1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen

by Kristen Ashley

  “I’m basically finished.” He carries on as if he asked the question to himself and is answering it. “I’ve made some good headway today, just paring down my presentation. How about you? You ready to take me on again? See who comes out on top this time around?”

  “No. Nuh-uh. You don’t––”

  “Nuh-uh? Now I really know you’re mad at me if you’re breaking out the big words like nuh-uh. I take it you’re struggling with your numbers then?”

  I just stare at him, eyes blinking, fingers paused on my keyboard and try not to give into that placating tone of his that used to drive me bat-shit crazy.

  “You don’t get to do this, Ryder.” I rise from my desk and walk around the front of it, needing to be on an even playing field with him.

  “Do what?”

  “You don’t get to act like this morning never happened.”

  “You mean like you’ve been doing all day?” he asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

  “I’ve done no such thing.” Lies. All lies.

  “Really?” He laughs. With his lips and his eyes, and I know I deserve it but right now I don’t want to hear or see it.

  “I’m not in the mood for your games.” Can this conversation just end, please? I’m dying a slow death of indignity here.

  “But aren’t you doing just that?” he asks as he cocks his head to the side and stares. “Showing up with those come-fuck-me heels on, adding a little extra sway to your hips, making sure to bend over in my perfect line of sight? I mean, you don’t want me to remember what you said this morning, but you sure as fuck don’t want me to forget. So tell me, Harper, if you’re not playing a game, what exactly is it that you’re doing? What’s your end game?”

  I just stare at him, slack-jawed and wanting to refute him but hating that either I’m that readable or I haven’t changed as much as I thought I had from when he used to know me.

  “Then again, I could have read you wrong. But I don’t think so. Your hair may be a different color, your clothes on point, your confidence stronger, but I know how you operate.”

  “You don’t know shit about me. Quit being––”

  “I love that you’re still hostile. You wouldn’t be you without it.”

  And those words knock me back some––knock the fight I was instigating right out of me––because he’s right and I don’t have a damn leg to stand on. The tone of his voice is almost as if he admires me for it and I know that can’t be, so I just stare, unsure what to say. “Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk.” I fold my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows. “And for the record, I am not hostile.”

  He chuckles. “Whatever you say, Ice Queen.”

  That nickname. The one he’d use to egg me on because he knew I hated it is like nails on a chalkboard. “You’re infuriating.”

  “And you seem to be pissed and frustrated with me when I’m just standing over here minding my own business.” He bats his eyelashes and shrugs.

  “Minding your own business? Is that what you call getting in my way when I’m trying to win this bid?”

  “Getting in your way?” He barks out a laugh. “That’s a good one considering no one even knew you were coming, so I think you’ve got the story backward. You’re here and now you’re getting in my way.”

  I stare at him, know he’s right, but refuse to give him an inch. I want to be irritated with him. For not pushing me on what happened in the elevator this morning when I don’t want him to, but I also don’t want that moment, that feeling, to be brushed aside. For standing here having a conversation with me like there isn’t that undertone of desire simmering beneath the surface. And for being around each other after all this time and not once acknowledging that kiss we shared that night.

  It’s so much easier to keep those feelings at bay if I can get us back on an even playing field. To our verbal sparring. Our animosity. Our thing.

  “Well, you know what they say, ladies first.” He pushes up off the desk and takes one step toward me. “Unless, of course, you’re referring to winning the bid. In that case, my chivalry is put on hold.”

  He stares and I’m not sure what we’re doing here. It feels like we’re dancing around something and yet I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is.

  “Chivalry is dead.”

  His eyes widen and then narrow. “I’m sorry you think that.”

  “C’mon, we work in an industry where a strong woman is considered to either be a ball-buster or a bitch. She’s only successful because she’s slept her way to the top or had to trade sex to be awarded a big contract.” Bitterness rings in my voice. It’s not directed at him, but it’s still there nonetheless.

  “New York.”

  Two words. That’s all they are, spoken in that even tone of his, but they evoke such a visceral reaction in me because that means he knows––maybe has always known––and I hate that he does. Even worse, without ever hearing my side of the story, does he automatically think less of me because of it?

  I’m momentarily derailed by the thought but know there’s nothing I can do about it now other than answer truthfully. “Yeah. New York.”

  But when I force myself to meet his eyes again, the disappointment I expected to find in his gaze is absent. There’s only kindness, only compassion, and the sight of both make me feel like I can breathe for what feels like the first time in forever.

  “I found out about it earlier,” he says softly.

  “When you stepped out to take that call?” And I hate that I just gave away that I’ve been paying attention to him.

  “Yes. A colleague in Manhattan found out I was bidding this project. He mentioned he thought you were bidding it too.” He pauses and just stares at me. “I’m sorry. It sounds like you got the raw end of the deal.”

