Hard As Stone (Beautiful Betrayal Book 1)

by Alex Elliott

  We enter the hotel and I focus on the floors in lieu of her ass. They’re a warm, honey-stained hardwood and I’m conscious of her heels tap-tap-tapping.

  A few feet before the check-in desk, she slows and curls her fingers over my arm. “There’s a line. I’ll check us in if you have calls to make.”

  The feel of her fingers reminds me that she’s silken to the touch and innocent. Once I take her over the edge, there is no backing out. Her education begins tonight. I’m pulling her into a dark realm, jockeying her into begging me to do things she more than likely has never heard about or conceived. Or I could tell her to leave. Run back to her ivory tower. Wait for Prince Charming and live happy-vanilla-ever-after.

  “I don’t know if this is plausible,” I say softly, watching her mouth as my muscles constrict. I clench my jaw for having admitted aloud what’s plaguing me. Neither she nor I can have it both ways.

  “Look, I’m here to work. Senator Stone, whatever you’re thinking, this is plausible. Total and irrevocably doable. No matter what you might believe, I’m not a preconceived notion. Didn’t you say to put away our judgements? I need this job but I won’t beg.”

  A burst of fire scathes my nerve endings, signaling that what’s going on between us is far outside the norm even for the places I inhabit. In a covert world, where edge play relies upon instinct, I’m throwing caution to a gale-force wind. Not to mention how The Saint will use this woman if he suspects she means anything to me.

  I look down at her fingers, focusing on the pale nude color on her nails, and grind out, “I could use a drink, O’Malley.”

  Backing away from her, my one good plan is to head for the hotel bar. No question, I need a quart of liquid ammunition to stop from coming onto this woman with the sophistication of a wrecking ball. I glance around the lobby, spotting the lounge. It’s a dark rectangle cutout in the far wall where the twinkling white lights remind me of Christmas. I squelch that thought as my only means to disengage from the roil of gutting nausea whenever I contemplate the holidays.

  “Where are you going?” Her eyes grow to the size of saucers and I gesture with a snap of my chin toward the corner of the lobby.

  “I’ll be in that bar.”

  “Then I’ll meet you there.”

  Nodding, I can’t get away fast enough in my quest to toss back a few shots of steel reserve in the form of straight single malt Scotch. Hell, I’ll guzzle unfiltered moonshine if it means sweet relief from the razor-sharp ache racing under my skin from O’Malley and her pink suckable lips.

  “It’s been a long day and we won’t get to bed ‘til probably early morning…” And the audacity of her being here hits me. Twice we’ve run into each other and are closer than two coats of paint in what we want. “Why did you come to the airport, if you could have met me tomorrow morning?”

  She smiles. “I didn’t want to miss the opportunity and when Nora offered me the spot, she mentioned it was last-minute since you’d dismissed your team. She changed up your schedule and worries about you.”

  “Worries too much and I understand, you’re partially to blame. I didn’t thank you for setting up the Harvard gig.” Standing this close to O’Malley, I’m faced with the plaintive truth. One taste of her in bed and I might want another. And another. I feel the force of that veracity spread through me, all the more tempting under the weight of potential disaster she represents.

  Silently I’m chanting for her to step away, or better yet, spin on her circus height pumps and go conquer the world miles away from me.

  “My pleasure. I had a few favors owed.”

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve been back on campus and I’m looking forward to this IRT talk with the independents.”

  “IRT?” she asks.

  “In real time.” I stiffen and the chanting fades to a dead stop. The Saint will deal with Nolan. There will be questions posed when he’s dealt with. I haven’t come right out and asked her about the dean. What favors could the independent party possibly owe her or is it her family? This question grounds me, and I formulate a casual response, but all the while, I’m interested in getting to the bottom of more than a few things where O’Malley is concerned. “Interesting to be owed favors. We should discuss that point.” I have no choice but to take this woman over the edge to extract answers.

  “Indeed. After I check-in, I’ll bring your key to the bar. Okay?” Her suggestion sounds innocent, but within our raw attraction, nothing is innocent. We both know that.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I retort.

