Power Surge (Anna Jennings Super Novel Book 1)

by E. J. Whitmer

  Before I knew what was happening, Emmett had my wrist in a vice and was heading out the door, towing me along behind him. He pulled me out into the frigid night and back toward Vance Publishing.

  “Emmett,” I puffed. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to get my car and then we’re going somewhere quiet,” he replied, quickening his pace.

  Quiet? As in quiet and dark and horizontal? My entire body went up in flames and I raced ahead of him.

  Emmett laughed and steered me into our parking garage toward the executive parking spaces. He pulled out his keys and stopped before the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

  How had I never noticed a 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby? My jaw dropped. It was sex on wheels. I wanted to strip naked and rub my body on the hood.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed as I turned to look at Emmett. “I’ll orgasm on the spot if you have a jar of Nutella in the glove compartment.”

  That seemed to throw him off for a moment. I have no filter when I’m horny. Or when I’m hungry. Or … Okay, I never have a filter.

  “Um, no …” Emmett replied. “But I don’t think orgasming is going to be an issue.”

  Sweet Mother Mary.

  Emmett rounded the car and opened the passenger door for me. I followed and sat down in the creamy leather seat. I inhaled the delicious scent of the classic car and moaned. Emmett adjusted his pants and cleared his throat before shutting the door. I ran my hands along the dash as he rounded the front and got in the driver’s seat. I glanced over at his beautiful profile and thanked the Ford Motor Company for installing seatbelts or I’d have been across the console and in his lap.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, we’re never going to make it out of the parking garage,” rumbled Emmett.

  “Is that a bad thing? Are there security cameras in here?”

  Emmett chuckled and started the car. The growl of the engine made my nether regions tingle deliciously. I sighed and burrowed further into the seat.

  Emmett put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking garage. Something about watching him shifting gears was making the situation even worse. Okay, maybe that and the handful of drinks that I had consumed. Either way, I couldn’t help but slide my hand over onto Emmett’s thigh and squeeze.

  “Anna,” he warned, a slight smirk on his face. “We’ll be there soon.” He glanced at me and furrowed his brow. “How many drinks did you have tonight?”

  “A few,” I answered, sliding my hand up his thigh until I could feel the fabric of his slacks start to stretch. “But just enough to make me brave. Not stupid.” I inched higher, my middle finger brushing Emmett’s bulging erection.

  His breath caught and he cleared his throat. “I like brave,” he choked. He placed his hand over mine and slid it back down to just above his knee. “However, unless you want me to crash into a parking meter, you’d better save your bravery for a little later.”

  I sent him my sexiest wink and settled back down in my seat.

  A few minutes later we pulled into another parking garage, this one under a large building made of mostly windows. Emmett pulled into a parking stall with his name on it and cut the engine. We sat in silence for a moment.

  After all of the build-up, why was I suddenly nervous? Because we’d only officially been on two dates? Maybe three if you count sharing my moment in his office.

  Because I hadn’t had sex in forever? It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it? A large, warm, undulating bike.

  Because I tasted like nachos and gin? Why can’t that be sexy? If he tasted like nachos and gin, I’d lick him like a lollipop.

  My inner monologue was silenced as Emmett leaned over and captured my lips with his. He didn’t taste like gin or nachos, but he did taste delicious.

  He tilted his head to deepen the kiss as his hand cupped the back of my head and pulled me closer. I grabbed his shoulders and hoisted myself over the center console and onto his lap. I fumbled with his tie, slipping it from his shoulders and tossing it into the back seat. He smelled so damn good. Nobody should be able to kiss like that. Emmett reached behind me, wrapped my long hair around his fist and pulled, zeroing in on my exposed neck. I moaned and leaned back, allowing him better access.

  A loud blast snapped us out of our moment. It took a moment of panic to realize my ass was crammed against the steering wheel, pressing against the horn. I jumped forward, crushing Emmett’s face into my cleavage.

  “Mmmrmph,” he grunted against my chest.

