By Appointment Only

by Lisa Eugene

  “Chase!” I gasped, not giving a shit about my pride at the moment. “I—I need you!”

  “I want you to come for me, Danielle,” he whispered. “Open wider so I can see your pretty pussy.”

  My heels dug into the edge of the desk, knees falling open. I was soaked now, consumed with awareness of my desire and my profound reaction to this man. I’d never stepped so far out on a ledge with anyone, and now he was asking me to jump.

  Without much thought, I took a headlong dive and submerged myself in pleasure. I bucked and drove two fingers inside my pussy, gasping at the strong pulsations fluttering through my channel. My sex contracted again and again, dragging me closer to the edge of pure rapture.

  “Say my name when you come, Dani. Fucking say it!”

  I moved my drenched fingers to my clit and strummed hard, grinding my swollen bulb, and rocking an explosion of bliss through my body. My back bowed off the desk, my muscles seized, and I choked out a noise that sounded inhuman. For one fleeting moment, my red painted toes came to mind simply because they were curling. I shouted into the room, my watcher’s name rushing off my lips in a long, desperate plea.

  It took a while for my breathing to return to normal. I stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and blind with wonder. I couldn’t believe the intensity of my orgasm, the aftershocks were still shaking through me. And as satisfying as it had been, it still left me wet and needy. There was so much I didn’t understand about this man, about what we were doing. More questions crowded in my head, one after another lining up like eager soldiers. Why did he never touch me?

  “Chase . . . why?” I licked my dry lips, suddenly nervous again. “Why don’t you—I mean we could . . .”

  “Get dressed, Danielle.” His voice was harsh, impatient.

  Confused, I lifted up on my elbows to look at him. He was a few paces away, his back stiff and his features chiseled from granite. At first I thought he was angry, but then my gaze moved further down his body. Holy shit! The fabric of his pants tented so stiffly there was no disputing the massive erection outlined between his thighs. His fists balled tight at his sides, and his chest rose and fell with reckless breaths. It was obvious he was trying very hard to control his arousal.

  The sight left me even more confused.

  “I don’t understand. Why deny yourself? Why don’t—”

  “I said to fucking get dressed!” he scraped out roughly.

  Okay . . . now he was angry. And I, for the life of me, couldn’t understand why. If anything, I was the one who had reason to be upset. I’d trampled common sense, come to his office, done everything he’d asked, and I’d been left needy, unfulfilled, and confused—again. Perhaps he was afraid I’d expect more than he was willing to give, maybe he was afraid I’d misinterpret things.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I know what this is about, Chase. I’m old enough to have no-strings-attached sex. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  Silence met my words, and when I looked at him, I was confused. He looked hurt. His features seemed almost haunted, and the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. A mask of indifference quickly slid over his face, then his jaw squared angrily.

  With a blunt curse, I sat upright. If I was upset, I had no one to blame but myself. After the last few times I’d spent with him, how could I have expected anything to be different? Chase was a closed book I’d never get to read, an unsolvable mystery.

  I pulled my clothes on, avoiding looking at him. Brisk steps pounded toward the bar area, and I chanced a glance at him beneath my lashes. He poured another drink, only this time, tilted his head back, and dispatched it in one quick swallow. I watched the strong column of his throat work it down, annoyed because I found even that sexy. My body responded, wet and liquid with illogical need.

  “Next week you’ll shave for me, Dani. I want your pussy bare.” He was still standing behind the bar, arms braced and shoulders bunched, his blue eyes tracking me like homing missiles.

  I finished pulling on my sneakers and rolled my eyes with a sarcastic flourish.

  “I want . . . I want . . . I want . . .” My voice was as mocking as an ill-tempered child’s at a playground. Picking up my purse, I slung it over my shoulder. “Well, what about what I want?” I asked, walking toward the door. Flipping him the finger, I yelled, “Fuck off! Go find someone else to play with!”

