by Michele Hauf
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Amelie?”
“Yes, Miss Parker?”
“Keep sketching.” Rachel winked at her and strode down the hallway, smiling to herself when she heard the quietest ‘yes’ of triumph echo out from her secretary’s cubicle.
*
Zac stood before the window that ended the long entry hallway in the eleventh arrondissement apartment his mother had once occupied. Dusty and bare of linens and curtains, he’d opted for the hotel instead of fighting dust bunnies. His mother had lived here nine months out of the year. The other three months had been devoted to travel and visiting him in New York. The top-floor apartment had roof access that led to a neat collection of beehives that were still serviced by a local apiarist. Zac’s mother had loved bees, and one of Haute Heels’ first shoes had been ‘bumblebee yellow.’
He sighed now, remembering the funeral ten years earlier. His mother had died young but had lived a good life. Ever traveling, learning, and always the first with hugs and the question, ‘What makes you happy?’
So what made him happy lately? The prospect of having to close the one office his mother had coddled through the decades certainly didn’t; it killed him. She lived in every piece of dated wallpaper, chipped-painted cornices, and even the scooped-shell marble basins in the bathrooms. He didn’t want to close the office.
But he wasn’t stupid. And if his trusted Operations Director said the office needed to go, it would go. The bottom line always mattered. Though, he wondered now… If Rachel could actually manage to throw together a campaign that would wow the clients on Friday, he’d hold off on pronouncing the office closed.
He wanted to see her succeed. She deserved success. She’d done a remarkable job holding the office together since the previous manager’s exit. And working with little funds—corporate had to assume some responsibility for that.
His mother would have never allowed such neglect from corporate. And as Zac pressed his fingers to the window now, and thought to still smell a lingering wisp of Channel No. 5—his mother’s signature scent—he mentally promised her he’d do what he could to see this office resurrected.
And he wasn’t going to sell this apartment. Not yet. Not until…
He did travel. And Paris was a stop at least once a year. If he hired a maid to come in every few months, it would be nice to have a landing place. And if he had reason to stay longer, perhaps because there was someone special who lived in the same city…
Zac shook his head. What the hell was he doing? He’d just met Rachel, and they’d had no-strings sex. That did not a relationship make. Besides, he wasn’t the guy who did relationships. He was the corporate raider who kept a different woman in every city and generally wore arm candy to events. But to get to know those pretty and mindless props?
Ugh. He’d just considered women as props. Rachel was no man’s prop. What an amazing woman! Could he hope to earn her respect and admiration?
“You’ve gone about things the wrong way,” he muttered. “You need to tell her who you are.”
Chapter 7
The office was quiet, the overhead fluorescent lights out. The soft glow of floor lights that lined the walls gave off enough illumination to see around the cubicles. Zac had arrived just as the employees were leaving. Excellent. Now he had opportunity to really look around.
Much as the Paris office was failing spectacularly, Zac couldn’t force himself to hit the fire ‘em all button. And it wasn’t because he’d slept with the office manager and had developed a sweet spot for her gorgeous set of gams.
It was because Rachel Parker possessed a vitality and determination that he believed could pull this office up from the depths, and maybe—just maybe—breathe new life into it.
But she couldn’t do that without an excellent support team. And did she really enjoy her position as office manager? Or did she prefer to be back in marketing? He’d had a glimpse into her creative mind—it needed feeding. But he also felt strongly about her supervisory skills.
Pausing in the supply room doorway, he gave his thin Zegna tie a tug and loosened the tight knot. Since arriving at this office, he’d felt more relaxed, not so inclined to support the stern corporate raider image he’d mastered over the years.
But he was lying to Rachel every day he did not confess who he really was. The lie hadn’t bothered him two days ago. Even yesterday, when he’d learned she might have a clue about the secret visit. Who at the New York office had alerted Paris to his presence?
Such secrecy was…stupid. It had initially felt necessary, to not alarm the employees. But now? Zac was rethinking that plan. The employees were people. People who had families and mouths to feed. They had a right to know what was going on.
