by Angel Payne
I’m actually thankful for my next wave of astonishment. How did he get down from the tower so fast? And looking like he’s been at some thousand-bucks-a-ticket gala or awards dinner, instead of giving me shit from his desktop in his dark office?
“Mr. Richards.” Neeta really looks ready to actually curtsy, only I wonder how that’ll work in her fitted navy pantsuit. I’m glad I chose a similar ensemble. If I’m not wearing a skirt, the man can’t even think of invading his way up it—though the silver fire in his gaze leads me to believe he went there for a second. Maybe more than a second.
“Miss Jain.” He nods with regal deference. “Have I interrupted?”
“No, no.” Neeta’s gaze zips back to me, flaring with meaning. “As a matter of fact, Miss Crist was just thinking of calling up to you.”
“Is that so?” He jogs a brow, making me wonder if he might really be descended from nobility. The subtext in his eyebrows alone likely sent a few heretics to the guillotine in years past. “What a nice idea. I wouldn’t have even had to shout about it.”
As I glare, Neeta jolts. “Shout about it? Why?” Again, I wonder if she’s about to nosedive for the floor. “Is everything all right? Is there something we can do for you?”
“Nothing I can’t take care of myself.”
His gaze, gorgeous and glistening, doesn’t leave me.
Neeta’s stare, pensive and penetrating, doesn’t leave him.
“Okay,” she finally says, very slowly—preparing the air for a pause as murky as his eyes.
At last, Reece fully enters the room and refreshes the expectancy in his gaze. “So…Miss Crist? There’s something you wanted to discuss?”
Neeta’s smile is brilliant, framed by her toffee-shaded lipstick. “Ah, yes. She did.”
“I didn’t.” I burn a meaningful glare her way. “Nothing yet, at least.” I gaze back to him. Whoa. Even pulling my focus for ten seconds instigates another first-look rush. “Besides, you seem to be having a busy night.”
“Have had.” He shrugs, rumpling his formalwear into even more delicious angles, before clarifying. “Dinner with an old friend. I was on my way up to the office but realized it might be a good idea to check up on things in the trenches.”
“The trenches are fine.” I insert it before Neeta can formulate anything more. “All systems just grand.”
“Outstanding.” He unleashes a smile that should be registered as a lethal weapon. Neeta practically simpers. He seems to notice but not notice, if that makes any sense, before stating, “So you won’t mind if I glance at the latest guest satisfaction numbers?”
“Of course not.”
“Outstanding.” He accentuates every syllable, turning every one of them into aural caresses—so smoothly diabolical in his intent, my senses take a second to catch up. By the time they do, he’s already pivoting to Neeta, arms casually folded. “But I’m sure you have other duties to attend, Miss Jain. Don’t let me keep you.”
If my gaze were daggers…
I’d never understood the idiom until this moment, having to pretend the man’s suggestion means nothing more than business-as-usual when sensual intent flows like quicksilver from the back of his gaze. Even Neeta picks up on that blatant energy now. Her glances are curious, her shuffle slow, as she turns toward the door. “Of… Of course, Mr. Richards. I’ll just be in my office should you need anything, but Emma’s been right on top of the satisfaction scales.”
His gaze thickens. The edges of his mouth become perfect parentheses for his shit-eating leer. “Satisfaction.” He rubs a thumb along his lower lip. “Oh, I’ve no doubt about that…but really look forward to hearing about it from Miss Crist in greater detail. Much greater.”
Part 2
Chapter One
Reece
I’m not really a “meetings” guy.
I prefer to log most of my hours in the office during the late afternoons and nights, trusting that the leadership team of the Brocade, my family’s high-end hotel in downtown Los Angeles, have been hired wisely for the jobs they know how to do well. If the numbers in everyone’s reports add up to the results for which we’re aiming, why have a meeting to micromanage the issue? I’d rather get to the good stuff: rewarding them for the jobs they’ve done well.
But right now, “micromanaging” has a nice ring to it.
A damn nice ring.