  I slipped quickly through the mahogany doors and ran to the safety of an open elevator, the thunderous roar of my name chasing me.

  ***

  The next evening, I picked Emmy up from school. Mrs. Nancy had escorted her to the lobby, greeting me with one of her ear-to-ear grins. Instantly, I knew she was up to something. Emmy stood beside her, her hair neatly pulled back and her backpack in tow.

  “The board gave their approval for Emily to perform at graduation. They were amazed when they heard her play. In fact, they would like to invite some administrators from other schools to see her, maybe a news crew.”

  I bit my lip, growing pensive for a moment.

  “It’s totally up to you,” Mrs. Nancy added quickly, seeing my uncertainty. “This would all need your approval, of course.”

  “I thought it would only be for the other students and the teachers here.”

  She nodded. “Primarily, but the board wants to invite some other executives. I’m sure they want to show off and promote the school.”

  I frowned. Rutherford Academy offered an array of programs, and it did a lot to help each student reach his or her potential, but I couldn’t ignore the apprehension starting to creep in. I was proud of my daughter, and although it would be great to showcase her incredible gift, I didn’t want her exploited.

  “Let me give it some thought,” I said to Mrs. Nancy.

  The older lady nodded amiably. “Is there a way for her to practice outside of school? She needs someone to start her off, but I could teach you just a few notes.”

  “No, we don’t own a piano,” I responded. No doubt the school’s usual clientele could afford to have musical instruments in their home.

  “No worries. We can work on our pieces here. And if you have time on the weekends, you can bring her to the school to practice.”

  “I’ll let you know about the administrators and the news media,” I said, walking away with Emmy.

  Arriving home, I was surprised to see the mailman at my door. He usually deposited the mail into the battered metal box downstairs unless I had to sign for it. In his hand was a large, manila envelope.

  “I just knocked,” he explained as I approached. “This is for you. Certified.”

  I grimaced. Certified mail. This couldn’t be good. Only bad news, overdue bills, and threats from collection agencies came certified. If I’d seen him before I’d approached the door, I would’ve turned and crept back downstairs. Reluctantly, I signed for the envelope.

  “What do you think, Em?” I asked, opening the door. “Who do we owe money to this time?”

  Swinging the door closed with my hip, I tore open the top of the large envelope. It seemed empty. Strange. Something slid along the bottom. Reaching in, I frowned when I found a small card inside.

  A familiar business card with slanted black script.

  Seriously?

  Next Tuesday’s date and 6:00 p.m. was neatly penned on the back along with a note. I read the broad strokes, imagining them formed by long, slender fingers.

  You forgot this. See you next week. Please come . . . CR

  Something else rolled along the bottom of the envelope and I delved inside. All I could do was shake my head in disbelief at the sight of the small yellow button.

  ***

  CHASE

  Irritated, I slid a glance at my Rolex. This meeting was running way too long, and I had a packed schedule for the day. Besides meeting with the Metropolitan Transportation Authority and the Teacher’s Union, I had a half dozen more stops this afternoon. Flex-Steel was still consuming too much of my time. I’d officially stepped down as COO to run fo
r NYC mayor, but until the company found a replacement, I’d agreed to oversee some of their major operations. With the pollution scandal and the environmentalists riding our asses, it looked like it might be a long while before I could fully step away. I scanned the faces of the six members of the board as they listened to Robert, our CEO, talk about his plans for expansion and the growth of Flex-Steel. My anger boiled to molten disgust with his every word.

  Leaning back in the heavy leather chair, I tuned him out, letting my thoughts drift to my upcoming appointment on Tuesday at 6:00 p.m. Just one more day. I couldn’t wait. Anticipation bubbled inside me like a living thing as I pictured my beautiful Danielle, the honest pleasure on her face, and the treasure of her succulent body. My cock grew hard and impatient beneath the conference table, and I was glad for the barrier.

