Raina led Mal into the space she’d cleared as a female voice started singing about needing to party. Mal was laughing down at Raina, shaking his head as usual before he gave in to her pleas and pulled her close to start a bump-and-grind rhythm that had everyone clapping. Watching Mal and Raina dance probably needed to come with a parental advisory. The heat between them was so clear, it was surprising their clothes didn’t catch fire. Other people started dancing around them, and Oliver realized Amelia was tapping her foot beside him.
“You wanna dance?” he asked.
She looked up at him, startled. “What about your ankle?”
“It’ll survive a dance or two,” he said, hoping it was true. Amelia smiled at him, clearly delighted at the idea. She knocked back her drink and held out a hand, tugging him toward the mass of dancers when he took it.
Hampered by his ankle, he couldn’t really dance terribly well, but she didn’t seem to mind as he put his hand on the curve of her back and pulled her close so that they were chest-to-chest and groin-to-groin while they moved to the music.
The scent of her, that unique Amelia smell he would probably recognize if he was half dead, filled his nose with every breath he took, and the heat of her skin under his hand made his palm itch to be touching more than the lacy fabric of her dress.
He’d gone hard the instant she’d pressed her hips to his. He pulled her closer, wanting more of the sensation, felt her suck in a breath then look up at him, devilry dancing in her eyes. She changed her movements then. Just a little. Just enough that she was grinding a little more forcefully against him. Her pupils flared, nearly drowning out the blue in her eyes as she pulled his head down for a kiss. One that went wild before he knew what was happening, her tongue tangling with his. He pulled her tighter against him instinctively, forgetting where they were.
“Get a room, Shields,” someone yelled good-naturedly, and Amelia giggled against his mouth before she pushed him away. Her cheeks were flushed pink, the color a stark contrast with the creamy shade of her skin. No hiding her emotions from the world for Amelia. Anyone who looked at her could probably tell she had naughty thoughts dancing in her head.
The thought woke something primal and possessive deep in his gut. No one was going to help Amelia with her naughty thoughts but him.
No one got to see what she looked like when she gave herself over completely to those thoughts. Only him.
God.
He desperately wanted to drag her off into one of Maggie and Alex’s million spare rooms and pull up her dress and bury himself in her. But he didn’t think she was likely to play along with that idea.
So he was going to have to come up with Plan B.
Which wasn’t that hard. All he had to do was pretend to stumble and let a completely fake wince cross his face.
Amelia’s eyes flashed with concern, and he let her drag him from the dance floor.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“No,” he said. Then he bent down so his mouth was next to her ear. Blew softly so that she shivered. “I want to fuck you, Amelia,” he said. “Let me take you home.”
Her breath rushed out in a whoosh. And the breath she took after that was shaky. But she nodded.
He straightened. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a hell, yes.”
* * *
He’d never cursed the distance between Manhattan and Staten Island quite so thoroughly as he did on the long drive home. The town car was hardly a limo, where he might have been able to close the privacy screen and pull Amelia onto his lap to have his way with her. So they had to sit and behave all the way back to his apartment. He’d put his hand on her thigh and she’d let her legs fall apart a little so that he could curl his fingers into the bare flesh above the stockings she wore but he limited himself to just stroking her skin. Even though her breathing became increasingly labored with every mile.
He knew how she felt. He was so hard, he ached. His cock screamed to be inside her.
They were both half blind with lust by the time they stumbled through the door of his apartment. He pushed her up against the wall and started to kiss her, shoving his hand into her underwear. Into heat and sliding wetness.
“God,” he groaned. He needed her. Under normal circumstances, he would have probably just picked her up and had her against the wall. But that wasn’t a move to pull off with one hand.
Instead he removed his hand, which made her curse him, and kissed her again. Hard. Fast. Deploying every dirty move he knew to make her want. Make her writhe. Make her beg. Then he steered her into the living room till the back of her thighs hit the back of the sofa.
“Turn around, Amelia,” he growled.
Her eyes went round with shock, then her pupils widened, turning her eyes midnight dark. He’d thought she’d looked turned on before. Now she looked like pure sex. Like every fantasy he ever had.
She turned around, bent over for him, moved her legs wide. With a groan and a curse, he flipped up her skirt, pulled her underwear down. The sight of her, wet and waiting for him, sent him into near madness.
He was barely aware of what he was doing or where they were when he jerked down his zipper, pulled out his cock, and thrust into her with one sure motion.
Amelia moaned, head falling forward. “God, yes,” she said.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He let go then, gave in to the need to be as close to her as possible. Each thrust into her, each slide of her flesh against his got wilder. Harder. Faster. And she urged him on. Met him with as much eagerness as his.
Until he felt her clench around him and start to come, her voice hoarse and dazed as she called his name. He couldn’t have stopped the answered orgasm that roared through him like a tornado if someone had offered him all his wildest dreams to hold it back.
It felt so good, he thought he might just black out. And when his senses returned, he was bent over her, arms holding her close to his chest, their gasping breaths moving in sync. He backed off carefully, helping her straighten.
