What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG)

by CJ Roberts

  Small talk with Meg and a few other colleagues distracted her on her way into the large conference room for their weekly sales meeting. She took a seat, eating a banana without tasting it.

  When she looked up from the latest crisis via email on her phone her eyes clashed with a pair of dark brown ones she didn’t recognize, gazing at her from across the table. They belonged to a guy looking at her so intently it was a wonder no one noticed. She smiled, and her face got hot when he winked.

  The rolled up sleeves of a soft-looking white button-down shirt revealed tanned and muscular forearms. However, instead of looking frumpy and disheveled in his rumpled khakis, he looked casual, easygoing and…well…hot. Dark blond hair brushed his collar – longer than she usually cared for in a guy, but somehow he made it work. If a central casting call had been for “Sexy California Surfer,” he would have the job. She wondered if the European motorcycle she’d seen coming in that morning belonged to him and figured it did. Not usually her type, he was very…compelling. She blushed when she realized he had raised his eyebrows at her blatant stare, and looked down at her phone as an excuse to ignore him.

  “Gang,” Pam began. “Allow me to introduce Craig Robinson, our new downtown Stewart Realtor.” She nodded at the blond across from Sara and he waved a casual hand at the group. “He’s spent a few years selling BMW cycles, and brings his A game to our little love nest here. And, if we ask real nice, he just might play the guitar for us. Now, onward – who’s got a new listing?”

  The meeting proceeded as usual, new listings were described, price reductions announced, “wants and needs” enumerated. Sara had ducked her head, trying not to think about her real want or need at that moment, when her phone buzzed with a text.

  “Nice skirt. R U dressed underneath in a way that will please me?”

  She looked up, wondering how in the hell Jack knew what she had on, all thoughts of the hot new kid across from her forgotten. The phone buzzed again.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find out myself.”

  The door to their meeting room flew open and Jack strode in, imposing, impressive and dressed to kill in a summer-weight brown suit and blue shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. He grinned, raised one hand in a mock formal greeting to them all.

  “Jack’s here to pitch his new development and invite us to an opening party, I’m sure,” Pam, announced, as she glanced around at the affect his entrance had on her sales staff.

  She was a no-nonsense, empathetic, and tough manager, fully in tune with the subtleties and nuances of the highly-strung professionals under her supervision. The older agents who’d been with Jack from the beginning didn’t really seem fazed and smiled indulgently as if observing a precocious and slightly naughty four year old. Sara watched the rest of the women straighten up, fidget with their hair and lips, unconsciously drawn by whatever the hell it was he emanated.

  The other men in the room watched him, as if studying the technique of a master. Sara fought the urge to lean forward and remained lounged back, coffee cup in one hand and phone in the other. The pheromone level in the room ramped up so high she had to take long deep breaths to keep New Sara at bay.

  She glanced over at Craig. He remained cocked back in his chair, ankle crossed over opposite knee, looking straight at her. Her face flushed and she glared at him briefly. He would have no idea who Jack was, of course or why the aura of the room had electrified since he walked in. But he’d learn soon enough. Sara smiled at him, gratified by his blush when she popped a cherry into her mouth and winked.

  Jack pitched and walked the perimeter of the room with his brochures, describing the latest and greatest mixed-use residential/commercial/retail development that he’d nearly completed on a long-neglected downtown Ann Arbor corner. He’d pause occasionally to touch one or another colleague on the shoulder or bring up some amusing antidote or memory. The female who had his attention would inevitably blush or smack his hand in mock anger.

  By the end of his spiel, the room belonged to him, although Sara remained stock-still and had not risen to receive his hand on her shoulder. She looked across the table at Val, one of her closest friends. Jack’s wiles had no effect on her whatsoever, as her tastes ran more toward fellow females, but she certainly admired him as a salesman, and Sara was convinced that she knew what was going on between them. Val raised an eyebrow at her. Sara sensed the entire room – including the new guy – observing her, aware of the pornographic movie running through her head that was her Open House from three Sundays before.