  Danielle was singular, a precious jewel. I could tell from the moment I met her that she’d been honed with the spirit of fire and a blissfully intense passion. I’d tried to push her away with rude indifference and callous anger, but she’d invaded my thoughts while her feisty nature awoke a dormant curiosity.

  I wanted her. God! I wanted her so badly I vibrated with my inappropriate need. Squeezing my eyes shut, I swallowed down the pain of wanting and ignored the dark shadows of my sin. I could choose to selfishly live in the present, to wrap myself in the emotional lust of hot desire, but giving up—giving in—would only further damn my soul. But how could I stop when I craved her so desperately? How could I save her from certain heartbreak when I couldn’t save myself?

  The silence of the room caused my eyes to flip open. Robert had finished with his vapid speech. I glared in his direction, my thoughts switching to the uphill battle I had ahead of me.

  ***

  Wanda’s brown eyes were wide and dubious. “You mean nothing happened again?”

  I shook my head, stirring the pot of Ramen noodles bubbling on the stove. Emmy sat at the coffee table in the other room, eating a bowl of pasta I’d made for her.

  “Nada,” I responded. “Well, other than my solo performance.”

  She tapped her lips pensively. “Hmm . . . maybe he only likes to watch . . . you know . . . like a voyeur.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the passive type.”She gave it more thought, her eyes narrowing wisely. “He’s an older man, isn’t he? Maybe he can’t pop a chub.”

  I shook my head. “Girl, it’s more like a club, and it was ready to beat its way out of his pants.” “Okay, then maybe he’s shy, awkward with women.”

  “Shy? The man had me spread out on his desk like a weekend lunch buffet,” I whispered hotly. “That is not shy!”

  My friend erupted with laughter, and it was contagious. Despite my frustration, I laughed along.

  “Maybe he’s an esthetician,” Wanda ventured, twisting her braids into a bun at her nape. “He appreciates beauty. He looks at you like a piece of fine art, or a rare painting.”

  “Well, in my museum, there’s no rule against touching the artwork.”

  Leaning back in the kitchen chair, Wanda eyed the small bowl of soup I deposited in front of her. She’d declined earlier, but I forced it on her. She didn’t want to be another mouth I had to feed, but I knew she’d eat it just to make me happy, to make my situation feel less desperate.

  “Will you keep your next appointment?”

  “I don’t know. He really pissed me off the last time.”

  She quirked a brow and drawled, “But . . .”

  “I don’t know . . .” I sighed heavily as I thought about it. I wasn’t just angry, I was hurt. Hurt and frustrated. Old insecurities crept in like rainwater seeping through a leaky roof, bringing the backwash of my life with it.

  “He’s not Steven, Danielle,” Wanda stated, accurately reading my mood. “He wants you. He obviously gets pleasure out of watching you, or he wouldn’t have asked you back.”

  I pulled out a drawer, looking for spoons, then shrugged casually, avoiding eye contact.

  Wanda snickered. “And you enjoyed yourself.” It wasn’t a question. “I know he frustrates you, but I can see excitement in your eyes when you talk about him, excitement I haven’t seen in a long time.”

  I found two spoons and wanted to throw one at her. “He’s just so weir—eccentric.”

  Wanda laughed again. “Stop analyzing everything. This is what he’s into. Go with it. Who knows where it might lead.”

  I planted a hand at my hip. My mouth gaped open. “This from a woman who wouldn’t let a man spank her ass!” I whispered accusingly.

  Wanda’s white teeth flashed. “I wasn’t enjoying myself. There’s a difference.”

  Picking up my bowl, I headed into the living room to join Emmy, Wanda following. Emmy was still eating, deep in concentration as she arranged rubber bands in precise rows on the coffee table. My gaze moved to the ceiling where the plaster was starting to peel and roll back from the stain, cracks fanning out like crow’s feet. I didn’t think we needed to walk around wearing hardhats, but it was a definite eyesore—along with everything else in the apartment.

  “Has he said anything more about the car door?” Wanda asked, pulling my attention.

