by Lila Monroe
Think of unsexy things, I tell myself, unconsciously clenching my thighs together. Washing dishes. Frogspawn. The smell in the subway on a hot day.
It’s not working. Because I would happily whiff sweaty armpits all day if it meant I got to spend five minutes pressed up against Nick, feeling his body encircle me. Safe, and warm, and sexy as all get out.
My hands slide down his chest, just a little, but I swear, I feel him inhale in a rush.
Hmm.
I sway closer, just to test my theory. And, yes, I feel Nick tense. A good tense? A “holding myself back from ravishing her” tense?
Or a “damn, I wish she’d worn more deodorant” tense?
There’s only one way to find out. Before I can talk myself out of it, I rest my head on his shoulder, in that perfect nook against his neck.
Nick relaxes, his arms tightening around me. He lifts one hand, and gently strokes my hair, and fuck, I can’t play it safe anymore.
I need to break the rules.
I take a deep breath, and lift my head, just as Nick tilts his down. Our lips meet in the middle.
And just like that, we’re kissing again.
15
Nick
It’s hot and close and pitch black in this closet. But while I can’t see, the rest of my senses are in overdrive.
I kiss Alice deeper, teasing her mouth open and stroking inside. God, she’s hot. She’s pressed up against me, all warm, soft curves. All I can taste is her. And her little gasps? Fucking hell, I want to bury myself in her.
This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. But goddamn it, it feels like the best idea in the world right now.
Necessary.
I growl and drag her closer, pressing her up against the back wall of the closet so I can feel every inch. I yank her hoodie off and toss it aside. Her lips are soft and needy as her tongue tangles with mine. Her splayed palms smooth around my waist to my back, pulling me closer, and she arches up against me, pressing into the hardness that sprung to attention five seconds after we found this hiding place. It’s been torture, wanting her like this, but now there’s no holding back. My need for her is so strong and undeniable it’s almost animal.
I could tell myself it’s the adrenaline rush from nearly being caught. But the truth is, I’ve been wanting her for days—weeks, even. It’s been building to this.
It’s her.
She slides her hands through my hair, moaning as I palm her breast in my hand. I growl against her mouth, and then kiss my way down her neck, licking and sucking as I grind against her. Fuck, it’s hot—forbidden, and dangerous, and damn if I don’t want to yank her jeans down and fuck her right here, the hell with who hears us.
Like Janssen?
Fuck. I remember myself just in time. We’re in a closet at Janssen’s mansion. That we’ve broken into, for Christ’s sake. This is the height of stupid.
And I don’t make messy mistakes like this. Discreet, professional, in control.
Then Alice captures my mouth again, and fuck, I’m losing myself in her all over again: feeling the lush curve of her ass with one hand, while the other roves across her breasts again.
I ache to taste them, feel them on my tongue. But this closet is too fucking small. So I have to make do with sliding my thumbs across her nipples, kneading and pinching, feeling her get even harder.
A sexy little moan comes out of her. It makes my cock twitch.
“Nick,” she breathes.
I wait for more: a request, a demand, another moan. But instead, her hand slides around to my front and strokes over my cock.
A groan escapes me. Even through my pants, it’s almost more than I can take. I lean in, sucking her neck, moving up behind her ear, loving the taste of her, feeling the thrum of her racing pulse. Wishing I could taste more of her. My hand finds the waistband of her yoga pants and eases inside.
I pause a moment, waiting for her response. She moans and presses into my hand, and that’s all the encouragement I need. I stroke lower, down, under her panties. She is hot. And wet. No, soaked. Fucking hell.
She says my name again and starts moving her hand, stroking my cock through my pants. The pressure is both not enough and too much at the same time.
I’m dizzy, it feels so good, and I’m helpless to keep from dry humping into her. I feel like a green kid again, but this time, at least I have some skills. I press the heel of my palm gently against her, right over her clit, easing a finger inside. Then a second. She pushes against me, rocking into my hand.
“God, Nick,” she breathes. “Right there. Please . . .”
I love that she’s reduced to begging, though I’m not far off myself.
I push back from her to get a better angle so I can make her come. It doesn’t take long, just an even, steady pressure as I beckon my fingers inside her and pulse against her clit. Alice’s whole body tenses, and then she sinks her head against my shoulder and cries out, her voice muffled as her body comes apart and shudders against me.
“Wow,” she whispers, stepping back, unsteady.
I manage a mumbled groan. I deserve a million gold stars for what I’m about to do next, because instead of shoving Alice up against the wall and fucking her until she’s screaming my name, I open the closet door, step out, and put a couple of feet of empty space between me and her incredible body.
“Time to go,” I say shortly. “Before anyone else comes to visit.”
And before I cross a line from which there’s no going back.
“So that was fun,” Alice says when we’re on the road back to the condo.
“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” I smirk, with a note of pride in my voice.
“Oh my God,” she snorts, bringing her hands up to her face. I think she’s starting to cry, when a second later I realize she’s laughing.
This girl. I never know what’s going to come out of her next. I look back at the road. “What’s going on?”