  Her brows knit together and then she points toward the check-in counter. “Any special room requests?”

  “A bed. King size. What do you drink?” Tempting fate, I offer her a drink, and I wait to hear her response.

  She meets my stare. “Whatever you’re having.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “You drink Scotch?”

  “Sure. Why not?” She stops in midstride, glances over to me, and returns my raised eyebrow. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “I believe that.” After meeting plenty of champagne-looking women who can drink me under the table, I’m not about to turn this into a drinking gauntlet. “Great, we’ll sip Scotch and talk GOP campaign strategy for Boston.”

  Provocatively she smiles, pivoting on her heels, and leaving me once again frozen in my tracks. This magnetic connection we’ve got—the push and pull… If I don’t get a handle on my runaway reaction to her, I might drink the bar dry in an effort to extinguish this craving she flagrantly unsheathes in me and seems to enjoy antagonizing. Lost in a tangle of my thoughts, I cross the lobby, envisioning O’Malley under me. I weigh the possibility that she might be a virgin. I don’t do virgins.

  I almost trip over my own idiot imagination and curse under my breath. Tuck, shut the fuck up. If Phoenix is, I most certainly will be open to popping her cherry. Every last one for that matter.

  Chapter 22

  Atticus Stone~ Unjust Enrichment

  INSIDE THE bar, it’s crowded for a Monday. I find a spot open but only one chair. I deposit my briefcase on the floor, remove my jacket, drop it over the barstool, and order our drinks. Raking my fingers through my hair, I glance around and meet the glittery eyes of several women. I slide my gaze away, following a trail of half-filled glasses toward the television and a Red Sox game that’s almost over.

  After the bartender sets down the drinks, I sign the tab, tempted to order a bottle. When I’m alone again, I take a long sip of my drink. This has been one long-ass day.

  The Scotch imparts a radiating warmth across the muscles knotted in my shoulders and neck. I toss back the rest, then motion to the bartender for another. Without thinking twice, I pick up O’Malley’s. Lifting the glass to my lips, I run my fingers along the smooth wood of the counter and consider the difference between the hard surface and her soft skin. I glance at the mirror on the wall opposite the bar and can see not only myself but also what’s behind me—namely my intern across the lobby.

  I can’t pinpoint what it is that Phoenix O’Malley possesses that rubs me into overdrive, but it’s potent. Fascinated, I watch her, leaning on my elbow as I down her drink. That makes two shots and when the bartender sets the third down, I motion for him to set me up again. He doesn’t bat an eye and I return to my creeper amusement of spying on my intern.

  The woman to my left slants over and asks if I have a cigarette. I shake my head, oblivious to her except that she’s attractive but isn’t my type. Nobody in the whole godforsaken place is my type except one, and she’s about to find out how much.

  With the Scotch working its magic, I feel myself unwind. By the time my little intern begins her trek toward me, we have two drinks waiting on the bar. My cell phone is out and ready. Remarkably, my head is clear and I’m back in the game.

  O’Malley saunters across the short space of the lobby and into the bar. I turn and wave effortlessly as if I haven’t been watching her every move. I tower over
her by six or seven inches. Truly almost a foot if she were in bare feet. I’m certain that pinning her petite frame up against a wall while her ankles rest on my shoulders will be the highlight of my senate career.

  I nearly groan aloud at the thought of thrusting into her and motion to the empty bar stool. “This one is for you,” I say and she adjusts the straps digging into her shoulder. I reach for them and haul her bags up and onto the bar with a muted thunk. “What in the world?”

  “I like to be prepared.” She shrugs in response. “It isn’t a crime, is it?”

  “Most people conduct business on their phones nowadays.” I laugh, handing her a glass. I take the other, holding it up. “To the path of least resistance.”

  “And to getting the job done.”

  If she only knew what that entails would she utter those words with the filthy thoughts running through my mind?

  “So how many internships have you had when the person in charge is a complete SOB?” I swirl my drink, all the while peering over at her.