  I sat on the floor and twirled noodles around in my bowl. “No. And I’m not bringing it up again if he doesn’t.” I had a feeling, though, that Chase hadn’t forgotten.

  “Oh, Emmy!” Wanda turned as though just remembering something. She rolled up her sleeve, pulled two rubber bands off her wrist, and handed them to Emmy.

  Emmy immediately got to work on setting them in the right spot. Although I didn’t understand my daughter’s obsession, the rubber bands were treasured possessions. She kept them close and never shared, handling them with painstaking care.

  I watched from the floor as she lined them up, wishing I could take instruction from my daughter on how to put my own life into such perfect order.

  ***

  Flex-Steel was a top story in the news all week. More allegations surfaced regarding improper waste disposal in its Thailand plant. The Thai government was also under scrutiny for turning a blind eye since the factory helped to bolster its failing economy. The CEO of Flex-Steel, Robert Chapman, an older, more severe version of Chase, made another statement to the media denying any wrongdoing. He assured the public that Flex-Steel had been cooperative, working closely with the Thai government to investigate the false allegations.

  I found myself tuned to the news as I did chores around the house. Despite the statement from the CEO, the media hounded Chase for a comment. As a prominent politician, he was a bull’s-eye for criticism. There was mostly footage of him entering or leaving the Flex-Steel building. He’d respond to questions with a dismissive “no comment” or “we’ve already addressed those issues” as he hurried away. My stomach quivered with awareness every time I saw him. Despite the obvious strain shadowing his eyes, he looked impossibly handsome.

  I’d just put Emmy to bed when I walked into the living room and caught the tail end of a news segment. A reporter was obnoxiously stalking Chase and harassing him for a comment. I could tell he was barely leashing his anger. This time he wasn’t in front of Flex-Steel. He was walking out of a Manhattan hospital, Beth Israel, an institution known for long term care and its cancer specialists.

  He had a palm raised, keeping the news camera out of his face. I stopped short, my chest twisting tight. He looked like shit. His usually olive skin was pale, exhaustion lining his face and concealing secrets in his eyes. The short man who I’d seen at the Academy with the clipboard was by his side, along with Senator Kensington.

  The short man elbowed angrily in front of the reporter, blocking the camera with an outstretched hand.

  “For God sake, Mr. Rutherford has no comment. He’d like you to please respect his privacy. He will not discuss personal issues. If you have concerns regarding Flex-Steel, the company has appointed a representative to field all questions.”

  My mouth went dry as I watched Chase and his two companions slip int
o the back of a waiting town car.

  Personal issues? Why is he coming out of a hospital?

  Was something wrong? Did he have a medical condition he was trying to keep private?

  I waited, muscles tensed, for the reporter to divulge some relevant bit of information, but instead, he droned on about the other candidates in the mayoral race and the controversy surrounding Flex-Steel.

  Sinking into the couch, more questions circled in my head.

  Is Chase ill?

  I stared blindly at the screen, realizing I knew very little about Chase Rutherford.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I was running late. I’d missed my express train, then the local seemed to dawdle at every station, fostering hostility among disgruntled commuters. I didn’t use my car much anymore. The price of gas was blatant robbery, and parking in the city was an epic battle to wedge into a microscopic space.

  I walked into the marble lobby of the Flex-Steel building and took the elevator to the forty-eighth floor. Nervous excitement shook my fingers and rolled through my belly. Seeing Chase on TV only served to tease and torment my body, to crank up a need I tried hard not to acknowledge. The last time I’d left his office, I’d been annoyed, angry at his high-handed demands and the fact that he’d held himself back when he’d obviously wanted me.

  Whatever his reasons, he wasn’t about to share them with me. He was a private man, and I should respect that. I had a feeling the more I pushed, the more he’d shut himself off. In many ways, we were similar; both stubborn and each possessing a strong personality. We could spend our time butting heads, or I could just listen to Wanda and enjoy his company, take the moment for what it was.