  I nod my head, draw in a deep breath, and think back to what was supposed to be a carefree night out of fun. Connecting with Jay, a friend of a mutual acquaintance, and falling into bed with him after a night of laughter and incredible chemistry. Then walking into work a week later to find the big municipality job I’d just spearheaded massive efforts to acquire and won was none other than Jay’s to award. The shock I felt at being blindsided. The accusations that I’d slept with him to win the job when it was nothing of the sort. Being fired for violating a strict company policy about no fraternizing or exchanging gifts––sexual or otherwise––to secure a bid. My two years in purgatory at a different job, a different position in the same industry, but on the sidelines until now. My want for a change of pace, a new environment, and my deal with Wade that if I land this Century Development project for him on a consulting basis, then I get to keep the position with his company.

  A nightmare. A whirlwind. A huge lesson.

  “Yeah, well…that’s the breaks.” I try to play it all off.

  “No. It shouldn’t be.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment but it’s a fact.” I shrug. “Men don’t like strong women. They’re intimidated by them to the point they fear them, so when a woman stands her ground, it’s easier to get rid of her than rally behind her.”

  “I disagree.”

  I snort in disbelief. Not at him, but just at this conversation as a whole. I have calculations to finish, my heels are freaking killing me because he’s right—I have been strutting my stuff on purpose. Now I just want this conversation to end because anything he says isn’t going to change what happened, and I don’t want it to end because that means the night will be over when I still want his company. And that confession to myself is hard to make but so very true.

  Even though a few feet remain between us, I notice his eyes darken as he carefully mulls over his next words.

  “Regardless of who she is––a competitor, a friend, a lover, or even all three combined––I prefer a woman who’s strong. Someone I can debate with, a woman who can hold her own in an intelligent conversation, and one I can verbally spar with. I want to be met match for match. That’s what I find sexy, Harper.”


  “I don’t believe you.” I reject the idea immediately, although the way he says my name––low and with inflection––causes chills to race over my skin.

  When he chuckles this time, it’s a low rumble that fills the empty room yet punches me squarely in the gut. His tongue darts out to lick his lips while he waits to make sure he has my attention before he continues. “I want to be challenged. In and out of the boardroom.” His eyes lock on to mine and it takes me a minute to hear the word boardroom instead of bedroom.

  But for some reason I think that’s exactly what he intended.

  I’m flustered by the intensity of his stare and how my mind has conveniently bent his words. “I’ll challenge you all right. No worries there,” I respond and know I’m speaking about both the boardroom and the bedroom. “But will we be friends when all is said and done? It’s easy to say we will be, Ryder, but you’ve never walked a day in my shoes.”

  His gaze flickers down to my heels and there’s something about his expression that tells me he’s thinking of my high heels like how I think of his beard.

  He takes another step forward, so now he’s crossed half the distance between us.

  “Those shoes look painful but sexy as hell. A double edged sword of sorts. Kind of like this whole situation with us pitted against each other is,” he says in a lowered voice, despite the fact we’re the only ones left in the war room. “Look, I know you’re probably as thrilled about me being here as I am about you…but that’s part of the dance we love, isn’t it? The competition and getting the numbers right. The battle for first. I bet you even have a full-size body poster of me hanging on your bedroom wall to throw darts at when you get frustrated at just how good I am.”

  “A full size poster?” My smile is automatic.

  “Yep, and I’m totally okay with it.”

  “Please.” I roll my eyes but marvel at how this man can take this conversation through so many topics and still have me smiling.

  He takes another step toward me.

  “This longstanding rivalry we have here is based on mutual respect. With you back in town, this will most likely be a normal thing now. Us working in close quarters and vying against each other. There will be days you’re going to hate me and there are days I’m going to hate you. We will get in each other’s ways. It might get a little messy, but I’m going to be nice and you’re going to have to get used to that. Rest assured, I love a strong woman but have no problem going toe to toe with one. Getting a little dirty.” His grin is lightning quick and pulls on things deep within me it has no business tugging on. “We have a history and that counts for something with me. But at the end of the day, Harper, I have every intention of being the one who comes out on top.”

  It’s my laugh that sounds off now and reverberates in the sexual tension slowly electrifying the air around us.

  Ryder on top.

  Coming on top.

  Jesus. The vivid images and sudden ache those innocent words of his have just aroused within me are more welcome than not.

  And wholly distracting.

  Then I remember his other words—the us competing for the same bid isn’t a one-time thing here. We’re now going to be seeing each other often. The revelation evokes so many thoughts—the most prevalent one being that reward sex could be a definite, longstanding possibility here. So this time when I look back up to meet his gaze, I let the slow, suggestive smile play across my lips to taunt him.

  “May the best man win, then.”

  His grin deepens, eyes sliding down my torso and back up. “Something like that,” he murmurs as I push myself up to stand at full height, needing to get back to work but not taking a single step around the side of the desk.

  It might get a little messy.

  We stare at each other, dare each other, taunt each other as the air shifts and changes around and between us. His lips quirk up on one side. “So tell me, Harper…was I good?”

  The mental whiplash is fierce but the snap of it is nowhere near as powerful as the memory of my orgasmic dream of him causes between my thighs.