  “I’ve had a lifetime of mastering the art of dealing with the tightly wound. Have you forgotten my family?” She takes a dainty sip of her Scotch, and wrinkles her nose.

  “Family doesn’t count. You can’t escape them.”

  “We’ll see.” Her expression flattens, yet she reveals nix.

  Again I’m reminded of the list of questions I’m compiling about her, which is getting longer by the second. I finish my drink and set my glass on the bar. It’s time to open the door to what’s bothering me. “Anything specific I need to know about you or what you’re unwilling to sacrifice for the sake of your Hill experience?”

  “What do you mean?” She runs her finger along the rim of her glass, meeting my gaze.

  Both of us are watching one another. That’s exactly what we’ve done since the moment we met and I know she’s after something. But what?

  “Look, you’re still here after being asked everything under the sun, minus the circumstances concerning how we’d already met.” I almost say ‘after the hallway scene’ but catch myself. “Correct?”

  “That’s correct. I don’t scare easily. Do you have a question about Friday night?” She lifts her glass and sips the amber-colored liquor. Carefully, she darts the tip of her tongue along her lips to capture a drop at the corner of her lush mouth.

  In my dopamine soaked brain, I struggle to retain the thread of our conversation when all I want to do is taste her mouth, suck and bite those lips. Hear her moan my name. Not pursue a ruthless Q & A session.

  Gripping the bar, I look directly into her eyes. “Everybody wants something. Everything has a cost. Nothing worth having is free. It would be better if we’re up-front, instead of dancing around each other with polite answers. The truth, as you are interested in finding, preserving, would serve us better. How much are you willing to sacrifice? I sure as hell know what I want from you and every person on my team.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her brow tightens in what I imagine is concern.

  “Think about it. If you stay in Boston. Or if you come with me to D.C., there’s a toll.”

  “I’m interested in what goes on in a senator’s office. How to be the person you need. Is that being honest enough?”

  “And you just happened to pick me, after New York?” I shake my head. “You want in on my team. First lesson in politics, everyone wants something. Find out what it is that’s for sale. So what’s it going to be?”

  “What do you want?” she says.

  “Answering a question with a question. That isn’t a good start.”

  “Depends.” She holds my gaze. “What’s the second lesson?”

  I lean closer. “Figure out if you can afford what’s being offered. There are hundreds of lessons, but we’ll start with these two.”

  She opens her mouth and I expect to hear an answer spill from her lips. But she stalls, releasing a soft breath that’s barely audible. Beautiful girl is deliberating. This isn’t the moment to rush her and I wait. It’s a ploy I use in granting a speaker a few seconds to collect their thoughts. Her eyelashes flutter. Is she made of steel or a bag of pretty fluff? Both are equally tempting.

  My shaft hardens reminding me I could go for broke by invading her space. Hell, I could invade her mouth. Kiss her lips open, thrusting my tongue over hers as I haul her off the bar stool and give her a sample of what I require. She sucks her bottom lip, her eyes still locked with mine, and it feels as if she’s sucking my crown with her lush pink lips.

  With her chest rising and falling, each breath getting faster and shallower, she nods. “I’ll give you what you want, Senator. My focused attention and drive. You give me access to your office. Is that something we both can afford?”

  “That sounds like a business proposition.”

  “Isn’t that what you want to hear?”

  With an impassive expression, I mount the catbird seat. Time to lay all my chips on the table in order to close this deal. “I want one night. Upstairs.”

  “One night? With you?”

  “Correct on both counts. And we won’t discuss it afterward. Ever.” I keep my voice low and glance around to see if anyone is privy to our little conversation. “Do you understand my offer?”

  “One time. And I’m more than an intern. I’m part of your staff. Full-fledged by virtue of going the full mile.”

  Given that she upped the ante, I raise her bet. “Agreed with one minor alteration. One full night. Whatever I want. Anything and everything goes. Understand my point?”

  Her pupils dilate until her eyes are fully black and slowly she nods. “Yeah, I’m good with that.”

