Until Dawn

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  My cool tone didn’t make her back down; she just crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Partly to check on you. And partly because there’s a man downstairs.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “A man?”

  “He says he has some business to discuss with you.” She frowned. “He seems…intense.”

  “Dark eyes? Dark hair? Looks like a brooding underwear model?” The last bit slipped out before I could stop it.

  Chloe blinked. “Like a…what?”

  “He’s good looking?” I rephrased.

  “Very. But like I said. Intense. I was actually a little worried about Magda down there with him.”

  I almost laughed. Magda was one of my part-time employees—a retired teacher who’d spent her last ten years at a reform school. She had a third-degree black belt, a passion for pretty things, and took no shit from anyone. Even Ethan, with all his muscles and charm, wouldn’t be a match for Magda.

  Chloe shook her head, reading my face in spite of my ability to rein in my amusement.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “The guy was rolling off sinister vibes. If it weren’t for the fact that he referred to you as ‘Lu’, I might’ve called the cops.”

  The genuine concern in her voice gave me pause. It had to be Ethan. No one on the planet but my parents, my brother—and now my future sister-in-law, and her best friend—called me Lu. Had his business meeting gone badly? Was he seeking me out for solace, or to cancel our plans? I really hoped it wasn’t the second one.

  For the third time in five minutes, I cleared my throat. “You can send him up.”

  Chloe’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Up?”

  “Please.”

  “You want an angry man who knows your family nickname to come up.” It was a disbelieving statement rather than a question.

  I nodded. “It’s all right. I know him.”

  “How?” The word burst out of her like she couldn’t quite contain it.

  “Chloe. You’re doing a really bad job of being my favorite employee right now,” I said it with deliberate emphasis, and at last she relented.

  “Okay, fine. Boss. But I’m putting nine-one into my phone, and I’m prepared to add the other one at lightning speed.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  She shot me yet another look that said she wasn’t buying it, then turned and walked out. I ignored her. I was too busy wishing—for the first time ever—that I had a mirror in my office. I stood up, pulled my hair from its ponytail, and tried to smooth it down. I sat down and crossed my legs. Then uncrossed them. I stood and paced the room for a moment. Then sat again. Then stood.

  What are you worried about? I asked myself. He saw you at near to your literal worst, and he still couldn’t keep his hands off you.

  But the reassurance did nothing. I wanted him to want me again. I wanted the desk fantasy. Badly. Quickly.

  As his heavy footsteps signaled his imminent approach, my heart fluttered and my palms dampened. And when he pushed the door open and paused in the frame, it took most of my self-restraint to keep from rushing forward to drag him in by his tie.

  Wait. His tie?

  He’d been in the shirt and pants I’d given him when we left each other at the corner. It was enough to distract me from the idea of jumping him then and there. I eyed his fresh clothes in puzzlement. He now wore an expensive-looking pin-striped suit, a burgundy dress shirt, and a black tie. I lifted my gaze, a question on my lips. But my words died before making it out.

  Ethan’s face was hard, his jaw stiff, his eyes dark. And I understood why Chloe was nervous about sending him up.

  Chapter 5

  Ethan

  As I stepped into Lu’s office—Not Lu, I corrected silently. Not really—the air in my lungs expelled in a surprisingly painful way. It seemed impossible to suck it back in. Even more impossible to say the lines I’d rehearsed. Instead, I had to fight to keep from striding forward so I could kiss her. Make her as breathless as I was already. Maybe toss aside the already strewn about paperwork and take her hard and fast on the desk.

  Jesus. Get a grip.

  I flexed and released my hands as the silent seconds ticked by. Her honey-browns were fixed on me. Nervous. Not that I could blame her for feeling that way. I wasn’t exactly giving off a friendly vibe. Just the opposite, probably.

  The seething frustration had been building for an hour. It started when I decided to chase her down. Even though we’d made plans to get together later, it felt too much like a goodbye. With not enough tongue.

  Impetuously, I’d hurried after her. Followed her around the corner. Called out her name just as a bus wheezed by, then watched as she disappeared into a shop three doors up. A few steps had brought me close enough to see the sign.

  Trinkets and Treasures.

  And I’d just fucking known.

  She was the woman who’d been blocking my emails and screening my calls. What were the goddamned chances?

  I’d cleared out fast. Found a little coffee shop to use as a spot to regain my focus. Get a bit of perspective. Unfortunately, the caffeine didn’t help. Nor did the time I spent sipping it.

  I’d done my due fucking diligence when making the decision to acquire the business. I was always thorough.

  First, I’d racked my brain, going over every detail of the night before in something that should’ve hinted at what she did. At who she was. Not a single thing came to mind.

  So I’d moved on, using my phone to comb through the few emails that we’d had. Went through them, again and again. If they’d been written on real paper, they would’ve been tattered and torn by the time I was done with them. Each look yielded the same thing. An auto-signature with the name Mia Diaz attached to it.

  Mia. How the fuck does someone get Lu from Mia?