Almost as nice as the faint chimes in my ears as I wave goodbye to Neeta Jain, the manager of the hotel’s night crew, adding a crisp nod to indicate she can shut the door on her way out…
Effectively locking me inside the room with the manager to whom the space belongs.
Emmalina Crist.
The woman who, just a few nights ago, had me silently comparing her to a velveteen bunny.
So now, am I caging myself in with the killer version of that bunny?
Holy fuck, I hope so. Especially after the night I’ve just had. Dinner with a friend? That’s got to be the tritest gloss-over of the century, but no way in hell am I about to confess the truth to the woman for whom I’ve fallen like a chunk of hail out of a bulging rain storm. What Emma and I have is as new as a blown glass vase that hasn’t even cooled yet. Informing her I went to dinner with my ex, in all of Angelique La Salle’s most sultry blond glory, would be like lobbing gravel at the vase.
And trying to explain that I had no choice? That Angelique would’ve made life progressively worse if I hadn’t sucked it up and gone to her? Screw the gravel and start with the river stones—which might as well have come from the River Styx in hell, since that’s what a meal with the bitch had felt like. That’s not such a departure from the truth, considering the woman betrayed me to a gang of scientific madmen and their electronic torture chamber.
So, “friend” might be stretching it. Juuussst a bit.
I’m ready to forget that now. To put Angelique—and even all those dark months—far behind me. To forget even my superhero style fuck you to the Consortium. As lousy as that’ll be for business, it might even do the city some good. Maybe the criminals around here will slither back into their holes instead of attempting fuckery in the name of superstardom.
Fate has offered me something so much better to focus on. Beauty. This beauty. The woman willing to hand me her truth straight, even if that story includes her backed-in-a-corner glare as she secures herself behind the desk.
She points at her monitor, now swiveled sideways atop the desk, and then at the chair Neeta just occupied. “You’ll be able to see all the reports from there. I’ll stay back here.”
“If that’s the way you want it.” I say it with confidence because I mean it—and because she doesn’t. She just doesn’t know it yet. She still wants to deal with me from her corner. Still insists on putting me in a corner. The idea of me, at least. I’m still her safe little box of an explanation—the billionaire bad boy and his little temporary toy—and maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe, ironically, the notoriety of the man I used to be is going to serve a greater purpose of all. Keeping her emotions at a safe distance.
Because I sure as hell don’t know where my boundaries about this shit went.
Or if they ever existed to begin with.
Just like they’re nonexistent now.
I soak up the beauty of her every move as she composes herself in her chair again. A long swallow makes its way down the side of her neck not covered by her cute side ponytail—just before a flush suffuses her in the opposite direction. I have to consciously put my self-control back on line not to lift a wicked grin. Fuck. Her face is so damn gorgeous when it turns that shade of pink. All too quickly, it reminds me of how other parts of her body blush so beautifully too…
“How far back would you like to see these reports?” Her voice is crisp and corporate, adorably serious about the reason I’ve pretended to come see her—which she’s got to see as the pathetically thin excuse it really is. Of course she does…
My smile inches up a little more. Of course she does, and th
e little minx is just playing with me.
Unless she isn’t.
My smirk fades.
Seriously? Does she really think the façade will snap me back to some hidden straight-and-narrow?
If that’s the case…why deflate her? The executive efficiency is ten kinds of turn-on, even causing me to reach and adjust the angle of my cock while she looks to her screen, whisking the little pointer around. “I’ve managed to get the guest-feedback sheets cataloged going back six months. My goal is to input everything for a year so we can detect trends and throw training toward areas in which we need the most improvement. That being said, I’ve already noticed a few interesting trends. What?”
She issues the question when finally looking up for my feedback, only to see I’m actively listening. My elbows are on the chair’s armrests, and my hands are steepled in front of my chest.
That being said, I’m not going to dick around with pretty words. She deserves better. My truth. At least as much of it as I can give.
“You know I do care about those reports, right?”