  I pick up my cell. “Displayed is a consensual non-disclosure agreement. Read it. Initial each page and sign the last one.”

  Her gaze lowers to my outstretched hand. Her cheeks are tinted pink and she takes my cell. She swipes her finger across the screen, then switches to using the keys to navigate through the NDA. “It’s eleven pages,” she huffs.

  “And airtight. I drew it up. Rest assured, we’re both protected.”

  She sighs and reads. When she reaches the end of the NDA, I hand her a stylus and watch as she initials ten pages, then signs her name.

  “Done.” O’Malley returns the stylus. “Now what?”

  “Drink up,” I say to my new staffer whose spine is a good deal more than commonplace steel. Diamond-tipped titanium comes to mind.

  “Bottoms up,” she whispers.

  “That’ll do.” The muscles along my shoulders constrict from her words. She had better understand the line she just crossed. Collecting my jacket and briefcase, I start with my first order in what will be a long list for this girl. “Let’s go, Ms. O’Malley.”

  She downs her drink, which surprises me. She lifts her purse, coming off the barstool smoothly. Efficiently, the little minx is at my side by the time I’ve signed our tab. We walk out of the dim bar into the brightly lit corridor. Without a word, I motion to the bank of elevators.

  Pressing the call button, I regard the woman I’m about to usher into a world from which there is no return. The elevator doors open and I tell myself go slow. Relax.

  “Eleventh floor,” she says softly without me asking.

  My lucky number and as soon as the polished metal doors close, I say, “You’ve pushed one too many boundaries.”

  “Funny, coming from the man who acts like a spot on his team requires a two-hour inquisition. I mean interview.”

  I wheel around. With a thud, I plant my free hand on the wall in back of O’Malley’s head and meet her sultry eyes intently staring up at me. A vein in her neck pulses and I watch her tuck several strands of blonde silk behind her ear. We’re both eyeballing each other and I drop my jacket and case.

  “I’m done with waiting.” My pronouncement shreds the whirling quiet of the elevator and I slide my hand along her waist. Curling my fingers over her, I haul Phoenix to me without stopping until
we’re hip-to-hip. She sucks in a sharp breath as her eyes widen. I can’t resist pushing her back until she’s flush with the elevator wall, bracketed between my hands.

  Feels so good to grind my hard-on into her softness. Definitely, this is better than the first time. I crash my mouth down to hers but her lips remain closed. Stubborn firecracker.

  “Open to me, and kiss me the fuck back.” Cocking a brow, I fist her hair, peering into her Nordic eyes. “Or I could make you, if you prefer?”

  “Think you can?” she challenges, wrapping her hand in my tie. “Better not stop this time.”

  I lean in. “There will be no stopping. Better like it rough.”

  “Are you man enough to go that route?”

  “You tell me.” How I’m going to enjoy her spunk. I remove the clip securing her hair and wrap the thick blond silk like a cord around my hand. As I pull, she arches her lovely slender neck, yet I don’t relent. Not until she does as she’s told with the parting of her incredible lips. “That’s it, Phoenix Silver. Open that lovely mouth of yours for me.”

  “Mmm,” she moans.

  I press my lips to hers. She’s ready and willing, and tastes as sweet as I remember. Sweeter when she opens her mouth and dances her tongue across mine in a teasing glide that will be dealt with as soon as she’s naked. Cupping the back of her head, I angle her mouth closer. She bites my lip in response, sending a pinch of pain that travels straight to my dick.

  She whispers, “Control freak.”

  “You have no idea.” I press against her, seeking that soft space where I’ll soon be housed.

  The elevator dings and I’m not ready to let her go. But there are voices out in the hall beyond, forcing me to step back, allowing us to come apart. I reach down to collect my jacket and case while getting an eyeful of her killer legs, especially her torturous shoes. Those lovelies are going to be thrown over my shoulders in short order.

  “After you,” I murmur, licking a trace of her lipgloss from my lips.

  She has the hotel key out and ready. “Room 1110. Up ahead.”