“Thank you again for the investment,” I tell him with a tight-lipped smile. “Although I suppose I should be thanking your… girlfriend, I guess, based on the lack of rings? Or are you one of those married couples who don’t do jewelry.”
“What?” Lark blinks, staring at me.
I cross my arms. I’ve had more than enough of the innocent what-do-you-mean defense to last me a lifetime. “I heard her on your intercom this morning,” I reply. “That was Sheryl, wasn’t it?”
He hesitates. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Confident actually do that. When he speaks again, the confusion on his face has cleared, replaced by understanding. “I see. So, when you left in a hurry…”
“It’s because I don’t do cheating. I don’t do going behind people’s backs.”
“Something I understand and completely respect,” Lark speaks up quickly, “but Sheryl and I aren’t together, Cassidy. She’s my ex-wife.”
My eyebrows climb to my forehead. “Your business partner is your—”
“We started Anderson Investments together,” he interrupts. “Years ago. You know what they say about mixing business and pleasure?” He gives a rueful laugh, then shakes his head. “Look, Sheryl and I split over a year ago. There’s nothing between us anymore, trust me. But we are still joint owners of this company, and we’ve been making the business relationship work, so…”
My shoulders, which I hadn’t realized were tensed up around my ears until now, slowly relax. That’s better than I’d been dreading, at least. So maybe he’s not a cheating asshole.
But he’s still in a messy situation. A messy situation that reminds me far too much of the one I finally disentangled myself from. I told myself that after Norman, I’d learn my lesson. Be done with anything not simple and straightforward. I meant it.
I run a hand through my hair, hesitating. Lark takes the opportunity to move closer to me, one hand outstretched, hovering in midair between us like he’s thinking about touching my shoulder, pulling me close. But I fire him one look, and he lets his hand fall again, a wounded expression crossing his face. A moment later, his features smooth, so quickly I might have just imagined it. But… I don’t think so.
“Cassidy, listen…” His voice drops lower. Softer.
God. Standing this close to him, I can smell him again. The same scent that enveloped me last night, heady and powerful. It makes me want to cave. To move closer, let him take me in those strong arms. Let him carry me back to his apartment like he did last night, toss me onto that big bed of his, and kiss my whole body, until I feel ready to burst.
Just the thought makes my thighs tighten involuntarily, my pussy giving a single tight throb. I’m still sore from his thick cock. Deliciously, delightfully sore. It’s an ache I should be savoring today; I should be riding high on that post-sex glow, enjoying life.
Instead, I’m standing on a sidewalk outside one of the most important meetings of my life, being made to feel utterly conflicted again. All because of this man.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his eyes catching mine. There’s fire in them. The same fire I allowed to burn me, ignite me last night. “All I wanted to do this morning was drag you straight back into my bed and keep you there as long as you’d let me.”
My pulse picks up at those words. God. I’m already wet again. How does he know how to do this to me so easily?
But it’s a trap. I know that now. I take a step backward, even though doing so takes all the willpower in my body. I start to shake my head, slowly.
“I can’t do this.” My voice comes out a lot stronger than I feel, at least, a lot more certain. Guess I’ve got practice at staying strong in the face of temptation now.
There’s that brief flicker of hurt again, marring Lark’s usual confident, I-get-what-I-want expression. But only for an instant. “Because of Sheryl?” Lark lets out a faint laugh. “I told you, there’s nothing there. Trust me, Cassidy.”
“Why should I?” I raise my chin, narrow my gaze. “You weren’t honest with me from the start.”
“So we were supposed to have the exes talk on night one?” Lark lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “All right, your turn then. Who’s in your past?”
I grimace. “Don’t try to change the subject. I don’t work with my ex. I never even speak to him anymore; it’s different.”
“If you did, though, I wouldn’t mind.” Lark shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve realized recently how complicated life gets. I don’t hold it against people, if they’re in confusing situations.”
Complicated. Confusing. “That’s just it,” I say. “Complicated and confusing are the exact things I swore off from now on.”
“I see.” He tilts his head. Takes a step toward me. I mirror him, moving backward, but not before I catch his scent again. My body reacts to his with an animal instinct. It wants him, regardless of what my head is screaming. “So, what I’m hearing is that you thought about me too, didn’t you? Otherwise, you could’ve just written this off as some harmless fun. A hot one night stand, no strings attached.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth,” I protest, my voice coming out high-pitched, too shrill, because damn him, he’s hitting far too close to the mark.
Why didn’t I just assume this was a one-off thing? Why, even after I thought he had a wife he’d been cheating on, did I continue to daydream about the way he touched me, the feeling of his cock inside me, driving me all the way to the edge?