  With a final flourish and promises of opening party invites to come, Jack headed towards the door, declaring himself on a mission to visit all five Stewart office meetings that morning. He turned at the last minute and locked eyes with her, winked slowly, and his smile morphed into something more than the shit-eating grin of the consummate salesman.

  She glared at him. Pam cleared her throat, trying to air the room of the fogginess his little performance had induced and moved on with the meeting, none of which Sara remembered. She struggled to manage her roiling emotions which lurched between elation at his attention, thrill at the fact that her colleagues knew he had singled her out, and sheer, unadulterated arousal.

  Jesus Christ but he was walking testosterone.

  Keeping her emotional distance was becoming tougher with every day that passed. Matching his aloofness took everything she had. She wanted him, needed his voice, touch, lips –and she’d even be willing to cede some of her tightly held control, if he asked again.

  She rushed out of the meeting a few minutes early, feigning an emergency phone call, ignoring everyone including the dark gaze of the new guy. Her closing at noon went well with no last minutes surprises or random craziness from either buyer or seller.

  She grabbed a salad and iced tea afterward on the way back to her office. The suffocating heat and humidity seemed more in keeping with a sultry Southern summer than the usually mild and easygoing Michigan climate. Settling at her desk, she returned a call from her most high-maintenance seller:

  “Yes, Martha, I agree, but I can’t stand at the door of every showing and demand that the buyer’s agent leave a card. No, it’s not professional but I can’t account for the behavior of agents not with my company. Of course, I tell everyone who schedules to leave some sort of card so you know they were there. That’s right, we did have a second showing now that you have lowered your price. I’ll keep you posted. And please, remember to vacuum the cat hair every day and make sure the air freshener is working. Bye now.” She stuck her tongue out at the phone before hanging up.

  “Nice save, chick,” Val declared over the top of her cubicle wall. “And you must fill me in on that incredibly hot moment you shared this morning with our fine company cocksman.” Her grin widened.

  Sara rolled her eyes, but knew her skin betrayed her by flushing red.

  “Oh, he was just messing with me because I wasn’t drooling. Guy can’t stand it when he thinks there’s a female in the room not completely ready to fall on her knees at his feet.”

  “Hmmm, maybe,” Val said, turning to go. “I’ve known Mr. Gordon a while and I sense something else – anyway, I’m here to listen, when you want to talk.”

  By three that afternoon, the office buzzed with activity and Sara let work consume her. She talked with prospective clients, provided info for current ones, and was sufficiently distracted to forget that morning’s drama.

  As she wrapped up a comparative market analysis for a potential seller, her phone buzzed. Jack. She decided to let him sit for a while. Within five minutes, he had called again. When he called yet again a few minutes later, the phone nearly fell off her desk, buzzing its way across the top.

  She grabbed it and hit redial, wondering what was so urgent. Then realized the moment he picked up that the appraisal must have hit his desk.

  “What the fuck is your lender up to?”

  Sara winced and held the phone away from her head.

  “I haven’t seen it
yet. Let me pull it up.” She searched through her email inbox for the incriminating file.

  “Don’t bother. I can assure it won’t stand. It’s a complete bullshit hack job. We gotta come up with a report to justify a re-do so get your sweet ass over here and help me.” Then the line went dead.

  Sara sighed, but her body began to betray her when she realized she would be working alongside Jack today, even though he was spitting mad. A low appraisal was every realtor’s nightmare times a thousand. Her buyers needed to borrow a large percentage of the purchase price from the bank. If the bank is told the house isn’t worth it, they won’t lend.

  She punched in a text to him: “I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”

  “FINE,” he yelled via return text. “I’m on floor until eight anyway.”