  “Gah! Sorry!” I scrambled off his lap and back over into my own seat.

  “We should go inside,” Emmett suggested. I nodded and hopped out of the car.

  I followed Emmett to an elevator and stood next to him with my hands in my pockets. I didn’t trust them not to find their way into Emmett’s pants. Hussies.

  The elevator dinged its arrival and we stepped on. Emmett leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I know for a fact there are security cameras in these elevators. We need to keep it PG.”

  I harrumphed and leaned against the elevator wall, trying to control my breathing. My fingers were straining inside my pockets, trying desperately to escape their confines and make Emmett sing soprano. I’m telling you, they’re sluts.

  After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the top floor. Of course Emmett would own the penthouse. He unlocked a heavy, dark wood door and led me inside.

  How could he be so calm? My entire body was on fire and I had to consciously stop my eye from twitching.

  Emmett casually tossed his keys into a bowl on his side table, unclasped his watch, placed it in the same bowl and turned around slowly. His jaw was tense as he slowly brought his gaze from my toes to my lips.

  I unconsciously snuck my tongue out to lick my lower lip. Emmett’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he stepped forward to deliver an explosive kiss, crushing my back into the door. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, fisting my hands in his hair.

  It was as if his control had snapped, his kisses punishing my lips in the most delicious, intoxicating way. I moaned as his big hands cupped my ass, grinding my heat against his rigid crotch. He let go of my ass and I let my legs slide down to the floor, our lips never separating. I fumbled to unclasp his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and slid a hand down to cup his manhood. Holy free pizza, Batman. He was big and hard and so damn yummy.

  Emmett groaned as I gripped his shaft harder. The masculine sound just about sent me over the edge and he hadn’t even touched me yet. His fingers found the hem of my blouse and lifted it over my head. He took a step back to look at me. Thank goodness I wore my sexy plum demi bra!

  “You are so sexy,” he breathed before kissing me again. His hands traced over the lacy cups and found their way to the clasp in front. Suddenly, a shrill ringing broke the silence and we both groaned.

  Emmett pulled his phone out of his pocket and read the display screen.

  “Ignore it,” I whispered.

  He hesitated for a moment before silencing it and placing it in the bowl with his keys and watch.

  He stepped toward me again, his eyes on my breasts. I inched forward and ran my fingers along his strong shoulders. Just as I was leaning in to reclaim our kiss, his phone sounded again.

  Emmett rested his forehead on mine and took a deep breath before grabbing his phone. “It’s my father. I’m sorry. I need to take this,” he murmured before hitting the Talk button and disappearing into his apartment.

  I followed him in and took a look around. His apartment was huge with two walls made of windows looking out over the Chicago skyline. To the left was the most beautiful kitchen I had ever seen. Dark bamboo cabinets were accented with white granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. The eight burner gas stove made me swoon.

  Ahead and to the right was a huge living space, decorated in browns and creams. It was masculine without being a bachelor pad. He must have hired a designer.

  Emmett wa
lked back into the entryway, his pants refastened and shirt tucked in. Not a good sign.

  His eyes were apologetic as he drew me in for a hug. “I’m sorry, Anna. I have to go.”

  I pulled back and puffed out my bottom lip.

  He smiled sadly before pushing my lip back in with his finger. “There’s some sort of emergency and my father needs me. I should be back before too long. Will you wait for me?”

  I nodded and fastened a button he had missed. My heart was still pounding too aggressively for me to form words.

  “Make yourself at home. There’s food and wine in the fridge. Go ahead and find a t-shirt of mine if you’d like to change. I’ll be back before you know it.” He placed one more brief kiss on my lips before grabbing his keys and hustling out the door.

  11

  Pity parties are best served with donuts and margaritas.