  Knowing full well that I was bordering on stalker status, I ramped up my search and sought out everything I could find on the web about Trinkets and Treasures. It was something I’d done once already, but I tried to come at it with fresh eyes. I found nothing new. A tidy website designed to direct traffic to the shop itself. A few options for online purchases. A newspaper article about the owner, Ms. Mia Diaz, moving up from California to take advantage of the market in Vancouver. The photo in the article showed a petite blond woman wearing sunglasses and a scarf tied around her head. No chance in hell was it Lu. She must’ve hired someone. A stunt double? A stock model? Who the hell knew. Either way, the result was the same—I didn’t recognize her.

  I tried to rationalize. To use that one fact to tell myself that it meant it might not be her. Except my gut was rarely wrong as far as business was concerned. I trusted my instincts. Unequivocally. If they said she was the woman, then she was the woman.

  After capitulating to my overwhelming feeling of knowing my suspicion was true, I’d very nearly called a cab to get my ass to the airport so I could head straight back to Toronto. God knew this would end in a headache at best, and a disaster at worse. I was far too stubborn to give up. Far too used to winning.

  In the end, I’d finally decided to come into the store and confront her. To do it, I needed to regroup. To forget the wantonness and empty condom box. To not be the man who’d begged her unashamedly to move her mouth down the length of my body. No way in hell could I even try if I showed up in the outfit she’d bought me. But a nice suit was as good as armor. Formal. Unbreakable.

  I just had one little problem.

  The second I saw her, I wanted her again. And now that she was standing in front of me, the plan was gone to shit. I couldn’t recall what I actually had planned. All that came to mind was the remembered feel of her lips on mine. Of her legs around my hips. Silken skin and whispered words.

  It took more willpower than I wanted to admit to forcibly shove down the memory of how she’d sounded when saying my name the night before—passionat
e and needy instead of hesitant and worry-tinged—and drag my attention back to the moment.

  What came out of my mouth, though, wasn’t even close to the tidy speech I’d prepared. “What’s your real name?”

  She frowned, clearly thrown off. “What?”

  I tried to use her moment of confusion to ground myself, but my mouth just kept going. “I know it’s not Lu.”

  “I told you it was a nickname.”

  “What’s it short for?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking, Ethan?”

  I wasn’t immune to the abrupt coolness in her voice. It stung, and I had a hard time disguising that fact as I answered her with a deflection.

  “Why aren’t you answering, Lu?”

  “Are we in third grade?”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “I thought we were keeping things casual.”

  “We are,” I said.

  “So what is this?” she replied.

  “You tell me. Do you own Trinkets and Treasures?”

  “Yes.”

  “So who’s the blond woman on your website?”

  “On my—she’s one of my jewelry models. Wait. Did you follow me?”

  I avoided the question and took a step closer. “Last night, I spent hours getting to know your body. Its curves. Its freckles. The way it tastes.”

  She lifted her face challengingly and didn’t move away. “And you thought that gave you permission to look me up online?”

  “Public information.” I offered as casual a shrug as I could manage.

  “Okay. But if you were on my website, then you already know my name.”

  “Mia Diaz.” I expected it to come out bitterly. I’d certainly spent enough time grinding my teeth at the name for the last few weeks. Instead, it came out whipped-cream smooth. Silky. Sweet. I liked it entirely more than I wanted to. Even when she clarified.

  “It’s Lumia Diaz, actually.”

  “Unusual.”

  “It was my great-grandmother’s. And yes, it’s unusual. Which is why I go by Mia ninety-nine percent of the time. Including where my business is concerned.” She continued to hold my gaze. “And what do you go by?”

  “To my face, I usually get ‘sir.’ Behind my back? I think it’s mostly ‘ruthless bastard.’”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your name.”

  I drew in a breath. I could smell her sweet smell. Feel the heat of her body. And suddenly I didn’t want to tell her anything. I wondered if I could get away without saying a word. Just pick up where we’d left off the night before, go home on Tuesday like I’d planned, then store away our time together. Put it at the back of my mind.

  Do you really think you could abandon the acquisition? asked a little voice in my head.

  I acknowledged it with a mental nod.

  Maybe.

  The humiliation of not closing the deal, just this once, almost seemed worth it.

  Okay, I thought. Let’s say you decided to let Trinkets and Treasures go… Could you let Mia go too?

  The question startled me. I’d had one night with the woman. An incredible night, yes. But still just a night. There wasn’t anything to lose except the smallest hint of morality. Even that was a bit gray. I knew who she was, but I wasn’t using that knowledge to get anything. No seduction, no business perk at the end. So why the hell did I feel like I couldn’t just let it—let her—go?

  “Ethan…”

  Her voice wrapped around my name, pulling me back to the moment. She said it the same way she had when her mouth was pressed to my ear, and it only took me a second to figure out why. I was touching her without even meaning to. My hands were on her hips. A light grip, but not excusable as an accident. I started to lift them. She stopped me. Her soft, warm fingers came down on top of mine and pressed them more firmly into place.

  Reflexively, I dragged her forward to pull her body flush against me. She released my hands, looped her arms over my shoulders, and pushed up to her toes, her lips parted.

  It was impossible to not want her.

  Fuck the business, I thought.

