like that. She’s so much more.
Her ass is thick, perfect and tight. I want to drag her toward me and get a handful of it. I wonder what she’d say. We’re married, after all…
“Listen, Charlie,” she says. She pauses, and I somehow drag my eyes back to her face. “I’m –I’m sorry about all this. I don’t know what made me do what I did. I should have just put the tray down and left, like Miss Casey told me …”
My stomach rumbles. A short, booming laugh escapes my lips. “Ella’s got you calling her that as well, has she?” I say. I shake my head. “She’s something, eh?”
Penny doesn’t say anything. I pause, and rake my eyes across her body once again. This time I pretend as though I’m studying her, trying to formulate an answer.
I am, and I’m not…
In truth, I just want to drink her gorgeous curves in once again. Every time I close my eyes, the image of Penny riding me, bouncing on my cock as I slam into her, pressing her body against one of the huge windows that overlooks Central Park paints itself on the back of my eyelids.
I cough, and look away. I feel a warm flush spreading on my cheeks. I wonder if she knows what I’m thinking about. I don’t think I’m hiding my reaction very well.
“The truth is, Penny,” I say, “I don’t trust you.”
The honesty slides easily from my lips. It’s never been a problem for me. In this town, too many people lie straight to your face. I don’t play that game. I’m honest, even when people won’t like me for it.
Penny flinches. Her hair dances, shimmering once more in the light. “Oh,” she says. The word comes out of her mouth almost apologetically. She looks like a deflated balloon. “I get that.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
Now the idea has popped into my mind, I realize it’s all I’ve been thinking about all day. Who is Penny – really – and why is she doing this?
I’ve always been fiercely protective over Tilly. Hell, I hid her from most of the world – just in case. That was until Landon started sniffing around, hiring detectives and God only knows what else. I thought I’d done the only job a father should: protected my family.
And now, there’s this. And now, there’s Penny.
“Doing what?”
My voice is hard. “You know what.”
“Mr. Thorne, I –”
I wince and hold up my hand. “Jesus, you can’t call me that.”
Penny bites her lip. It’s all kinds of sexy. I want to lose myself in her ocean eyes. I want to swim in them, float in them, on her. “Then what should I call you… boss?”
Boss.
The word sends a shiver running up my spine. It’s true. This morning, Penny walked into my office as my newest PA. Now she’s my fake wife. But I’m still the one who signs her paycheck. I’m the one who pays for her apartment. I could fire her right now.
Or maybe I could do something else.
Maybe I could order her onto her knees. Maybe I could make her unbuckle my belt with her teeth, and pleasure me.
I close my eyes. I feel my fingers running through Penny’s shimmering red hair, my nails digging into her scalp. I feel –
“Mr. Thorne –? I mean, I mean – boss?”
My eyelids spring open. A short, sharp breath hisses from my lips. I turn away slightly, pinching my nostrils, but mainly it’s cover. I need to readjust my pants.
“Sorry,” I say. “I got… distracted.”
Penny licks her lip again. Her red tongue darts out. It’s the same color as her hair. I want to grab her ass and pull her toward me. God, what is this. What’s this girl doing to me? It’s not love, I know that. But right now, it feels every bit as powerful.
“Apparently,” Penny says. Her voice drips with sarcasm. Okay, she knows.
“Just call me Charlie,” I say.
My throat is hoarse. I need a drink. Not lemon and ginger: something that will calm me down. Then again, maybe a drink is the last thing I need. I don’t need my inhibitions to be lowered very much before I’ll push myself onto Penny.
The funny thing is I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t resist. I see the way her glances catch me when she thinks I’m not looking. I see the heat on her cheeks, the flutter of her chest.
“Okay, Charlie,” she replies with a shy smile.
“I’ll show you to your room,” I say. “Come this way.”
As we walk, I realize that the last couple of minutes haven’t achieved anything. I started by asking her why she was doing this, and I ended up with my cock growing so fast in my pants I thought it might jump out. But that’s not an answer. It’s anything but.
Penny’s flats tap on the marble floor. “So, you live here?” She asks. She’s lost the sarcasm, and it’s been replaced by pure astonishment. “Alone?”
I look back. “Here,” I say. “Let me grab that.”
Penny offers up the tiny suitcase. Our hands brush. An electric shock burns through me, but I look away. I can’t let myself succumb. They say every man makes his fortune with his head, and loses it through his cock. I’m not going to be one of those men.
I can’t be.