  She spent about fifteen minutes sprucing up before leaving her office, her brain half-misty with desire and half terrified at the thought of yet another obstacle in the road towards a successful closing of this particular transaction. The drive would have normally taken ten minutes but side street construction gave her an extra twenty minutes to ponder what the evening held.

  Sara had done a little online research, claiming to herself it was just to figure out what it all meant. What she found had been a surprising insight into the psychology of people who, like herself, needed to be in control of pretty much all aspects of life, except one: how much pleasure could be gained from releasing that very control to someone you trusted.

  Trust Jack? Yeah, as if.

  But she had, once, and it had provided her with the most incredible sexually charged moment of her life.

  Sara squirmed in her seat, remembering how she’d reacted to the pictures and stories. Somehow, the home page of one club in Detroit stuck in her head with its lush colors and vivid yet classy descriptions of the services they offered. One photo in particular of a tall man with dark hair dressed in a suit standing over a woman on her knees with her hands bound behind her, blindfolded, had set her off. She’d had to haul out her trusty vibrator to take the edge off after seeing that.

  Was that what she wanted from him? To be “topped?” Dominated? Sara had never considered any kink or fetish as part of her psyche. But her scary visceral reactions to Jack from the beginning may have an explanation if some of the material she read about this sort of relationship was true. She shook her head. No, that was just crazy. A passing obsession. Jack might be an amazingly dynamic and successful man, but he didn’t feel connected to her beyond wanting to mess around. She had to put a stop to it before she fell any deeper.

  She entered the original Stewart Realty office with its more traditional perimeter offices, and smiled at the receptionist.

  “Hey Sara,” the young girl chirped. “Jack’s been waiting for you.”

  She headed towards the back, following the sound of his voice as he argued with someone on the phone and found him at the far corner, in one of the few private rooms. He was leaning back in his large chair, a hand on his face. His voice didn’t betray his body’s frustration, as he smoothed over whatever trouble brewed on the other end of the phone line.

  She leaned in the doorway and observed him before he acknowledged her. The shockingly blue shirt was rumpled, his eye-catching tie was off and hanging on the chair back. She found herself focused on his hands – large, talented and the stuff of her dreams during the past few nights. She cleared her throat and he looked up at her. The moment sizzled. She gulped.

  Work. She was here to work.

  His anger suffused the room. He ended the call and sat back, arms crossed. She remained in the door, keeping her face neutral.

  “So, you read this piece of shit, I assume.” He indicated the residential appraisal form that declared the value of the house he was selling. The same one he had stolen from her by sleeping with the woman who was selling it, she reminded herself. It stated a value of $220,000. Unfortunately, their contract stated a transfer price of $335,000 – quite the discrepancy.

  “Didn’t you give the guy your comps?” she asked. Comparable sales figures determined the appraised value. Stewart’s training demanded that they meet the appraiser at their listing and provide comps themselves to ward off any laziness on the part of the appraisal company.

  “No, Sara, I assumed these guys were professionals and could get that info on their own.” His tight voice set her nerve endings on high alert. He leaned towards her, his amazing blue eyes bright. “Christ Almighty, he took the most useless sales nearby in spite of everything I gave him. Hell, I practically promised him three hookers and a hotel room.” His voice trailed off and he ran his fingers through his hair. She curled her hands into fists against the urge to do the same thing to him. “Fuck. Okay, let’s go through this thing and see if we can justify a do-over.”

  As they worked side-by-side for two hours, Sara’s admiration grew as she watched him make calls and cajole honest info out of buyers’ agents about various comparable sales. He’d even called homeowners about houses they had purchased from other owners. These “FIZBO’s” or “For Sale By Owners,” by-passed realtors and would not normally be accepted by appraisers because there was no record of the actual condition of the house in question.

  She compiled the data into a ten-page report they would need to provide the lender in order to justify a second appraisal. So absorbed by her task, she had actually forgot the man working alongside her had brought her to repeated, shuddering orgasm not too long ago. She flinched when he touched her shoulder.