  I tipped my head and brushed my mouth against hers. A light kiss. A promise.

  “The desk,” she murmured.

  “The desk?” I repeated.

  “Take me there. I’ve been thinking about it since the second I left you this morning.”

  I’d never heard a sexier statement. I slid my hands over the swell of her hips, bent a little to grip her thighs, then lifted her from the ground. Her legs wrapped around me, and my cock throbbed in anticipation. I couldn’t get her to the desk fast enough.

  With no regard for the paperwork cluttering the wood top, I dropped her down, then reached for the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms to let me pull it over her head. I tossed it aside and allowed myself a moment to admire her bare form. Her full breasts spilled from her lacy, royal-blue bra, rising and falling with the quickness of her breaths.

  So fucking beautiful.

  I started to lift my eyes to her face, but paused when she leaned back and brought her hands to the button of her jeans. My gaze hung on her slim fingers as they undid it, then slid her zipper open too. I could just see the top of her low-rise panties, the same blue as her bra.

  Then her hands dropped. One to the desk beside her, the other to my wrist. I watched, mesmerized and rock hard, as she dragged my fingers to the sexy slope just below her belly button. She inched our hands lower. I hissed in a breath as we reached the lace, and I at last moved my gaze up. I wanted to stare into those captivating eyes of hers as I made her come.

  Except when I looked up, guilt—unexpected and overwhelming—hit me. Almost knocked the wind out of me. I fought it for a moment before realizing I couldn’t win. I stilled our hands, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek before pulling back.

  “It’s Burke,” I said.

  Lu’s—Mia’s—brows knit together. “What is?”

  “My name. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I go by Ethan Bradley Burke.”

  I waited. I knew it would only take her a second. And it did.

  “E. B. Burke,” she whispered.

  “That’s me,” I confirmed.

  * * * *

  Mia

  I was suffocating. It was the only explanation for the crushed-in feeling in my chest. It was one part humiliation, and one part anger. And there was a healthy dose of shock mixed in there too.

  I was aware that I was sitting in a very compromising position. Topless. Pants undone. Physical desire still coursing through me even though my pride bucked against it. But I couldn’t seem to do much about any of it.

  I was too busy trying to breathe. And too busy trying to slam the appropriate pieces into place too.

  Ethan Burke. E. B. Burke. The man had been hounding me for weeks. Demanding ownership of my business. He was an arrogant bastard. An entitled bastard. I’d known it from the second he reached out, even when he tried to play himself off as congenial. But the niceness hadn’t lasted long anyway. He’d slipped from polite-ish to bossy. From bossy to rude. It’d made me wonder how he even managed to stay in business. And his subsequent messages hadn’t just rubbed me the wrong way—they’d set my teeth completely on edge.

  The last one I’d read—where he’d gone so far as to suggest that I wasn’t capable of taking Trinkets and Treasures as far as it could go and that I was blind to that fact—had made me lose my temper. I’d done something I hadn’t done in years and actually thrown something across my bedroom.

  I was near the edge again now.

  The nerve of him showing up at my store. Of him—God.

  At last the oxygen came in, giving me just enough breath to gasp, “You sonofabitch. Did you know last night?”

  He sighed and stepped back, leaving me feeling even more exposed. But n
ow pride and stubbornness reared their heads, and I refused to look like I was scrambling to regain some dignity.

  I didn’t even cross my arms as I prodded, “Well?”

  Ethan’s dark eyes grew darker, and he shook his head. “No.”

  “Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “I’m not stupid enough to jeopardize my chances of closing the deal like that.”

  “But judging by your emails, you’re unscrupulous enough to—”

  “No. Believe what you want, but it’s true either way. Last night, you were just a pretty redhead who fell from a tree and landed in my lap.”

  His dismissive tone made me bristle. Probably because it sounded so much like his egotistical emails.

  “Then I guess it’s just a shitty coincidence.” I said.

  “It didn’t seem so shitty last night, did it?” he replied.

  I sucked in a breath. How had he gone so quickly from being the charming, sexy man I’d taken to bed to being this cocky jerk? I almost shook my head, disgusted at myself for even wondering. The intrinsic nature of a one-night stand was not knowing someone well enough to figure out if they were truly sexy and charming. Not giving it the time to happen. This was a perfect example of why. Clearly, one-night-stand Ethan, and work-Ethan were two very different people.

  Then it struck me. Just minutes earlier, I’d been thinking about that same thing in relation to myself. Work-me and one-night-stand me were never meant to be in the same place.

  I exhaled. “It wasn’t shitty last night because you weren’t Ethan Burke, and I wasn’t Mia Diaz.”

  “Lu—”

  “Mia.”

  “Lumia.”

  “Stop.”

  He ran a tanned hand over his dark hair, then turned and stepped toward the window, not looking at me as he spoke. “If I’d known who you were, I wouldn’t have—”

  I cut him off because I didn’t want to hear him say it. “Ditto. And just in case you were thinking it might…at all…it doesn’t change my answer. I have no interest in parting with my company.”

  “We haven’t even discussed it.”

  “The emails were enough.”