My throat feels dry. I try to swallow.
“If it was just meaningless sex, you won’t mind hooking up again.” Lark smirks.
“So it was just meaningless to you, then?” I counter.
His eyes flash. “I never said that.”
“There you go, then.” I cross my arms. My lips are dry too, so I wet them, and his gaze drops, tracking the motion. Shit.
I expect him to make another move. I’m not entirely sure I could resist him this time, if he did. But he takes a step backward, lifting his palms in the air, mock surrender. “All right,” he says, surprising me. “If you don’t want to do this, then I’m not into persuading women they belong in my bed.”
A sharp pulse of desire sparks in my belly at those words. But I hold my ground, keep my mouth shut, because if I don’t, I’ll blurt out something stupid. Something I shouldn’t say.
“I’ll see you around,” Lark says. Then he winks. “Business partner.”
I don’t stop holding my breath until he disappears around the corner. Even then, the very idea of breathing feels dangerous. What have I gotten myself into?
5
Cassidy
The next couple of weeks are a whirlwind of work. Thank God, because any time that I stop working for long enough to think, he drifts into my mind.
Every night as I’m drifting off to sleep—or trying to—I start to picture him next to me in bed. The taste of his mouth. The way his lips felt gliding down my chest, his tongue on my nipple, my belly button, tracing from my navel all the way down to my mound. The feeling of his thick cock buried deep in my pussy; the waves of pleasure that hit me as he fucked me, his strong hands wrapped around my hips, hard everywhere I’m soft.
Fuck. I have it bad. Worse than I ever had it with any guy I’ve hooked up with before. Even with Norman, I was into him as a person, but he was lackluster in bed. More interested in getting himself off than making sure I was having fun.
At the time, I told myself that was just how all guys were. That it was fine. If, every night after we had sex, I had to roll over and finish myself with my own fingers, well, that was just how life had to be.
Then I met Lark.
Lark, who make me come more times in a single night than I would have thought possible. Lark, who wanted to keep seeing me, who would have stopped at nothing to have me again… Except I made him stop. I drove him off. And why? Because I didn’t want anything complicated?
What’s simple about me right now? I’m daydreaming about him every night, ev
ery time I’m alone in the shower, my hands wandering down my body to stroke my own clit until I’m gasping his name.
But at least work is a distraction.
I’ve had more than a few phone calls with Sheryl since our meeting. Every time I see the Anderson Investments number pop up on my phone, my heart climbs into my throat and my stomach does a little backflip. But it’s always her perky, no-nonsense voice on the other end.
“Now a good time?” she always begins our calls. Just like the one we had earlier today, where she asked for an update on the new line.
She wound up investing a lot, far more than I ever could have hoped for. Well, they wound up investing a lot, I guess, although I haven’t personally spoken to Lark since our one conversation outside the office building just after the investment meeting.
But she’s also very specific about which products she’d like me to develop first. “I think there’s a real market for the lengthening mascara you showed us and the eye color palettes—you’ve got a great eye for colors. And that way we can focus on one specific product set to start off, and expand into other products later.”
She always words everything in a super complimentary way. But it’s also the first time since I started my own line that I’ve had a boss of sorts—even if she’s not strictly my boss, she’s definitely calling the shots now. And while sometimes it’s reassuring to have another opinion to look for, another voice to rely on for the big decisions, at other times, like today, when I’ve got a great new idea for a lipstick color that I can’t play around with… well, it can be somewhat confining, creatively.
I remind myself it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m doing what my investor wants. Once we get this first line of products out, I’ll have all the time in the world to play around more creatively and figure out what the second line to launch will be.
Before my call for the day with Sheryl finishes up, she adds quickly, “By the way, we’d love to see how the prototype is coming.”
I hesitate for a second. I’ve been working for the last two weeks on the eyeshadow palette, and I’ve sent a few photos over the phone. “I can mockup some more pictures,” I start, but Sheryl cuts me off.
“A bit hard to judge it over the screen though, isn’t it? We’ll be there at noon, if that time works for you, just to have a look at the progress. Here at Anderson Investments, we like to stay, well, invested.” She laughs at her own joke, and I find myself grinning too, even though my heart rate has just kicked into triple gear.
We? Does that mean Lark will be coming with her too? “Okay,” I barely have time to squeak before she ends the call. And then I stare at myself in the mirror across my messy living room. My hair’s in a topknot because I haven’t washed it in a couple days, my eyes are puffy from another long night of no sleep, my brain helpfully filling the time with fantasies of Lark instead.
Shit.