She moved slowly and he wondered if he’d gone too far. If he’d hurt her. But then he saw the smile on her face as she turned to face him.
God. That look. It undid him.
He wanted to see it every day.
She put her hands on his cheeks. Lurched up on tiptoe to kiss him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I needed that.”
Then she burst into tears.
It felt like she’d punched him. “Fuck. Amelia. What? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head but kept sobbing.
He pulled her close to him. “What is it?”
She shook her head, sobbed harder.
Damn it. The sound of her crying was like being stabbed. He wanted her to stop. But what he wanted didn’t matter. What mattered was what she needed. Heedless of his hand, he scooped her up, carried her through to his bedroom. Undressed her while she cried. Then coaxed her into bed before stripping down and climbing in with her. He pulled her close and just held her, whispering stupid meaningless words into her hair as she cried and cried.
Just him and her in the darkness. That was all that mattered. That he could make her feel okay. Make her feel safe. Make her feel loved.
Eventually her sobs quieted, slowed. Then stopped. He reached for the box of Kleenex on his nightstand. She wiped her eyes. Blew her nose. Hiccuped. Her makeup was smudged and her eyes were red.
She looked beautiful.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
Another head shake.
“Do you want to go to sleep?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do you want me to stop asking questions and you can just tell me what you need?”
Her mouth curled up at that. “You,” she said simply. “I just need you.” She hooked a leg over his hip, moved closer, pressed her mouth to his. She tasted of salt and sex and herself.
This time, when they moved together, it was gentle. Slow. There was all the
time in the world as he eased into her, as he worshipped her skin with his mouth, as he tried to take all her hurt away with his kisses. And this time, when she gasped and shuddered around him, he followed her down, letting the tide of pleasure pull him under and break him apart. Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard her say, “I love you, Ollie,” before everything vanished into sensation.
* * *
On Monday, Amelia made a point of getting to work early. She and Oliver had spent Sunday playing hooky from the world, spending most of the day curled up in his big bed, napping, watching silly movies, making love, talking, and generally pretending the world outside his apartment didn’t exist. After the stormy then sexy end to their Saturday, she had needed a day to regroup.
Oliver hadn’t said anything about what had slipped out of her mouth when he’d made love to her after her ridiculous storm of tears. Right now she was grateful that he hadn’t. In fact, she was hoping he hadn’t heard it at all.
She hadn’t meant to say it. Not yet. Not so soon. No one said I love you after two weeks. Yet it had spilled out. She loved him. She wasn’t sure what that meant. She knew she cared about him. Wanted to be with him. Lit up when she saw him. But it was too soon for love, wasn’t it?
So. Easier to pretend she hadn’t said it. Wait and see what happened.
Sunday night they’d moved to her apartment so that she could get clothes for work on Monday. Oliver had stayed the night; nestled against him, his arm curving around her like a shield, she’d slept well. The day had eased the immediate sting of her fight with Finn but hadn’t offered any sensible solutions as to how to fix things between them.
Finn was obviously struggling. She wanted to help. But maybe, as much as she hated to think about it, Maggie was right. Maybe the only one who could help Finn was Finn.
Right now, maybe she should just focus on helping herself.
She’d already checked her email on the way to work. Hong Kong was twelve hours ahead of New York. If there had been a project announcement, it should have already happened while she was sleeping. But no. Nothing in her email.
There was still nothing when she fired up her computer in her office. All right. Tomorrow then. The knot in her stomach that had ridden all the way from her apartment to Wall Street loosened a little. No point freaking out until she knew there was something to freak out about.
She took care of her emails and then turned to the latest project status report on the model. When she got to the end, she blinked. Then checked again. But no, all the issues on the status report were marked cleared. Which meant that they could start loading the sucker with test data and see what it spat out.
The urge to pump her fist in the air in victory surged through her but she restricted herself to a more discreet happy dance in her chair.
Sure, the testing would invariably throw up more problems to be fixed, but having the build of the actual model stable was a major milestone. Plus they were a week ahead of schedule.
Just the sort of thing Daniel loved to hear.
Especially if he was in the process of considering whether or not to recommend her for a transfer.
The knot in her stomach returned. A transfer.
Leaving New York would mean leaving Oliver behind. Maybe not for good, but for at least six months. More if she chose to finally use all that leave she’d been saving and travel at the end of her time in Hong Kong.
Nine months maybe. Nearly a year. She couldn’t expect him to wait a year. Not when they were barely beginning.
She sucked in a breath against the pain that curled through her at the thought of losing Oliver. Tried to tell herself that she was borrowing trouble again. She didn’t even know if she was going to be offered a transfer. And what then? What if she didn’t get an offer? She’d always promised herself that she’d work in New York for six years. Time enough to sort out her finances and make sure her mom was okay.
Six years had been her goal, then she’d been determined to make a move. Apply for jobs overseas. Six years at a Wall Street bank, if she did well, would look good on a résumé. Of course it was a pretty cutthroat industry and there was always competition, but she had the credentials. She could find herself a job in London or Hong Kong or even Australia if she wanted to now that she’d put her time in.
See the world.
Have her dream.
Do something purely selfish.