  The one I confessed to.

  “Hmm,” I murmur, a throwback to that debate night and a little taste of his own medicine. “I can’t quite remember.” My voice is coy, eyelashes batting, but my insides are on fire and welcome this sudden shift between us.

  His gaze is unwavering as he shakes his head. His hands fist, forearms flex, then unfist in a visible show of restraint that’s just as sexy as that muscle pulsing in his jaw. “You can’t remember?” he asks, voice questioning as his eyes darken and intensify.

  I remember everything about the dream: his touch, his murmured words, his abilities.

  I know this is the point of no return. Know that my next words hold the power to either be the catalyst or the stopping point to what can possibly be between us. Since the moment I saw Ryder, I tried to hold true to my mantra—bid first, then reward sex––but I don’t think I ever once believed myself.

  I may be a strong woman and an ice queen in the boardroom, but there’s something about Ryder Rodgers that makes me go weak in the knees.

  “You know, I can’t remember at all. You know how dreams are…” I let the words trail off, my playful smile and the suggestion in my tone leading him.

  “Tell me what to do, Harper.” Those words he said earlier are on his lips again, innocent in nature but juxtaposed to the desire clouding his eyes, are a loaded gun.

  “Finish your bid. It’s due tomorrow.” I turn on my heel and go to round my desk, but no sooner than my first step his hand is on my upper arm, turning me back around.

  Bingo.

  We’re face to face, bodies inches from each other, and yet mine is already set ablaze—struck by lightning––from where his hand is on my arm. Our breaths labor from the anticipation alone.

  “The only thing I’m thinking about finishing right now is something I should have done a long time ago.”

  And without another word his lips are on mine.

  And not just on mine—they take control, assault in the most pleasurable of ways, and devour any hope of being able to walk away from this job unaffected by Ryder.

  There is no hesitation on my part. My reaction is reflexive. Years of wondering and want are answered and met by the skill of his tongue as it dances against mine, the feel of his touch as his hands come up to frame the sides of my face, and the hard heat of his body as he steps into me.

  It’s heaven.

  And hell.

  It’s want mixed with need.

  And I can’t warring against more please.

  It’s reawakened desire versus self-preservation.

  And comparing that moment back then to that of right now.

  My head spins. My body aches. It’s the feel of his beard scraping against my cheek and the groan deep in his throat. It’s the warmth of his tongue and the skill of his lips.

  And it feels like it lasts forever, until the minute his lips break from mine and then it seems like it was only a second.

  But his shaky inhalation sounds as ragged as mine when he pulls back to create distance between us.

  “Thirteen years, Harper.” His voice resonates with conviction. “I’ve waited thirteen years to finish that kiss with you. To do it again.”

  My lips are lax, my heart is racing, my body a combination of calm and out of control, if that’s even possible. I just stare at him, eyes blinking, words not forming.

  “I thought if I kissed you, got it over with, I’d get you out of my system.” He shakes his head and smiles. “But I don’t think it worked out quite how I wanted it to.”

  “Ryder.” My heart is pounding, voice breathless.

  “Tell me what to do, Harper.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ryder

  “What do you want, Harper?”

  She looks at me––eyes wide, lips parted––and every part of me begs to dive back in and take another taste. To back her up against that desk behind her and finis
h this striptease of temptation we’ve danced in the past forty-something hours.

  But I wait for an answer.

  Need one.

  And it’s killing me to turn my back on her and head toward the door instead of stepping back into her, but I’m not doing this again. Not going to let her run away from me because she’s too scared to admit what she wants.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” The panic in her voice hits my ears, boosts my ego, and only makes it that much harder not to break stride.

  It’s time to force her hand.

  “You didn’t answer the question,” I toss over my shoulder.

  “Ryder?” Desperation causes her voice to break.

  I dislodge the first of the double doors from the wall and close it. “You have a history of running from me.” I secure the bolt so it can’t be opened from the outside. Not that it matters though because the last person left this office over two hours ago. We’re alone.

  Completely alone.

  “It’s not a hard decision. I’m not asking you for forever. I’m just asking you for tonight. For right now. To figure out what this is…and I’m not going to let you run away this time. Not until I hear you give me an answer.” Turning my back to her once more, I dislodge the second door and am in the process of securing it when she finally speaks.

  “You.”

  My hands falter, heart does too, before I step back and meet her eyes. She’s come half the distance and is standing there in those pink heels, with her hair falling out of her ponytail from where I held it when we kissed, and all I can think about is how I want to pull that hair tie out and watch it come undone as I make her come undone.

  “What was that?” I ask, wanting her to be sure of her decision because once she says yes, there is no damn point of return for me.

  “You, Ryder. The answer to your question, what do I want, is I want you.”

  Thank fuck.

  We stare at each other for a beat, my dick telling me to hurry the hell up, use the desk, the chair, anything to ease this need she’s created inside of me. But my head is telling me to think this through. To be smart. To not put her in a position like the prick in New York did in any way, shape, or form.