As did Rachel. Something had developed between them beyond the personal relationship. A sort of business trust. And while not revealing his position in the company wasn’t going to kill anyone, it would definitely drive a wedge between him and Rachel.
Was that a problem? It shouldn’t be. He’d flown to Paris for the week. After today, two business days remained. He’d fly home. Life would move on. Whether or not he decided to keep this office intact.
It was this no-strings thing they had started. Hell, if he was muddling over it so much, it must mean he wanted to take it to the next level. The I’ll call you, you call me level. The I’ll see you exclusively level. The can I keep a change of clothing in your apartment? level.
“Really?” he muttered.
No woman had ever gotten under his skin so quickly. And if he pursued the taking it to the next level idea, then he wasn’t sure how it would work for them on the business side of things. He couldn’t have both relationships. Could he? Why else had he decided to keep the apartment if not because he had hope for the two of them?
He shook his head.
A moan from down the hallway alerted Zac that he wasn’t the only one in the office. He spied the dim light coming out of the office manager’s doorway. Of course, she would still be here. The woman was dedicated.
And yet, she had moaned. Had that been a good moan or a bad moan? And if it had been good, why was he still standing there?
Wandering down the aisle, he arrived at her door, smirked at the paper sign—she deserved a nice bronze plate—and pushed it inward. Shoes in open boxes were scattered over the floor, the black leather couch, and the desk. Shoes in every color, style, and heel height. He didn’t immediately notice a human occupant until a box toppled from a stack and another moan echoed out.
“That bad, huh?”
“Who’s there?” echoed out from around the corner of her desk. “Zac? I thought everyone had left for the day. I didn’t even see you come in.”
“I was finishing up some last minute—er, stuff.” Like vacillating on whether or not to shut down the office. “Thought I was the only one here. What’s up with the shoe deluge?”
Rachel’s head popped around the corner of the desk and she thrust out a fuchsia satin heel. “What do you find sexy about this shoe?”
Zac tapped a finger against his lower lip and eyed the shoe, which he knew was part of the new fall line. Haute Heels had gone with deep, jewel tones to emulate a rich, decadent lushness. But if he revealed he knew that the shank had been engineered to expose the arch of the foot because men found that sexy, she’d know he knew too much.
“The pointed shape of the toe,” he decided. “It’s wicked.”
She tilted her head, assessing the shoe. “It is wicked. You nailed it in less than three seconds. I’ve been sitting here all afternoon, racking my brain over ideas for the campaign meeting on Friday, and you nail it like that.”
“All afternoon? You need a break.”
“No. Nope. Nada. I will not leave this office until I’ve something to present to the Les Grands Chaussures in two days. I’ve got some notes from Amelie. She’s very talented. I like this idea she’s sketched, but not sure how to execute it.”
He waded through the sea
of footwear and plucked the fuchsia shoe from Rachel’s hand, while grabbing her hand with the other and pulling her to her feet. He handed her the shoe. “Put it on.”
“What?”
“Have you worn any of them?” He splayed his hands to take in the scattered boxes of shoes. “The best way to get a feel for the product is to wear it, isn’t it?”
Her mouth dropped open and her eyelashes fluttered. She’d not considered that, but he was going to chalk it up to overworked and under-assisted.
“Put them on, and give them a go down the catwalk.” He gestured out the door. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The smile that curled her mouth was too quickly hidden as she twisted down to slip on the shoes. Her derriere wiggled in the snug gray skirt she wore. He exhaled, recalling the feel of that gorgeous bottom in his hands. When she walked past him, he inhaled oranges. Perfect way to end a long day—breathing in summer.
She walked down the hallway, emulating a model’s confidence and swagger. The thing about high heels? They gave every woman a sexy swagger, a hip-shifting swing, an innate confidence that made them carry their bodies straight, shoulders back and head high. It was enough to make any man hard.
And Zac was any man.