“I meant the cat burglar part was fun, I didn’t mean . . . ugh . . . wait. The closet was fun, but . . . in a . . . God. Shut up, Alice!”
I sort of love how flustered she is. But I need to focus on the real issue here. “Were you going to say it was a mistake?”
She gulps. “Oh . . . yeah. Mistake. That’s what I was going to say. We definitely need to stay professional and not get tangled up in . . .” She waves ambiguously. “You know.”
“Right,” I agree, even as my cock thinks otherwise.
“Because I’m just your fake fiancée. I don’t know what I was thinking, back there. I was just . . .”
“Trying to get a rise out of me?” I tease. “Because I think we both know: mission accomplished.”
She gurgles something. And then laughs. “I blame Mrs. Janssen and her bad puns.”
I refrain from pointing out that it wasn’t the puns that were pressing up against me in that closet.
“Anyway. What I did was inappropriate,” she adds, sounding stern. “And dangerous. And stupid. Especially when you didn’t even want me here tonight. I’m really sorry, Nick.”
She’s right, but still, I can’t hold it against her. “I’m glad you came,” I say instead.
She snorts. “We shouldn’t . . .” She clears her throat. “We need to stay focused. It won’t happen again. We should just put it behind us.”
Probably not a good idea to mention I’d really like to get behind her. I nod and keep my mouth shut, eyes on the road.
Back to awkward as hell.
I don’t know who ever came up with the idea that cold showers are a way to diffuse sexual tension but they were full of shit. Unless “cold shower” is a euphemism for jerking off under a spray of water. Because that’s what it takes to wear down the edges of my arousal enough to think beyond my dick.
When I come out of my bedroom for a drink, Alice is sitting at the kitchen island, looking intently at a laptop. She glances up at me, pushing her cute librarian glasses up her nose. My cock twitches. Not twenty minutes after all that sex
ual release went down the drain in my shower.
You’re in big trouble, Cameron.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
She clears her throat and I notice her eyes slide down my bare chest on their way to her laptop screen. A shirt would have been a good idea, but I can’t say I hate the way she checks me out.
“Just looking at the pictures you took tonight. Thanks for loading them to that shared file.”
Leave it to her to go back to actual work while I work myself over in the shower. I grab a water and gulp, trying to cool down. Again. “Anything noteworthy?”
“Well, the good news is that the file is for a new product.” She screws up her face into a frown as she looks up at me. “But it looks like pretty standard stuff for a company getting ready to launch a new product. Marketing plans, focus group reports—which are all very favorable—lots of purchase orders and distribution reports, blah, blah, blah. There’s no hint it came from Lainey, and no real details about the actual bar itself. That’s all under wraps, top secret.”
“So, not the kind of thing we need.”
She shakes her head. “Not that anyone with half a brain would put ‘stealing trade secrets’ down on paper, but . . .” She shrugs.
“We need to go deeper,” I say.
Her eyes widen enough to make me laugh.
“With the investigation,” I clarify.
She swallows and nods, her cheeks pinking in a way that make me seriously consider another shower.
“Right,” she says. “I’m working on it. There’s someone who works in research and development, I could ask a few questions, see what comes up.”
“Good call,” I say.
“Nick . . .” She pauses, and I wonder if she’s about to say, Screw professionalism, take me now. “Do you ever wonder if you’re really the good guy?”
“What?” That stops me dead.
“I just mean . . .” Alice sighs. “Tonight was a close one, but we were breaking in. And snooping, and lying to the Janssens and everyone at CandyShack. I know that was always the plan, but, I don’t know, it just feels like we’re doing all kinds of shady stuff. Is it OK?”
“You mean, ethically.” I exhale. “Look, in my line of work, the lines get blurred. It’s why people hire me—to do the things that they can’t. Sometimes the only way to do the right thing is to do the wrong thing, but for the right reasons.”
Alice frowns.
“I mean, take this case,” I explain. “If CandyShack really has stolen Lainey’s recipe, then the only way to expose them—to bring them to justice—is to find the proof. Otherwise, they’ll get away with it.”
“And if it turns out that they haven’t?”
“Then what have we really done?” I point out. “Yes, we’ve lied to people, and snooped around, but we haven’t stolen anything, and we’re not using any of the info we’ve found. We’ll disappear, and CandyShack won’t even know anything happened. No harm, no foul.”
“I guess . . .” Alice looks a little happier. “I guess I’m just not used to lying. It’s different in movies and books,” she adds with a wry smile.
She’s got a conscience. Is it crazy that I find that sexy, too? The more I see her in action, the more I realize how wrong I was. I wrote her off as a meek and mousy assistant with a cute librarian look. I thought she’d work as a sweet trophy wife, nothing more. But something about her had caught my attention. Now that I’m working with her, I see her for what she really is.
My secret weapon.
16
Alice
If I’m nervous about how things are going to be between Nick and me after that orgasmic closet encounter, I shouldn’t have worried. Because Nick . . . acts like it never happened.
Oh, he’s perfectly nice: cracking jokes and being his usual, charming, infuriating self, but he’s been mostly MIA, gone early in the mornings and not back until late in the evenings. He says he’s doing research, and I’m sure he is because this case is making him crazy. It’s also a good excuse for him to stay away. He must know my promise to not jump his bones is one I’ll have trouble keeping.