  I let out a sigh which quickly turned into a very unflattering screech. It was probably a good thing we stopped when we did. I wasn’t one to jump into the physical part of a relationship without a solid emotional base. How much did I really know about Emmett? He was intelligent, witty, confident, classy, sexy as hell. He had told me about growing up as a Vance and all of the expectations that went along with it. I knew he had a sister who was finishing up her PhD at Brown. He loved dogs and was allergic to strawberries and shellfish. Was that enough to jump into bed with him? My hooha was screaming yes. My head was undecided.

  I took a few deep breaths and wandered into the living room. The couches were dark leather and looked both stylish and comfy. The room was void of many knickknacks or tacky souvenirs, but he did have a few pictures on a bookshelf. One was of a younger Emmett in a graduation cap and gown, his arm slung over a beautiful brunette who had to be his sister, the resemblance was so striking. The photos were of him with groups of friends skiing, sailing, playing tennis. Basically all the stereotypical “rich kid” activities.

  I spent the next few minutes wandering around his apartment. The place was huge, at least five times the size of my apartment. I found two guest bedrooms, a ginormous bathroom, laundry room and a home office before I discovered his master bedroom. A king size bed took up about a fourth of the space. It was neatly made with a white comforter and too many pillows to count. It looked like a cloud.

  Suddenly, I was exhausted. The gin was catching up to me. I rooted through Emmett’s dresser drawers to find a shirt to wear to bed. After drooling over an underwear drawer full of black boxer briefs, I found his t-shirts and slipped one on.

  I found the adjoining master bath and inwardly moaned. It was beautiful. The entire bathroom was done in very modern white and grey tile. There was enough counter space to bake Christmas sugar cookies and a jetted tub big enough for Santa and all of his elves. The standalone shower was large enough for ten people and had jets located on all of the walls. It was exactly what I would have designed for my dream bathroom.

  I washed my face and used Emmett’s toothbrush to scrub the nachos from my teeth before crawling into his bed. It didn’t just look like a cloud, it felt like one. I nuzzled my face into the plush pillows and inhaled Emmett’s spicy scent before falling into a deep sleep.

  When I woke up, the room was awash in sunlight and I was alone in bed. I reached over to feel the cold spot next to me. The pillow looked untouched. I climbed out of bed and padded to the bathroom to pee before venturing out into the apartment to search for Emmett. Fifteen minutes later, I concluded he wasn’t home. There wasn’t a note in the kitchen. I hadn’t received a text or call from him. Nothing.

  I called his cell and his office, leaving messages on both, and put on my clothes from the night before. After one more walk through of the apartment, I left him a note on the kitchen counter and left.

  The walk of shame is so much worse when you didn’t even do anything shameful. If I’m going to feel like a ho, I’d at least like to have acted like a ho at some point.

  It wasn’t until the cab ride back to my car that I started to feel self-conscious. Did I do something wrong? Was I too forward? He was the one who kissed me. Yes, mine were the hands in his pants, but he certainly didn’t seem to hate that.

  He left right after he took my shirt off. Oh crap, was I getting fat? I yanked my blouse up and stared at my tummy. I didn’t have a six pack, but it was flat enough.

  Upon hearing a sharp intake of breath, I looked up to meet the cab driver’s gaze in the rear view mirror.

  “Hey! Eyes on the road!” I snapped, yanking my shirt back down.

  My insecure thoughts plagued me throughout the rest of the cab ride back to work and carried on as I drove my car home. By the time I was a block from my apartment, I was having a hard time holding in the tears.

  It had been an exhausting week. Being abandoned in the heat of the moment was the last straw. I needed donuts. Lots of donuts. Just as I approached my parking garage, I made up my mind. I swerved back onto the road, cut off a minivan, flipped them the one finger salute and sped toward my favorite bakery.

  Fifteen minutes later I stood salivating in front of the bakery’s glass case. Unless something throws me off my schedule, I stick with my usual: One glazed donut, one cinnamon roll, one maple glazed donut and a chocolate donut with sprinkles. My whole week was thrown off, so I had an extra hard time deciding on a flavor or four. A gaggle of older women were standing behind me, tapping their feet and sighing dramatically.

  “For the love of God, pick a donut, lady!” one of them shouted.

