1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen

by Kristen Ashley

  I stand there, a foot from him, my temper seething, my mind a mess, my emotions scattered a million places. “Ryder…”

  “No. Just no. You don’t get to Ryder me either.” He steps into me, well within my personal space, and stares so deeply into my eyes that I want to look away but don’t dare. I meet him match for match. I’m not backing down. And then suddenly, his expression softens. Changes. “Why don’t you see it?”

  “See what?”

  “You’re good, Harper. Fucking brilliant. I’ve sat here for two years—during our entire graduate program for fuck’s sake—hating you and respecting you for that alone. You’re stubborn and smart and you know everything and you’re irritating. You’re goddamn right my ego’s bruised but hell, you deserve it. All of it. You deserved the respect of every single person in that auditorium tonight.”

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with what you—”

  “Don’t you get it? I wanted them to see it too. Not your stage fright. But you. Your mind. Your brilliance.”

  He takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair, squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s not getting his point across, and yet all I can do is stare at him slack-jawed and surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

  And while I watch him struggle with whatever it is he’s trying to finish explaining, I want to reject what he’s saying—his reasons and his praise—but it’s all so clear now. How nervous I was, stumbling over words and not articulating my points. Then the hmms started and it was him I was fixated on. It was the feeling I was used to—wanting to beat him, prove him wrong—that owned my thoughts as my arguments strengthened and my conviction came through.

  The crowd disappeared.

  The nerves vanished.

  Because he was the one I had focused on and was determined to prove wrong.

  Just like I’ve been doing the past two years.

  “Ryder.” Thank you. Why did you do that? I’m sorry. The thoughts don’t manifest themselves into words because when he turns to look at me, I feel like I can’t breathe, let alone think.

  He takes a step toward me then hesitates, but before I can process anything else, his lips are on mine.

  And not just on mine––not just a brush of lips against lips—but I’m talking all in. Hands on my cheeks, tongue licking between my lips, body pressed against mine, groan in the back of his throat, type of all in.

  I don’t react at first. I’m stunned. Flabbergasted, my mind reeling from the anger to the surprise to now this without any warning at all.

  This is Ryder.

  My rival.

  My supporter.

  My crush.

  The thoughts flicker that this is what I’ve wanted. But they soon shift to panic. To insecurity I don’t kiss well enough. That this is all a joke and I’m the butt of it.

  But then I feel. Everything. All at once.

  And I know this is real.

  It’s like I can’t catch my breath and have too much air all at the same time.

  My body is on fire. And not just from his touch but from that burn deep inside that feels like it’s exploding and imploding all at once.

  So this is what it feels like to really be kissed.

  It’s a fleeting thought before the sensations, the moment, the emotions, consume me whole. His hands move my face to change the angle of the kiss. His fingertips on the line of my jaw singe my skin. His lips move expertly against mine, and all I can do is feel. All I can do is want.

  Thinking isn’t an option.

  The anger from before has morphed to want. The adrenaline has recharged with desire.

  There is no rivalry.

  There is no graduation ceremony tomorrow I’m missing to catch my flight.

  There is no panic over if I’ll ever see him again.

  It’s just him.

  And me.

  The scent of his cologne in my nose. The heat of his body against mine. The taste of hunger in his kiss.

  Only when his mouth parts from mine and the word “Goddamn” is a desirous groan from his lips, does the world exist again. He leans back, hands still framing my face, thumb rubbing over my bottom lip, eyes searching mine with such an intensity that they cause chills to line my scalp.

  “Ryder? You in there? I’m so ready for my night of fun!”

  Her voice comes through the door and we both startle back a moment before its handle turns.

  “It’s not—she’s not—we’re just friends—”

  His eyes are wide but full of apology as I just stare at him, high obliterated, the feeling like I’m the only girl in the world gone.

  I take another step back as the door opens and everything that is opposite of me stands in the doorway—lips painted, body perfect, bubbly personality—and smiles giddily at him.

  Ryder holds a hand up to Ms. Perky in the doorway as he takes a step toward me and I take one back.

  I fight the tears that threaten.

  Over what I’ve always wanted and know I can never have.

  Over wanting to be just like her and instead being just like me.

  Over kissing the boy I’ve wanted for years and realizing he’s just as good as I imagined.

  Over knowing tomorrow I’m moving back to New York. To my incredible new job. To start my new life.

  “I’m sorry.” I shake my head slowly as my throat burns with unshed tears. “Thank you. For tonight—out there. For…for the things you said.”

  Another step in retreat.

  “Harper. Come out with us. Celebrate.”

  “No.” I shake my head again. Take another step back, my pride and dignity riding that fine line of breaking right now. “Thank you.”

  His eyes swim with emotion and confusion.

  Because while he may have kissed me on impulse—riding the adrenaline high of the debate and our fight—I kissed him back because for that slight, fleeting moment, I thought maybe I was who he wanted too.

  But I’m not.

  “Good-bye, Ryder.”

  Chapter One

  Harper

  “Mm––mm––mmm. That is one very fine specimen of a man,” the lady behind me murmurs to her friend, emphasizing every word.