Purely what she wanted.
And yet … was it the only thing she wanted now?
She didn’t know.
So, she could sit here and drive herself crazy or she could get back to work. Dot the i’s and cross the t’s on her project update so she could take it to Daniel ASAP.
Do her job.
But in the end, Daniel beat her to the punch. He called asking her to come see him just after lunch.
The request made her pulse race. Stupid. He could want anything. So she had to be prepared. Deep breaths while she gathered the project report and her notebook so she could answer questions on the other projects she was working on calmed her slightly; she didn’t feel quite so panicked when she walked down the hallway to Daniel’s office.
It was about five times the size of hers, the windows looking out toward the Hudson and offering a glittering view of the city in the sunshine. Manhattan laid out like this always took her breath away. So much in one small space. So many lives. So many people. So many hopes and dreams.
She’d miss it when she left. Maybe she’d come back. She’d always thought she’d go home to Chicago eventually, but maybe not. Her mom was taken care of. She didn’t have to go home, as much as she’d like to be close to Em and the Castros again
Always muscling in on my family.
Finn’s voice rang in her head and she shook her head.
No. She hadn’t muscled in. They’d taken her in. Offered help. They’d looked after her. Wanted her. Loved her like she loved them.
She told the Finn in her head to fuck off and sat when Daniel directed her to the small-glass–topped table that sat in one corner of his office.
Maybe it was just a project catch-up then. Whenever Daniel wanted to talk to her about performance reviews, he generally sat behind his desk. The power position.
But for other things, he used the table. She imagined he thought it was being casual. But nothing about Daniel Carling was really casual. He was cool and business-like all the way through. Or else he did a damned good impression of being cool. Not her cup of tea at all. Nope, she liked guys with passion. Warmth.
“Did you have a pleasant weekend?” Daniel asked.
She nodded. “Yes, thank you. And you?”
“Hamptons,” he said.
She nodded. He wouldn’t tell her more. That short exchange was pretty much the Daniel Carling version of cozy small talk. At least when it came to her. She wondered what he actually did in the Hamptons each weekend. It was hard to imagine him lying on a beach.
But she wasn’t here to speculate about Daniel. She’d leave that to Em. She was here to get the job.
“You’re probably wondering what I wanted to talk to you about?”
She nodded again, mouth feeling drier than dirt.
“Tomorrow the Hong Kong office will be announcing their acquisition of Li Huang Star.”
“Really?” She tried to sound surprised. “That’s a good fit for us.” Li Huang Star was another small investment bank. One based in Hong Kong with roots there, and on mainland China. Effectively a gateway to build more business in China, which could be a tough nut to crack.
“Yes,” Daniel agreed. “But they’re also operating on some fairly archaic infrastructure and processes. So they are putting together a team to work on the integration of the business. Multidisciplinary. They want an economist familiar with the Pullman systems. So I thought of you.”
And there it was. The sentence she’d been waiting to hear her boss say for years. An overseas transfer.
So why wasn’t her first emotion a squeal of joy? “Thank
you,” she managed, trying to process what was happening. “When you say you thought of me does that mean you’re throwing my name in the ring or that I have the job?”
“The team will be vetted but I’m fairly sure Henry will sign off on my recommendation in your case. I’ve always been impressed by your work, Amelia. I know Charlie Bucknell felt the same. So the job is almost certainly yours. If you want it.” He cocked his head at her. “I’ll confess you seem less … excited than I thought you may have been. Do you want it? Or have your plans changed?”
There was a lot unspoken in that sentence. Daniel knew about Oliver. Did he think she was the kind of woman who made choices based solely around what the men in her life wanted? She’d never done it before. Partly because there hadn’t been that many important men in her life. Eddie Castro, she supposed. And Finn. But not a lover who had meant enough for her to change course. Yet here she was hesitating. She could understand why women made that kind of choice. A good relationship was worth some sacrifice. But …
“I’m just a little surprised,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting something to come up so soon. Do you need an answer right now?”
He waved a hand. “No. Not this minute. But I will need one by the end of the week. They want the project team on the ground in Hong Kong in early November. That’s not a lot of time to get things arranged.”
End of the week. Four short days to choose what life she wanted. It didn’t seem long enough. But it was going to have to be.
Chapter Sixteen
On Tuesday, Amelia got to work early again. She tried to slide out of Oliver’s bed without waking him but he caught her as she started to move, pulled her back against him. She’d resisted his best attempts at seducing her into morning sex and made her escape, guilt tightening her stomach as she let herself out of the apartment.
She hadn’t told him about the job offer. She would tell him. She had to tell him eventually.
Just not yet.
She needed to know what she wanted before she told him.
Right now she still hadn’t untangled it all in her head.
She wanted a few quiet hours at work to clear her mind. Of course, she’d forgotten about the project announcement. Which meant the morning turned into an impromptu celebration at Pullman, complete with champagne, cake, and lots of speculation about opportunities that the acquisition might bring. None of her fellow economists seemed all that interested in going to Hong Kong for any extended period of time. But they could be playing it cool.
Playing Hard Page 22