Her smile blasts through me like an angel visiting hell. “Now I do. Thank you.”
And I’m the demon lurking in the caves of that Hades. Why not? I’ve just been there for two goddamned hours, right? If the metaphor fits… “But you also know I didn’t come down here to go over them right now.”
She stops the cursor on the screen before slipping her hand away. She notices that I notice and clamps her opposite hand over it. “Haven’t you had a long night already, Mr. Richards?” Her composure approaches electric aura status on its own as she zips a gaze over me. I can’t quite read the source of the energy, either. Nervousness? Fury? Arousal? All three? I’m not sure I even want to know. The mystery is a bigger turn-on than her professional primness. “I mean, seeing how you’re all decked out,” she babbles, now twisting her hands together.
“Decked out?”
“Yes.” She drops her hands while giving me another fast but lusty once-over. Dear fuck, what her attention does to every inch of me… “It’s all…more than your usual, I mean,” she goes on. “Your tie is so symmetrical, I bet you redid it a few times. That’s different product in your hair. It’s sleek but stiff, like you didn’t want to have to worry about it. You’re wearing stiffer shoes. My guess is, they hurt.”
Blink. Again. “Yeah. They do.”
She blinks as well, though her look is a knowing preen. “Like I said…long night.”
For a moment, I don’t say anything. It’s not necessary when I can boomerang her attitude back, hitching my smirk along for the ride. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of how long I want to go tonight, Miss Crist?”
Her breath snags. Her cheeks flush, hot and red, as she recognizes how my entendre has just turned the air between us into sensual smoke. I feel my forked tail flicking, my sharp horns growing.
She surges to her feet, bashing me with a tidal wave of the same energy, though one look in her eyes shows me there’s an opposite motion in her mind and heart. I should be feeling a thousand kinds of shitty for knocking her on her figurative ass, but right now I’ve become too obsessed with her real-life backside.
And how sexy-as-fuck she looks, bending over to let me see it better.
And how adorable she is, a bold challenge stamped on her face, as she kicks off one shoe and then the other.
And how astounding she is, with the bottom half of her pinstriped pantsuit already unbuttoned, unzipped, and peeled off.
She glowers at me while draping the garment across her chair and propping one hand on her waist. “Is this what you mean by specifics?”
She marches around the desk, sending a vibe of determined sensuality that damn near turns my dick into an artisan pretzel. I grunt, the arousal growing from mild distraction to full-on attention, as she strides closer.
“Wasn’t my original intent, but…”
“No?” She parks her hands on her hips.
“No.” I gulp, fighting to string two logical thoughts together. “I missed you, Velvet. That was seriously it—until the last ninety seconds.”
I force-feed the calm into it. Not an easy task. She’s making this an impossible discussion to win, though I understand the intent beneath her accusation. There’s been no opportunity to clarify things between us in the last couple of days, especially since I’ve made it a point to stay out of the fray and let the team do their jobs handling the huge tour group. So now, our interpretation of “teamwork” up in suite 6969—that irony isn’t lost on me—has likely been hitting her with what-the-fuck-did-I-just-do-with-my-boss intensity.
In more ways than one.
Shit.
She shifts closer, making it possible for me to see the trimmed strip of hair beneath the panel at her crotch. She’s not naked, but I crave her like she is. I’m harder than I’ve ever been with any woman before. Every seasoned seductress I’ve ever been with…was like eating water crackers compared to the hunger I feel for Emma Crist’s nectar.
“So, what do you want now, then?”
I plant my feet more squarely and drape both arms along the chair’s armrests. Six months of being locked down on a lab table doesn’t make it easy for me to relax beneath anyone’s control, but I sense she needs the surrender from me now. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can even enjoy the fruits of my generosity.
“Hmmm. Why don’t you supply the answer to that, Velvet?”
Her head tilts. The long gold braid points toward her cleavage. “In what way?”
I breathe in again, letting her gaze linger over the rising tent in my pants. “In any way you like.”