  “I’d welcome getting a little beard burn from him.”

  “I hear that. And girl, that burn can be other places beside my neck, if you know what I’m saying.” They erupt in a fit of laughter that is contagious enough to make my own lips curve into a smile.

  The lobby of Century Development is full of professionals milling around. I’m sure there are many fine men in suits for the ladies to look at while we trudge through the security line.

  “And that ass. Mm, I bet you could bounce a quarter off of it,” the first lady says.

  “Damn fine.”

  That’s it. My interest is piqued. Admiring a hot guy is definitely a better way to pass the time than checking my emails on my phone.

  Especially if he’s garnering that kind of reaction from the women behind me.

  It takes me a whole two seconds to spot him. There’s not much that I can see of him through the break in the security line in front of me, but it’s enough to make me want to see more.

  And they were indeed correct. Tailored pants showcase one very fine ass. A crisply starched dress shirt frames a pair of broad shoulders. His dirty blond hair with streaks of gold in it hints at time spent outdoors. From my angle, I can’t see his face but can make out that the frames of his glasses are black and he’s sporting a full beard that looks sexy as hell but doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the clean-cut package.

  But damn what a fine package he is.

  God, it feels good to be back in Los Angeles. In the city with its stretched out coastline, endless sunshine, and abundance of ungodly handsome men such as the one front and center.

  It’s not like New York didn’t have hot guys because it did, but there’s something unique about California men that I’m drawn to. The touch of sunshine on their skin. The physiqu
es honed by outdoor activities. Their laid-back attitudes. And it’s been way too long since I’ve had the chance to enjoy the sights or company of one.

  I continue to stare his way in the hopes of catching another glimpse of all of him, but just when I think he’ll turn my way, the line shuffles forward and what little I can see of him is blocked. Impatient for the line to move again, I shift on my feet so I can steal another glance but am met time and time again with the solid back of a navy blue blazer on the man in front of me.

  If I have to wait in this line, can’t the powers that be at least give me a clear line of sight for something good to look at while I’m here?

  Better yet, I’ll be here the next few days. I wouldn’t lodge a single complaint if Hot Guy were to be the sight that greeted and entertained me during my time in the security line before I head upstairs for a long day crunching numbers.

  A step forward. A shift of bodies. Another glimpse of him leaving me to wonder what he does here. Is he a regular with a corner office on the twentieth floor with a view of the city below, or is he like me, just passing through for a few days to get a job done before heading home to his wife and two point five kids? Scratch that. No wife and kids at home. That ruins my fantasy of him. Nah, I bet he likes to go out after work, have a few drinks, and play the field for a bit before taking someone home with him for the night. Because no doubt, a man as attractive as he is definitely doesn’t spend many nights with an empty spot on the bed beside him.

  And I bet he’s a god in the sack. Has to be. A man can’t look like he does and be a fumbling, bumbling idiot who’s all hands and has little to no dick. Hot-Suit Guy is a dirty talker who likes to be in control.

  I’m certain of it.

  Maybe I should volunteer my services to him so I could find out for sure.

  Talk about a surefire way to relieve the stress of a long day. Damn.

  The line shuffles forward and yanks my overactive imagination back to reality. Given more time, I’m sure I could make up some more theories I’d like to prove or disprove about Hot-Suit Guy with the nice ass and sexy beard.

  I need help. Truckloads of it.

  This whole train of thought is a stark reminder of something I’m fully aware of: how long it’s been since I’ve gotten good and off. And God, how I need to get off.

  But I can’t think about sex. Or finding someone to have it with. Not yet. First I need to bust my ass, prove myself to the men in the boardroom upstairs that I can handle a job of this magnitude, that I haven’t lost my edge, and be awarded this job I’m here to bid.

  While sex might help relax me, it’ll also distract me because then I’ll only want more.

  And winning this bid is undeniably my number one priority. The only want I’ll allow myself to have. Leaving without winning the contract is not an option.

  But once I win it, then I’ll reward myself with sex. Mind-blowing sex, in fact. And who knows? Maybe if Hot-Suit Guy is a regular here, I can chat him up in the line over the next few days, make nice with him, and then possibly learn the truths to my assumptions.

  Work first. Reward sex next.

  That’ll give me something to look forward to during the next few days. The ones I can’t wait to dive headfirst into that will be an ever-changing combination of stress, exhaustion, strategy, and manipulation. An unscripted dance amongst us bidders while we size each other up, calculate our numbers, and explain to the developer why we’re the most valuable candidate for the job.

  It’s the game I love. The competition I thrive on. My return to the job that I’ve been desperate to make.

  And there’d be no better way to make a statement that Harper Denton is back than to leave this building with the multimillion dollar contract for Meteor Development tucked securely under my arm.

  And just like that, as a reward for my positive thinking, when I look up, there he is, in full view.

  I take in the expensive briefcase, the venti Starbucks, and the expensive watch peeking out from beneath the cuff of his shirt. And just my luck that while I’m afforded a full view of his body, the one thing I’m the most curious about is obscured by his hand holding his cell phone up to his ear: his face.