She pulled a runway turn at the end of the aisle by the Accounts Receivable desk and swung back toward him, exaggerating her strides as she assumed a model’s pony-like prance. Zac recalled his mother always camping it up by modeling the season’s newest shoes in just such a manner at holiday dinners and before friends.
“Modeling Haute Heels’ fall line is the lovely Rachel Parker,” he narrated as she neared him. “The shoes are fuchsia. The model is gorgeous.”
“The narrator has a hard-on,” she commented with another swing that took her down the aisle.
“Indeed, he does,” he muttered on her return. “I don’t suppose we can use the ad slogan ‘Gives men a woody,’ eh?”
“We? Remember, you’re just IT.” She tapped him on the nose admonishingly. “Next pair. I’m not feeling these.” She ducked into the office to forage through the boxes. “These!”
Moments later, she again strode the makeshift catwalk, a pair of impossibly sexy black lace-ups hugging her ankles. The big black satin bows tied at the back of her narrow calves, crisscrossing once in front and in back, made him want to crisscross her with his arms and pull her in to crush against his erection. Which demanded some attention.
He needed a drink.
Spying a bottle of water sitting on her glass desktop, Zac twisted it open. Rachel strolled in and gave his chest a shove. Toppling over a stack of shoeboxes behind him, he landed on the couch. A nudge of her foot cleared the boxes between them. She put a foot on the cushion between his legs and leaned over. “What do you think of this pair?”
Zac’s eyes were level with her breasts, which were neatly covered by her button-up lavender silk shirt, but those nipples were dangerously hard.
She tapped his chin. “I’m talking about the shoes, lover boy.”
He set the water bottle on the floor beside an open shoebox. “Let me take a closer look.”
Chapter 8
Computer geek that he was, the man had the right idea by suggesting Rachel put on the shoes and walk in them. Haute Heels were not the kind of shoes a woman slipped into at the last minute and slipped out of as soon as her feet were beneath a table or desk because they were so damned painful. These shoes were a dream to wear. Almost like walking on clouds. The owner’s mother—the company’s founder—had one stipulation for every pair of shoes sold: they must be comfortable.
And the pair Rachel wore right now caressed her soles. The silk ties that wrapped about her ankles made her feel like a cross between a ballet dancer and something more daring and sensual, like maybe a stripper.
Nothing wrong with feeling like an angel who also grips the pole. And thinking about poles…
Zac’s hard-on was obvious as she drew her foot along his thigh to give him a closer look at the shoe. He gripped her ankle firmly and growled as the heel dug into his thigh. His hand glided over the silk ties and then he danced a fingertip along the inner curve of her arch. Oooh, that felt as good as if he were stroking her nipple.
“This shoe is sex tied up in black silk,” he commented.
“I like that. More,” she encouraged, leaning in to dash her tongue over his lower lip. Again, he tasted like the expensive coffee the barista across the street sold. Discerning geek. “Does the shoe turn you on?”
“The shoe on the woman turns me on.”
“So the woman is an integral part of the seduction?”
“Hell, yes. You think I’m going to get off on the shoe? Just a shoe?”
She smiled against his lips and kissed him quickly. Meeting his soulful brown eyes, she said, “I’ve been told there are some who prefer just the shoe.”
“Not me. I like what’s inside them. And these satin ties definitely make me think about tying you up.”
“Is that so?”
He slid his hands up her thighs, nudging up the skirt until she felt the air on her pantiless crotch. She straddled him, kneeling on the couch. The idea of a little kink appealed, but when her brain started to sort out how that could happen in an office—no restraints, no silk handkerchiefs or ties—her business logic struggled to take charge and resisted. Besides, she had to stay in the creative moment.
Zac leaned forward and bit the button on her silk shirt just between her breasts. He tugged, button in mouth. Once it had pulled free from the buttonhole, he released the other three buttons as quickly and glided his hands up to cup her lace-hugged breasts.
