by Anson, Cris
She answered in the same businesslike fashion, sitting on his businesslike chair in her businesslike jeans and button-down silk blouse.
“Both. I have a magnetic sign for the front doors when I go out on jobs, but it’s also my primary mode of transportation, and if I don’t necessarily want anyone to know my whereabouts…” She shrugged. “You know, like if I spend time at the mall, I don’t need any clients wondering why a Stonehedge truck is in the parking lot all day and why I’m not managing my employees properly.”
Con nodded absently and continued perusing her tax returns.
In between answering questions, Giselle let her gaze roam around Con’s office. When she’d been there before—right after his D-Day—she hadn’t seen much beyond the reception room and the coffeepot alcove. A sunny corner room held not only his desk and credenza, but a loveseat and two well-cushioned side chairs for conferences around a substantial coffee table. Another office of like size occupied the far corner of the second floor. It had been his father’s, he’d said as she showed her around. A conference room plus an office with two desks for associates completed the suite.
He’d suggested she gather all pertinent papers from the past two years so he could plug vital statistics into one of his accounting software programs. She’d been happy to have another opinion of her company’s health. Not that she didn’t trust her own accountant, just an independent audit, so to speak, of the data.
As he browsed through documents from the various files she’d brought in two plastic bins with locking tops, she stood to inspect the photos along one wall. Here was the Con Senior she remembered meeting, his arm draped around a younger Con Junior’s shoulders, in front of the building they now occupied. A photo of Con in cap and gown between his father and a tall, thin, very attractive blonde—his mother?
She saw photos of the older man with a former and the current governor of Pennsylvania. Hmm. That was interesting. In neither case did it look like a posed shot of a politician with a voter, but rather two equals engrossed in conversation. And both inscribed with personal notes.
With that kind of legacy behind them, surely Larry had been mistaken in his accusation of malfeasance on the part of Trowbridge & Trowbridge.
“Con?”
“Yeah, babe, just a minute.” He punched a few more numbers then hit Enter. “I’m trying some alternative calculations that might make it worth filing an amended return. When I see the numbers, I’ll do some more thinking and get back to you.”
When the computer started whirring, he turned his attention to her where she stood at his wall of photos.
“Your father seems to know a lot of high-ranking politicians.”
“He did a lot of pro bono work, like with the Small Business Administration, helping set up companies and consulting with start-ups, so he got some citations and recognition. He showed me by example to give back to the community. Hence the Senior Center volunteering.”
How to say this delicately? “Um, Larry told me that your company had some legal difficulties a few years ago?”
Con huffed out a breath. “Difficulties. You might say that. It was more like being railroaded.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone got their knickers in a bunch and decided to go after Dad. Slapped him with several nuisance suits that dragged our name through the mud. Two of them were dismissed. The others went to jury trials, and both came back not guilty. Turns out the guy behind all of them felt Dad had stolen a local corporate client from him, but Dad had simply done a better job of wooing them. When Dad retired from T&T last year, they asked me to stay on as their consultant, by the way.”
“Oh.”
“I wanted to sue the bastards for defamation of character, but Dad was too much of a gentleman to play cutthroat.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Thankfully, people remember the good things about T&T and we’ve got all the business we can handle. In fact, I’m thinking of making my associate a junior partner and hiring a couple of new accountants to round out our staff.”
She smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”
“There’s something else I want to check out.” He pawed through both bins until he withdrew a file from each. “Remember when you had that load of mulch delivered Friday and I said I was surprised that you didn’t have more stone and gravel?”
Giselle returned to sit in the client chair. “I do. And?”
“Who’s responsible for approving invoices to be paid?”
“Larry, mostly. He knows everything there is to know about the operation. He’s more than just a foreman to me.”
Con’s head came up sharply at that, but he merely asked, “Who signs the checks?”
Realizing what she’d implied, she backpedaled. “I mean, he’s a jack-of-all-trades. As to checks, I’m the only authorized signatory. But Larry does have my password for the software that prints the checks out. Not payroll, that’s confidential, but for business expenses. He often leaves folders of them, a check attached to an invoice, for me to sign.”
“Who reconciles your bank statements?”
“My administrative assistant. Works part-time, ten to two, which allows her to be home when her kids get home from school.”
“Hmm.” He set aside the two folders he was holding and selected two more.
“What? What are you looking for?”
“Your accounting software isn’t generic, right? It’s geared to landscaping?”
“Absolutely. Well, it’s called business management software, but it’s the same thing. It has applications for time and materials, job cost estimates, the ability to track chemical use and generate reports, that kind of thing. When Larry or the crew chiefs key in what work was done that day, it automatically transfers the charges to the client’s account.”
“Hmm.” He shuffled through more folders, more invoices. “Does it interface with your design software?”
That one went over her head. “What do you mean?”
“In other words, how do you get your reports as to how many cherry trees or how many pots of Vinca or how many bucketloads of mulch are actually used on each job versus what you estimated on the job quotation?”