“With my daughter,” I continue, as if that moment didn’t happen. “But she’s away in Europe, right now.”
“Must be nice,” Penny says, quickly, without thinking.
I glance back. “Call me Charlie, Penny – but don’t forget who I am,” I growl. “I’m still your boss, and I expect you to treat me that way. Understood?”
Sh
ock flashes in Penny’s eyes. I don’t blame her. I don’t know where that came from. Maybe it was what she said about Tilly, but it can’t be that. It was a mild criticism, at best. No – I know the truth. I’m burning up for her.
I look away. The sun has long past set on New York’s skyline. The city sparkles like diamonds beneath us.
I clear my throat, and gesture Penny forward.
“This is you,” I say. She walks past me with an attitude of sulky defiance, sashaying her hips. I don’t blame her. I was an ass. But it’s not going to stop me from locking my eyes on hers…
In a second, it’s forgotten. Penny gasps as she sees the view from her room. Her hands fall to her sides, and she runs to the window like a kid at Christmas. I bite my lip. In spite of everything, it feels kind of good to make her feel this way.
“This place… is mine?” She says, stumbling over her words.
I nod. A little smile dances over my lips. I kill it immediately, but the damage is done. This weird love/hate, push/pull relationship that Penny and I are developing isn’t healthy. I just don’t know what to do about it.
“It’s bigger than my apartment,” she whispers.
She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe that anyone could possibly live in a place like this. I stand there, watching, and it reminds me of my reaction when I bought this place. Two hundred million dollars, cash, and I spent it like it was nothing.
Except, standing here, I realize that it’s lost some of the magic. The thought rifles through me. It takes. I grit my teeth. And instead of accepting it like a man, I take my annoyance out on Penny.
“You never did tell me,” I growl.
“Tell you what?” She replies, looking back. Her face is a mixture of delights – and distress over what I’m about to say.
I pause. I hold my breath. I could not say what’s on my mind. I could allow Penny this one moment of happiness.
But I don’t.
“Tell me why you’re doing this,” I growl. “Because if you’re here to hurt my daughter, I promise you one thing – I will not sleep, and I will not rest until I see you ruined and behind bars. Do you understand?”
A hurricane of emotions passes across Penny’s face in just a couple of seconds. I can’t pick them all out. There’s anger, for sure: embarrassment, maybe; but guilt? It’s hard to say. Maybe Penny really is just what she seems – a girl who said a stupid thing at a stupid time.
A thought strikes me, clenching my gut in a cold, terrifying vice. What if Landon Winchester planted her here? What if her good-girl act is just that: an act? Landon’s a bloodless psychopath. I don’t believe he feels emotions – other than when he crows over his vanquished foes.
“I understand,” Penny croaks. “I –, I prom –” She cuts herself off. I wonder why she can’t say that word: promise. Does it mean anything? Am I just paranoid?
I stride forward. The thick cream carpet deadens the sound of my footsteps. Penny’s hair forms a sparkling halo around her face in the dim overhead lighting. New York glows behind her. She’s my angel: my glorious, beautiful, broken angel. Maybe she’s exactly what I deserve.
Penny backs away.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. Her voice cracks.
I open my mouth to reply, but my tongue fails me. I don’t know what I’m doing. Whatever it is, I sure as hell shouldn’t be doing it, but I can’t stop myself.
Penny falls back, all the way to the plate glass window that overlooks the city. She presses her back against it, wincing at its cool kiss.
“Charlie, please…”
“Call me boss,” I growl. I don’t recognize the words coming out of my mouth. Someone else is in control of me now. “When we’re alone, you call me boss.”
Penny licks her lips. Her eyes dart with nervous intensity to my face, my crotch, then left and right. It’s like she’s searching for an escape.
“Charlie –, I mean, boss. What are you doing?”
I press my body against hers. She’s so damn tight I almost lose control of myself right then and there. As it is, I’m on the edge.
“Please…” she whispers. Her breath tickles my face. She brings her hands up, putting them on my chest, and instead of pushing me away, her fingers tug at my shirt. It’s like she’s caught in two minds: does she kiss me, or run?
I don’t know, and hell if she does either.
I lean forward. My lips brush her cheek, and dance a path to her ear. “What would you do, Penny,” I whisper, “If I kissed you right now?”
Penny shakes her head, but she looks up, straight at me. This close, her eyes look like dinner plates: a deep, sparkling blue, like the water off the coast of some Pacific island.
She says it again; “Please.”
Is she asking me to do it, or asking me to stop?