  So instead I drink him in. He really is magnificent. I note his posture and the way he carries his body when he moves forward a few steps. There’s an air about him that says he’s no-nonsense and in control, powerful, and at the same time he doesn’t seem uptight. He has that Southern California professional vibe. I can’t put my finger on it but he reminds me of someone I can’t quite place. Regardless, a man who can pull off being in control and playful has definite merits.

  Like “spank me until my body aches in want, and then make a game of hitting each erogenous zone with his tongue before he’ll satisfy that ache he created and let me come” type of merits.

  The mind-blowing-sex reward just became even more appealing.

  I shift my legs to abate that sweet ache my thoughts of him just sparked and realize how rare it is that the hum in my veins over a man has been rivaled by the thrill I get competing in the boardroom. And for that thought alone, I indulge a bit more in thoughts of him, knowing when I get stressed upstairs, I’ll be able to fall back to them.

  Use them as an inspiration and a reminder of what I get when I achieve success.

  I’m jolted from my ridiculous yet fulfilling fantasy as Navy Blue Blazer Guy accidentally turns and bumps into me. Apologies are exchanged before he lifts his hand in greeting to someone he sees across the lobby and unexpectedly leaves his place in line. I move forward, my gaze naturally landing back on the bearded eye candy now two people in front of me.

  “Shouldn’t be. No…I’m confident. From what I gather, the project seems pretty straightforward so…”

  His voice hits my ears and breaks through my waning patience. And hell if his voice isn’t as audibly sexy as his body appears to be. It has a grate to it that sounds like what my wild imagination conjures up is akin to the feel of his hands running over my skin. Rough but smooth. Patient but commanding. A little bit of an edge to it. But it’s what he says next that holds my attention more soundly than his overriding sex appeal calling to every ounce of estrogen within my body.

  “Seriously. This isn’t my first rodeo but it’s definitely a new approach. The bid list is being kept private so I’ll find out who’s competing as soon as I get in there… Dude, you know me. I’ve talked to people here and there, know some of the names being tossed around. Harry from Meteor was supposed to be a shoo-in, but now I’ve heard he’s gone. Not sure the circumstances but that’s a definite plus for us.” His laugh that follows is full of arrogance. The sound of it bristles over my skin, washing away that feeling of familiarity that tickles the edges of my mind. I inch closer, my back a little straighter now, and my attention more than piqued. “I know. Yeah. I don’t know for sure why but I heard they hired some hotshot fresh from New York, so you know what that means…a glorified assistant straight out of college they’re feeding to us wolves who has no goddamn clue what he’s doing. Good luck with that, buddy. At least I’ll have some entertainment watching that train derail.”

  I clench my jaw as a person squeezes through the line in front of me, forcing me to lose my concentration momentarily. The line moves forward again, the metal detector in view, and yet my sudden urgency to get upstairs and start has waned. Eavesdropping about my assumed abilities is so much more fun.

  “Nah. Nograd’s always dead middle. He won’t go low enough to take a risk and too high is a death wish. This project is out of his league. The rest are just here so Century Development can say they ran a fair bid when in the end it will come down to the usuals. Like always.” He laughs again. “I’ll play the game. Don’t worry. I’m confident. Yeah. See ya.”

  My mind stutters over thoughts, eyes focused on the back of his hand holding his phone, with emotions swirling that I never allow to show. A glorified assistant? I bet my track record is more extensive and exclusive than his by a mil
e.

  Prick.

  He may be hot, but he’s still a prick.

  Then again, let him underestimate me. If he’s so cocky he thinks he has this in the bag before he even starts, then he deserves what he gets when I beat him handily upstairs.

  Screw him and his nice, Starbucks drinking ass.

  He’ll learn the error of his ways soon enough. I may have purposefully kept my return under the radar, but those in the know will recognize my name once the bid list is revealed. I’m certain a few will even be a little shocked. New York is a long way from Los Angeles, but that doesn’t mean they’re not familiar with the name Harper Denton or my reputation as a no-nonsense, ball-busting businesswoman not afraid to get her hands dirty to deliver a project under budget and on time.

  What a pity he turned out to be an ass. I had so much hope for us.

  I smile and sigh. Well, at least I’ll have something pretty to look at while I’m working.

  Besides, what person is that arrogant that they talk shit about their competitors in the lobby where they’re supposed to meet for the bid? Someone is bound to hear him so maybe he’s that secure he doesn’t care?

  I glance Hot-Suit Guy’s way just as he lowers his phone and takes his briefcase off the security table. It’s when he lifts his face to flash a smile at the security guard with an All-American charm I’m way too familiar with, I freeze.

  …no way…

  I know him.

  …it can’t be…

  Ryder Rodgers.

  Son of a bitch.

  I should have known.

  And so we meet again.

  This is going to be so much fun kicking his ass.

  Again.

  Chapter Two

  Harper

  I know the minute he enters the boardroom.

  Yes, there are about thirty other men filling the space—my fellow competitors and some Century Development employees––and yet I can feel when Ryder walks through the doorway. I know he’s there. And without looking up, I can distinguish his laugh as it rumbles through the space and commands the attention of those in the room.