“Right now we take inventory quarterly, but I’m constantly eyeballing everything to make sure we don’t run out of staples. If I create a plan that has, say, a weeping Cedrus libani, I’ve made sure they’re available at one of the specialty nurseries before I offer it to the client.”
“This might be some software to add in the future,” he said carefully.
A helpless little laugh escaped her. “As soon as we start turning a profit again. I’m living on as little as I can, but I do have to draw a minuscule salary. I don’t want to take out a second mortgage on the house to finance the business. I just don’t know where to cut any more corners and still be a Class-A operation.”
She felt a frown settle into place between her brows as her enthusiasm sagged. She loved what she was doing. She did. She just didn’t know if she could keep it going at the high level Felix had established.
Then her frown disappeared as Con came up behind her chair and, bending forward, began to nibble at her ear.
“Did you happen to notice that sofa?” he asked between kisses and bites at the vulnerable spot where her neck met her shoulder.
Giselle sighed at the delicious shudders cascading through her at his touch. “Mmm. It’s dove gray. Looks like leather.”
Sidling around her chair, he pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “Right. And it’s virgin.”
She jolted out of his arms with a surprised bark of laughter. “Virgin? What kind of leather is…”
“It’s a small sofa, so it’s called a loveseat. Emphasis on the love. And it’s been waiting for a long time to live up to its name.” He turned her around so they both faced forward then steered her behind said loveseat. “See,” he said, nudging her until her thighs hit the sofa. “In order to baptize virgin leather, you have to start slowly.”
Giselle would have giggled at the image, but her brain locked on to the feel of his questing fingers making smaller and smaller circles on her lacy bra, bringing her nipples to rigid attention. When he reached them, he squeezed each hard nubbin between thumb and forefinger, priming her.
“It’s okay, Giselle, you can moan,” he whispered as she began to move her hips against the erection she felt prodding her ass cheeks. “The loveseat is hard of hearing. In fact, I hope you’ll be making lots of noise soon, but it won’t hurt the leather at all. You’ll just have to stand still, okay?”
The clasp of her bra loosened and she felt the straps slipping off her shoulders. The bra landed on top of the blouse and his hands closed around her freed breasts.
“Lordy, your tits were made in heaven.” He lifted them, gently squeezed them in his grip, tucked his chin on her shoulder. “Look at them. I could suck on them all day long.”
Then he abandoned them and she felt bereft. “But the loveseat is waiting to be christened.”
He slid his hands down to the placket of her jeans, popped the button and pulled down her zipper, then slid the garment over her hips. “Look at those curves. Just made for a man to sink into.” He went to his knees behind her and yanked her jeans down to her ankles. Then slowly drew his hands back up along the insides of her thighs, kissing and licking as he rose.
“And a thong. Woman, you really know how to raise a guy’s blood pressure. It’s like unwrapping the birthday present you’ve been waiting for all year long.” She felt him nuzzle between her ass cheeks, prodding with his tongue as he stroked the sensitive skin all around the minuscule strip of silk.
Without conscious thought, Giselle bent forward, placing her elbows on the sofa for support as she closed her eyes to concentrate on every stroke, every breath Con lavished on her hypersensitive nerve endings. Every atom of her being was attuned to him, to his fingers, his mouth and teeth, as he raised the level of his sensuous attack. Soon she was squirming for more. “Con, please.”
He nipped a mouthful of skin just to the point of pain that drenched her pussy with moisture. “I think we have to dispense with this very sexy wrapper so I can get to the cake…and then the icing.”
With that he slipped the thong down to her ankles. In her sensuous haze, Giselle couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like to someone walking into the office just then—a naked woman bent forward over the sofa, breasts swaying freely, unruly hair flowing all around her face, with a fully clothed, younger man behind her, ripping open a foil packet, and then—
One smooth, hard thrust and she felt Con seat himself to his balls. Somehow it was more decadent to her, being naked while he was dressed. As though she was someone else and Giselle was watching them. Then she realized she was making frantic little noises in the back of her throat, the decibels escalating as the speed of his thrusts increased.
She tried to spread her legs to allow him more access, but with her jeans around her ankles she succeeded only in losing her balance. Her knees buckled. “Oh, damn,” she groaned. “I feel like a mummy.”
“I’ve got you,” he gasped, staggering, yet with a firm grip on her waist. “You feel so good, I don’t want to pull out.”
He didn’t. She managed to regain her equilibrium, and good thing, because Con continued to thrust hard and fast and all she could do was hang on and enjoy the ride until she exploded in a shower of sizzling fireworks. And still he pumped, each furious thrust making her breasts bounce and jiggle, making her juices flow more freely, bringing her higher and higher once more.
This time when she came, all noise and growling and scratching at the leather she was slung over, he joined her in a hoarse shout before collapsing on top of her.
A long moment later, when she still hadn’t caught her breath, she felt his softened cock slip out. “Don’t go anywhere,” he rasped. “I’ll be right back.”