Her fingers tighten against my soft cotton shirt. I think I have my answer. But I can’t do it. Not here, not now.
I break away. I pinch my eyes and sigh. “I’m going out. There’s food in the fridge, if you need it; or press one on your phone for the butler. He’ll take care of anything you need.”
“Butler?” Penny breathes.
“Wake up early,” I say. “We’ve got a marriage certificate to sign.”
96
Penny
I’m so far in over my head it’s not even funny. Charlie Thorne is toying with me like a cat with a ball of string – and I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it.
He’s hot; then he’s cold. He’s yes; then he’s no. He’s turned my life into a freaking Katy Perry song, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The worst bit is; I’m falling for it.
There’s an attraction between us. I don’t know whether Charlie would admit it if I asked him, but it’s undeniable. The way he pressed my body against the glass last night, the way he kissed my cheek, and stroked my hip…
If he’d undressed me right then and there, I wouldn’t have whispered a word of complaint.
This morning, he held the door to a black limousine open for me, like a gentleman. It’s like he really is my husband, and I really am his wife. He closed the door after me. I turned my head, so I was ready to thank him when he entered from the other side, but…
The limousine’s engine growled into life instead. It pulled away from the sidewalk smoothly. I looked through the back window, and saw my fake husband stepping into an identical black limousine, ten yards back.
Push and pull.
Yes and no.
Now we’re back at the office. We ride the elevator all the way up, without exchanging a word. Miss Casey’s waiting at the top, folders held in the crook of her arm. She’s dressed exactly the same as she was yesterday – as if she’s been teleported straight out of the 1950s.
“Mr. Thorne –” She starts.
Then she stops dead, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. It doesn’t take more than a second before she regains control of her body. When she does, I know how much trouble I’m in.
“Penny,” the secretary says with a sour scowl. “Please wait here. I need to have a few words with Mr. Thorne.”
“No, Ella,” Charlie grunts. Or my boss, or whatever I’m supposed to call him.
Push and pull.
“Things have… changed since yesterday. I need to see you in my office: both of you.”
Ms. Casey presses her lips tight. I can tell she’s fighting hard to prevent an acidic comment escaping her lips. She is too professional for that, but I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
We follow Charlie into his office like a paddling of baby ducklings. Ms. Casey behind him and me bringing up the rear.
The huge frosted glass doors whisper closed behind us. Except, today, they aren’t frosted. I turn my head as I try to figure out how that’s happened. Does Thorne Enterprises have a maintenance team on staff for the sole purpose of making sure Charlie’s office is just the way he wants it every day?
Maybe.
“Sit,” Charlie s
ays. He points at two identical red wing back armchairs in front of his desk. He stabs a button next to the intercom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the office doors resume their frosted state.
At least that’s one mystery solved.
“Mr. Thorne,” Ms. Casey says. Her hands are on her lap, her legs pressed together, but not crossed. She leans forward in her eagerness to speak. I hurriedly sit down.
Ms. Casey waits for her response. Charlie lets the silence linger. As the quiet builds, I let my mind drifts back to yesterday evening. To what happened after Charlie left me there, pressed up against the glass. To what happened when my bedroom door swung closed.
I’m not proud of it.
My fingers inch downward. I press my eyelids shut, and paint a scene on the back of them. I imagine the perfect, ripped body that I know must exist beneath Charlie’s perfectly pressed suits. I unbutton my blouse, but dream of Charlie’s fingers doing it.
I scrape my fingernails down my flat stomach, but picture his.
“Penny.”
My eyes spring open. I look up. My cheeks burn, putting my guilty conscience on display as if they were an entry at the World Show.
“Yes Mr. Thorne,” I say, “Boss.”
I’m all in a panic. I don’t know what to call him. I don’t know if boss is just something for the bedroom, or –
“I think we need to explain what’s going on,” Charlie says. “Ella has been with me from the beginning. She deserves to know.”
Charlie’s secretary casts me a suspicious look out of the corner of her eyes. “Know what, precisely?” She asks. Her voice is cold, and cutting. She reminds me of Professor McGonagall from the Harry Potter books; just my luck.
Charlie sinks back into his office chair. The hydraulic mechanism beneath sinks a little, hissing as it takes his weight.
“Ella Casey,” he says. “Meet Penny. Penny Thorne.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” she says.
“I’m not sure any of us do, Ella,” Charlie says. “My new PA, here,” he says – gesturing at me, “decided to aim a little higher yesterday. Shot for the stars, in fact.”