Especially if he keeps walking around the condo without a shirt on. Has he no idea? God, I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s doing it on purpose.
So, I focus on my new (fake) job, instead. Learning the ropes at CandyShack occupies most of my time, especially while I’m on the lookout for suspicious activity and clues. By the end of the week, I’m in the conference room at CandyShack, using the big table to put together bound product packages for the new chocolate bars. Of course, I’ve read them. But it’s all the same stuff Nick and I found in the folder. Legit stuff. Boring stuff.
I push down hard on the lever of the big heavy-duty three-hole punch. I have to put all my weight into it. The paper gives way with a loud ker-chunk! as the punch goes through the thirty-six pages of the package. It’s physical work, but not the kind that would help work out all my frustrations. And I have many.
First, there’s this case. I mean, seriously, where the hell is the paper trail? It’s not files. And it’s not emails. (I’ve done an extensive search of Mr. Janssen’s Outlook and the only thing questionable in there are gross emails from Tiffany that should not be on a work server.)
So, the trail must be money. But so far, other than a cheating CEO with excess hair issues, the company seems squeaky clean. Through my access to the HR portal, I haven’t been able to find Lainey’s ex-employee, Trent, on the payroll. No off-cycle bonuses have been issued to anyone. No firings. No new employees whose timelines match the theft. So that means someone within the company made a payout of some sort.
All weekend, I went through the dossiers and all the data we’ve been able to gather.
Nothing.
So where’s the money?
Did they pay off someone with jelly beans? I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. I mean, seriously, Nick and I are pretty smart people; we should be able to figure this out.
Nick.
Nick kissing me.
Nick’s fingers–
KER-CHUNK!
How does my brain just melt around him? I know all the reasons that falling into bed with him would be a terrible idea, but late at night, I lie there, knowing he’s just down the hall. I imagine his hands on my body again, and his mouth . . .
KER-CHUNK!
Screw it, I need a distraction. As I glance up the clock, I realize it’s been hours since I caffeinated. Time for my break.
When I arrive in the lunch room, I notice a guy in a lab coat sitting at one of the tables. I’ve seen him around and know he’s the head of the research and development team. But Tiffany’s kept me so busy with what I suspect is all of her work, I haven’t had a chance to meet many people yet.
The man is in his early thirties with short ginger hair, a wide, waxed moustache, and round Harry Potter-like glasses over hazel eyes. He’s sort of got a hipster-meets-mad-scientist vibe going on, which totally works on him.
“Hi,” I say as I drop into the chair beside him. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Alice. I work in Mr. Janssen’s office.
“Benji,” he says. “Head developer here.”
“Oh!” I say with a smile. “Like CandyShack’s own Willy Wonka?”
As in Project Wonka?
“I suppose.” He rolls his eyes but he’s grinning. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand across the table.
A pop of color catches my eye as we shake hands. “Hey, are those jelly beans on your tie?”
He glances down. “Guilty.”
“Love it,” I say.
He smiles. “So, you’re Tiffany’s new helper?”
“Yes,” I say. But I want to keep the topic on him. “So, if you’re the head developer, you must be behind the new bar, then.”
He just nods.
Hmmm. Pretty tight-lipped under that moustache.
I look around the room and then lean in close. “Oh, I know it’s a secret,” I
fib. “But I’ve been preparing the marketing materials, so I know about it.”
“Right,” he says. “Well . . . We’re very excited about it.”
“How did the idea come to you?” I ask, still fishing. “It’s ingenious.”
“Really? I thought it seemed obvious,” he replies.
“Well, yes, like all the best ideas, right?” I babble. “The minute you see them, you’re like, ‘Why did nobody think of this before?’ ”
“Right.” He laughs, then reaches for his phone, signaling the end of that conversation.
He’s obviously not going to give anything up. I wonder, is he the kind of guy to steal someone else’s recipe?
“I hear it’s going to be a big deal. It must be good.” I try again.
“We can’t talk about it before the internal launch,” he says quietly and firmly, then suddenly pushes back from his chair. “I should get back. Nice to meet you, Alice,” he says with a smile.
Just then, Suzie comes in, her lipstick-stained mug in her hand.
“Suzie,” Benji says. “When you get back to your desk, can you schedule a meeting with Franz so we can talk about the supply chain? I’m concerned we’re going to run short on a couple ingredients.”
“Of course,” she replies.
Benji exits, leaving Suzie at the coffee machine. Time for round two.
“Do you like working for him?” I ask casually once he’s gone from the room.
“Yeah,” she says. “He’s a good boss. Forgetful sometimes. Like, he’s asked me to schedule that meeting with Franz twice.” She rolls her eyes, but with good humor. “It’s already scheduled. But he’s a genius with chocolate, so . . .”
Is he really a genius with chocolate? Or a genius at stealing other people’s formulations?
“How long has he worked here?” I try to sound casual.
“Not that long.” She looks up as she thinks. “Maybe . . . a year or so?”
“Oh really? Where did he come from?”