Soon she felt a warm cloth being stroked between her nearly closed thighs. She managed a weak laugh. “If you’d have taken my jeans all the way off earlier, you might be able to get all the dribbles now.”
“Don’t sweat it. There’ll be more dribbles before we’re done.” His voice sounded muffled. She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw him bent over trying to unlock the secret to removing her zippered boot then gently lifting her foot to remove it and her leg from one jeans leg.
“Eureka! Now you can come around here, my lady fair, and…”
He pulled her around to the front of the sofa, her one ankle dragging the puddle of her jeans and thong, and nudged her down so she plopped into a soft seat cushion.
“And christen it properly.”
“Con! Won’t it stain?”
He sat very, very close beside her and drew her into an embrace, one arm draped over her shoulder to stroke her still-hard nipple. “Whether it does or not, every time I look at this loveseat, I’ll remember this. Remember us.”
Now that her sexual haze had passed its peak, she was reminded again of the public nature of her surroundings, of her nakedness and his clothed state. Of the fact that anyone could walk in on them. “Con, don’t you think you should—”
He jumped to his feet like a jack-in-the-box. “You’re right. It’s way overdue.” With that he shucked his clothes in record time and sat down beside her, more naked than she was, down to his bare toes.
“Here’s what I think I should do.” He leaned back into the cushions, drawing her atop him. “I think I should let you take the lead this time.”
Sprawled over him, Giselle let out a nervous laugh. “Con, you just—we just—”
“That’s okay, I don’t have any appointments this afternoon, do you? We can just lie here until something pops up.”
She lifted herself onto her elbows to look into his lake-blue eyes. The emotion in them damn near floored her. It was more than lust. In those eyes she saw tenderness, eagerness, a hint of vulnerability…and something more. Something she didn’t want to put a name to for fear it would dissipate like smoke.
It made her wonder if maybe this was more than a fling. On both their parts. If what they shared could ripen…and last.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said, the huskiness in his voice like breath on sandpaper, “I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“Looking at you like what?” Downplaying the vulnerability she felt at her thoughts, she injected a playful note into her voice.
“Like you want to eat me up. Like you want to fold me up and put me in your private hiding place for safekeeping.” He lifted his head, captured her mouth in a tender kiss. “Like you want to play with what just popped up between us.”
Giselle blinked. His erection was already hardening between their bodies. “Con! What are you, a super stud?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s you making me this way.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Can you reach over to that end table? I put something in there that would come in mighty handy right now.”
Oh yeah, a condom. With great delicacy she slithered forward over his torso, letting her breasts glide across his face as she reached up and tugged open the drawer. Then chuckled. “Con, a half-dozen?”
“What can I say? The local pharmacy had a sale. Besides, we’ll go through them in no time, if I have anything to say about it.”
Unbelievably turned-on by the thought of using them all, she wiggled back to sit astride his thighs. “Let me do this.”
Ripping open the first packet, she positioned the condom at his tip then slowly rolled it down his warm, hot length. Her fingers continued downward to cup his balls. His low moan gratified her, encouraging her to tease him more, squeezing and molding them in her palms.
Soon his hips lifted, thrusting his cock upward.
“C
ome here and sit on this, why don’t you?”
He wrapped his hands around her waist and tried to position her over his cock. “I want your imprint on this leather. I want your scent embedded in it. Embedded in me, on me, around me. I want you. All of you. In every way.”
“Oh, Con,” she sighed, allowing him to lift and place her. “Let me ride you.”
And she did, bucking and rocking, hungrily taking and taking. Her breasts bounced and swayed, her hipbones ground against his, her thighs squeezed him. She had the fleeting impression that he tried to stay still to allow her free rein, but soon he joined her, meeting her thrust for thrust, moan for moan, heat for exquisite heat. She threw her head back and reveled in the sensation of flying, floating, soaring to the sun and distant galaxies, and him free-falling with her. She gave him everything she had and he gave her the same, emptied himself into her until she collapsed atop him, breath coming in short pants and brain aware of nothing except his sweat-slicked body molded to hers, his heart beating frantically against her ear.
Finally an electronic beep penetrated the edges of her consciousness. “Con?”
“Damn.” He threw one arm down on the pile of his clothes and groped around until he grasped his wristwatch. “My alarm.”
He lifted it and squinted. “Damn! Time flies when you’re having fun. I’m sorry, Giselle, but I promised Dad some face time this evening.”
She scrambled off him, hopping on one foot when she realized her jeans and thong still clung to one ankle. She pulled the garments up then rummaged in the pile for her bra and blouse.
“We have this ritual. The first time the Phillies play the Mets every season, we watch it with pizza and beer. I can’t let him down. My mom was a rabid Mets fan, betting against our beloved Phillies, and this is one of the ways we remember her.” Fixing his own clothes, he added, “I’m just glad it didn’t come until after the fifteenth.”
Now totally put back together, Giselle came up to him, stroked his cheek with a fingertip. “I understand. That’s very sweet.”
When they were both dressed, he carried the file bins out to her truck and she opened the passenger seat for him to stow them.