It was dinnertime, the office was empty, and the lights were low, but the shades were not pulled. Rachel briefly considered leaping up to draw the shades, then decided against it. If the man wanted a little kink, what could be more adventurous than the risk of being seen?
Gripping his skinny, gray tie, she loosened it and tugged it free, tossing it to the shoe-littered floor. His jacket slid off next, followed by his shirt as she unbuttoned it in tandem with him unsnapping the clasp in the front of her bra. She sat on his lap, grinding her mons against his impressive erection.
As his warm palm cupped her breast, he leaned in to gently bite her nipple, causing a heady sensation to zing from chest, to core, to her wet, wanting insides. “You sure this is safe?”
“You want it to be?” she asked.
“Only thinking of you and the office gossip mill.”
“None of our employees are so dedicated you’ll catch them here after hours.”
“You’re here.” He lashed his tongue over the other nipple. Rachel felt the heat all the way to her core, and her skin prickled sweetly. Big, brown eyes smiled up at her.
“And so are you,” she said. “Let’s get back to the shoe research, shall we? You think the shoe is only as attractive as the woman wearing it?”
His sigh echoed what must be his growing frustration. But Rachel wouldn’t tease much longer. Still. She did have work to do.
“The woman doesn’t have to be a certain kind of attractive,” he said, “it’s all in how she carries herself while wearing the shoe.”
“That’s perfect,” Rachel gasped as he leaned back and unzipped his pants. “The shoe makes a woman carry herself with more confidence. Gives her more power. Makes her feel sexual. Sensual. But that’s been overdone.” She exhaled, sighing futilely, then realized she was pouting.
Not on her watch.
With a tilt of her hips, she dragged a strappy, sexy shoe over the front of Zac’s pants and toggled the head of his emerging cock with the hard, black stiletto heel. He ground her name out through a tense jaw and gripped her ankle.
“You’ve confidence in spades, Rachel. I don’t think you need the shoes for that. But you can keep them on.”
He groaned and shoved down his pants to his ankles then quickly made work of her clingy jersey skirt. She stepped out of it and straddled his lap, lowering, her heels click
ing together above his knees.
“Come on,” he dared her. “Ride me. I’ve heard sex is good for creativity.”
“Oh, trust me, it is. And I will take all the creative mojo you’re willing to give me.”
She lowered onto his erection, humming deep in her throat as the hot, molten steel of him filled her, pierced her. Bowing to receive his kiss, Rachel rocked her hips, riding him. Taking exactly what she wanted, and giving in return.
The man groaned and leaned back, his palms sliding along her ribs and up to her breasts until his thumbs found her nipples. He pinched both, and the electric but sexy pain ramped up her rhythm.
“Yes, faster,” he murmured.
His head tilted back and his eyes closed. He’d surrendered to the sensations, the moment, the dive into the creative well. For, truly, Rachel felt every part of her come alive, hum and tingle with energy. Oxygen infused her brain. Perspiration bejeweled her breasts, slickening Zac’s pulling and tweaking of her nipples. Everything felt right. The challenges of work slipped away. This man filled her with all that she needed and could ever want.
Rachel felt his hips begin to shake as orgasm taunted him, urging him to release. So she gripped the base of his penis and squeezed, hoping it would prolong his release while she got off on the pistoning pleasure of riding him. Slipping him out, she then rubbed his hard, wet erection against her clit, causing Zac to moan even louder.
And when he tilted his head forward and met her gaze, she recognized the want and need, combined with unrelenting desire there. Taking him inside her again, she gasped as all parts of her hummed and soared toward the same precipice he balanced upon. And when he gripped her hips and slammed up into her, holding tight, they both came, shouting, gasping. Rachel even laughed a little as the tremendous release relaxed her muscles and she collapsed against his chest.
They sat there for long minutes, breathing in oranges and spice, listening to the heartbeats of one another. He was perfect. Handsome, smart, talented, and incredibly well-built. And attentive to her needs in a way she’d never before experienced from a man. He was everything a woman could ever want.