  I whipped my head around and glared at the group. Nobody messes with me before my moment. Not even adorable, wrinkly grandmas. I opened my mouth to deliver a verbal smackdown when I felt a hand on my shoulder. My anger dissolved as I looked up into Eric Blake’s blue eyes. He grinned down at me and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

  “She’ll take a dozen assorted donuts,” he instructed the cashier.

  The grandmas behind me let out a collective sigh to which I responded with a stiff middle finger. Yeah, yeah. I’m probably going to Hell for flipping off a bunch of sweet grandmas Blake paid for my donuts and led me to the door.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled. “There’s no way I can eat a dozen donuts, though.”

  Blake smirked at me. “Who are you trying to kid, Jennings? I’ve seen you demolish a large deep dish pizza. You can handle twelve donuts.”

  I punched him in the shoulder as we walked toward my car. “What are you doing here anyway?” I asked.

  He opened my car door for me and held my donuts as I got in. “I knew you had a rough week. I figured you’d drown yourself in donuts and thought I’d swing by to see if I could mooch off you.”

  Blake rounded the front of my car and got in the passenger seat.

  “Um, hello? What if I wanted to drown myself in donuts all alone?” I demanded.

  “You don’t,” he replied easily.

  Damn it. He was right. I drove us back to my place, only nearly killing us twice. By the time we pulled into my parking space, Blake was looking a little green. I patted him on the shoulder, grabbed the bag of donuts and got out of the car.

  As I hit the call button for the elevator, Eric tugged on my coat. “Come on. We’re taking the stairs. If you’re going to eat that many donuts, you can at least get some cardio beforehand.”

  I grumbled and followed him to the stairwell.

  We ascended the first flight side by side. During the second flight, I attempted to stay one step ahead of him. On the third flight, Blake cut in front of me to be two steps ahead of me. By the time we hit the twelfth floor, we were in an all-out sprint and I was seriously regretting the nachos from the night before.

  Blake was three steps ahead of me, six steps from the top. Ever the competitive freak, I lunged forward to grab his pant leg, hoping to drag him down. Instead, my hand missed his pant leg, my foot missed the next step and I fell forward, bashing my knee and chin into the concrete steps.

  Blake, the bastard, merely cast a brief glance in my direction before ra
cing up the final steps. Once there, he did a small victory jig before descending to check on me.

  “Hey Super Clutz. Are you alright?” he asked as he helped me to my feet.

  “Owwww…” I moaned as I looked down my bloody knee; the same knee I had banged up earlier that week. Blake grabbed my hands to check my palms. My empty hands. Wha!?

  “THE DONUTS!” I squealed. I whipped around to go after them and would have fallen down the remaining stairs had Blake not reached out to steady me.

  “I’ll get the donuts. You get the door,” he said, gently shoving me back up the stairs.

  I gingerly walked up to my landing and unlocked my door. Blake fallowed behind me, the bag of donuts cradled in his arms like a newborn.

  “It was a close call, but I think they’re going to make it,” he joked as he set the box on my kitchen counter.

  “You’re hysterical,” I replied sarcastically. “I don’t think you quite grasp the important of those donuts.”

  I started a pot of coffee and pulled plates down from the cupboard as I tried to ignore how comfortable he looked in my apartment.

  “Oooo! Plates! Getting fancy for your boss, eh?” Blake teased.

  I opened the bag and shoved a donut in his mouth. “Less talky. More eaty.”

  When the coffee was finished brewing, I poured us each a cup and sat next to him at my breakfast bar.

  “So really,” I said between bites of pastry heaven. “What were you doing at my bakery?”

  “I told you the truth. I was there because I knew you had a shitty week and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him, still not believing he was being nice for no reason.

  “I’m fine. I went out with some coworkers last night and had a few drinks.”

  He cast a pointed look at my ensemble. “Isn’t that the same outfit you wore yesterday?” he asked. “Tell me you slept it off at Sarah’s place or something.”