  “Okay, Jack, I think we have a case.” She pulled her hair up and kicked her shoes off under his desk. His extremely tidy and organized workspace gave her pause, and she acknowledged that they definitely did not have that in common. He reached out to touch the iPod in its docking station, filling the room with the sounds of The Foo Fighters.

  Figures. He manages to remain hip even on his playlist.

  Jack sighed and stretched his arms over his head.

  “I fucking hate all appraisers right now, you know?” He declared to the room. “I can’t wait until this market reverses itself and they’re back to begging us for whatever scraps of business we throw them.”

  He rubbed his neck, still staring up at the ceiling. When he focused back on her, Sara jumped, and cursed herself for acting like a breathless virgin in his presence. In a heartbeat, he’d grabbed the arms of the chair she was sitting in and rolled her over so that they faced each other. She forced herself to remain calm. But damn if having him so near wasn’t rattling every nerve ending she possessed.

  “Sorry I went off, baby.” He turned her chair around quickly before she could react, so that they sat like passengers on a bus. He rubbed her shoulders as her brain started its usual “resist Jack” mantra. She hated the game he had played with her this morning, hated his easy use of the word “baby” around her, and absolutely despised how much she wanted to hear it again.

  She had to get this thing under control.

  But maybe you shouldn’t? Maybe he should have control. You read it yourself. Giving over control to another is the first step. Trusting him to take care of you.

  She sighed. That was one thing she could never do. Not in a million years. She barely trusted her own brother and only because she’d had nearly thirty years to learn how to do so. And had sworn off seeking the elusive unconditional love she’d sought so foolishly for so long.

  He leaned in closer to her, his breath on her neck near her ear. She immediately wished there was no fabric barrier between her skin and his hands.

  “You made this easier, no doubt. I think we can make it work.” She knew he meant the appraisal but her chest constricted at the thought of making “this” work with him.

  “Put those shoes back on.” His low, firm voice made something in her give way. “I have been a walking hard on since I saw them this morning.”

  Sara’s breath caught in her throat and her nipples contracted as she slipped her feet back into the expensive heels. She trie
d not to think about the realtors still roaming around the office even though it was almost seven, when most managers and secretaries took off, locking up and leaving the offices available for whatever the workaholic salespeople might cook up.

  “Now stand up.” His breath heated her skin. She did, and his hands trailed down her body, coming to rest on her hips as he turned her around to face him.

  The music segued into some vintage Who, bringing a smile to her face. Of course, the controlling asshole would match her musical tastes. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, fighting her need for him and her need for distance from him. Sara took a breath as the words “either the best, or the worst thing,” flashed across her vision. Her entire body yearned for his. Her desire for his hands on her made her throat close up in panic. They were such a perfect fit on so many levels. But he wasn’t here for her. He was here for himself.

  He stood, holding her gaze, their bodies grazing, no words between them. Her resolve slipped, but she grabbed it, dragged it back kicking and screaming. Running a finger down his cheek, she relished the feel of his roughened skin. Memories of how perfect his lips felt on hers made her want to fall over. “I should go.”

  “No.” He ran a hand up one arm as he spoke. “You shouldn’t.” In the blink of an eye, she found herself pressed against the hard planes of his body.

  She shut her eyes against the power of him and his amazing control over her better self and simply stood in the circle of his arms, easing back into his dangerous orbit. With a shuddering breath, she looked up into his eyes.

  “Yes, I should.” She shrugged him off and had one foot out in the hallway before he grabbed her arm and yanked her back, slamming the door behind her. His lips shut out her protests, and she melted, hating herself, but allowing newly familiar pleasure light the corners of her brain.

  Thanks to the heels, she didn’t have to stand on tiptoe to reach his lips as his kiss enveloped her, tugging her down a deep hole of desire. A whirlwind of emotion threatened to bowl her under, bringing her dangerously close to tears.