She steps closer. I gorge my stare on her curvy, creamy glory and groan as my cock revels in the sight too. My erection is now as painful as it looks, but no way do I want to be anywhere else but right here, right now. My outburst coaxes Emma’s stare down. A savoring smile kicks up one side of her lips. Goddamn. A little power looks a whole lot of good on this woman.
“Mr. Richards,” she finally murmurs.
“Miss Crist.”
She tosses her head, flipping her ponytail from the front to back of her shoulder—and twenty more switches of my lust at the same time. It’s a playful move, signaling she enjoys the reins I’ve handed over. The heat in her eyes is the color of burning glass.
I twist my fingers tight around the chair’s arms. I slide my hips forward. I clench my teeth. My psyche still isn’t comfortable with the change in guard, but my cock and balls don’t seem to notice one damn bit.
“All right, then.” She comes in a little closer. “Perhaps we can just skip the bullshit.”
I feel my stare constrict. “Skip…the…”
“Bullshit.” Her echo, and its nod of punctuation, is succinct and sexy. “You know what I’m talking about. The mush. The pretties. The orchids on the appetizer plate. On second thought, why don’t we just ditch the appetizer altogether?”
“Uhhhh…” I grunt as she parts her legs, straddling me. The sound becomes a new groan as she leans in to kiss me with heated, hungry sensuality, sliding her tongue along mine in savoring, lingering possession. Jesus God. This woman, and how she just knows how to kiss me…
When we break apart, both breathing heavier than before, she delves a hand into my hair and twists hard. “I want to be mad at you.”
“Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t want this so badly.” She pushes in, eyes closing as she drops her forehead to mine. “I…shouldn’t want you so badly.”
“You mean the way I want you?” I press meaning into the verb despite my guttural grate. “The way I need you? Christ. Emma. Emma.” My growl trembles up from the farthest reaches of my being as I slide both hands beneath her blouse, savoring the contact with her warm, soft, pliant skin.
Emma emits a shuddering sigh. Breathes back in on hitching breaths. “I have to feel wrong about this.”
“I know.”
“But I can’t feel anything but right.”
“I kn
ow.” I drag her tighter against me. “Goddamn. Emmalina…”
Her damp, warm triangle fits like a custom key against my crotch, unlocking rooms of arousal in my psyche. No. More than that. If I really am this city’s superhero, she’s my secret weakness. The crack in my shield. The stone to topple my tower. The enchantress driving me to my knees.
Yeah, this very second.
Yeah, to the point that I want to show her that completely…control be damned.
Yeah, as in I suddenly push the chair backward, making it possible to drop to my haunches before her.
Yeah, backing it up by grabbing her ass cheeks to steady her and force her sex against my nose. Her lower body is now in my power. Her armor cracks before my eyes.
Fuck. Yes.
Maybe this power swap isn’t all one way after all.
“Oh!” She blurts it as I inhale her sexy essence. Ambrosia. She’s musky honey and silken sweetness, making my mouth water all over the satin triangle. “Oh. Ahhhhh. Ohhhhh.”
Her sounds are a symphony of desire playing at crescendo level over her limbs and skin, making her muscles bunch beneath my hands. “Yes.” I say it aloud, turning it into a commanding rasp along the seam of her panties. “Yes, little Velvet.”
“Unnnnhh.” She bucks her hips, making it easier to slide my tongue beneath the fabric. “Reece. Reece. Wh-What…are you—”
“Enjoying my meal.” I savor the vibration of each syllable on her flesh as equally as her reactions. Beneath my questing mouth, she trembles and clenches, shivers and shakes, sighs and gasps. “You did tell me to have at it, beauty.”
“This… This wasn’t exactly what I…” She trails off, obviously forgetting her words and intention.
“Wasn’t exactly what you what?” I don’t refrain from the goad, even smirking when she snarls in retort. “What you had in mind when you told me to skip to the good stuff?” I reach in, pulling back the satin triangle, revealing the feast of her secret flesh. “Because Velvet, this is the good stuff.”