I rush to the bathroom to get myself ready. A long hot shower and careful application of my best-foot-forward makeup look later, I’m ready to tackle the apartment itself. Normally I’m a pretty tidy person—I have to be, since my apartment is so tiny that any time it gets out of hand, it’s practically unlivable—but whenever I’m deep in the creative well, working hard on a project like the one I’ve been ensconced in this week, the whole cleaning thing tends to get away from me.
I cart empty takeout boxes to the garbage chute down the hall, sweep and vacuum, stack away all my excess belongings, and even manage to start dusting some of the furniture before the door buzzer rings. The intercom has been broken for years, and my super is next to useless, so I just buzz it open, my heart in my throat.
I brace myself for it to just be Sheryl standing before me, in her prim suit, with her perfect hair done up. That would be disappointing, but it would be the far easier option.
Much simpler than if both of them show up on my doorstep. Lark, looking picture perfect and handsome as ever, those bright eyes of his following my every move. If the three of us are alone in my apartment together, Sheryl won’t fail to notice the way her ex keeps looking at me.
At least, assuming Lark hasn’t moved on already. I remind myself that we only had one night together. A night I told him would never be repeated. He’s probably long since forgotten about me.
In fact, by the time there’s a knock at my door, I’ve convinced myself there’s no way he would even come here. He’ll be too busy hooking up with his latest fling. Someone far more attractive than me. More interesting and funny and sexy and—
I wrench open my front door, and my thoughts stop spiraling. Even my heart stops for a split second, I swear.
Because he’s here. Lark stands in the doorway, wearing jeans, a button down shirt, and a small smile. He looks even better than he does in my memories. The planes of his cheekbones are sharper, the green of his eyes brighter.
His smile far more dangerous than I remember.
“Cassidy. Good to see you.”
I move aside, my tongue temporarily tied, and glance past him into the hallway, confused. “Where’s your business partner?” I ask, unable to keep a faint note of annoyance from my tone.
“Unfortunately, Sheryl couldn’t make it today. She asked me to fill in. Something I was all too happy to do.” He tilts his head, and his gaze drops over me, taking me in.
My stomach tightens. I know I just showered and finished putting on a full face of makeup—I know I look good—but it still steals my breath away to watch his pupils dilate, to see him take a sharp breath, the same way I must have when I laid eyes on him.
“You look good, Cassidy.” He smiles. “I have to admit, even better than I remember.”
He’s been thinking about me too. The revelation hangs in the air between us, making me dizzy if I think about it too hard. Does he lie awake at night the same way I’ve been doing? His hand sliding down until he wraps a fist around the base of his cock, thinking of me as he starts to stroke his hard, pulsing length…
I clear my throat. “You, too. Look good, I mean.” Great start to this business meeting, my inner voice groans. I straighten my shoulders and gesture toward the living room table, which I’ve laid out with what I have so far: three full eyeshadow palettes in complimentary colors, as well as individual pots of more daring colors to sell on their own. “The merchandise is over here, if you’d like to take a look.”
Lark’s smirk only widens at my sudden professional shift in tone. But he steps into the room anyway, letting me close the door behind him, and after a pause, he takes a seat on the couch. The couch almost swallows him whole—it’s ancient, and the cushions have lost any supportive abilities they once had.
“Sorry,” I murmur, coming around the far side of the couch. I don’t have any other chairs in the living room, but I make sure to perch on the farthest cushion from the one where Lark is sitting, just to be careful. “This sofa’s seen better days.”
He snorts. “I’ve seen mattresses in alleyways that have seen better days, Cassidy.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us can afford to live in luxury penthouse bachelor pads,” I grumble, and he smirks at me.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s got character.”
“Character is code for ugly, and you know it,” I reply, rolling my eyes. But I’m grinning now, too.
“Only if you think pretty things have to have no personality.” Lark shifts a little closer to me on the couch—not that it’s hard. With the way the cushions sag, we’re both slowly sliding toward the center of the thing, an inevitable progression. It feels like the universe trying to throw us together once more.
I’m determined to resist it.
I reach out to grab one of the color palettes and practically shove it under his nose. “Here. You can be my first tester.”
He laughs, holding it up to the light. “Not my shade, I don’t think,” he teases. But his face softens as he actually studies the makeup. I watch him take a small amount, spread it across the back of his hand, then turn it this wa
y and that to admire the colors.
After a moment, he surprises me by standing and pacing over to the window.
“Natural light,” he says over his shoulder. “It helps to see better.”
“I know.” I smile, watching him. “I just didn’t realize you would.” There’s something absorbing about his expression when he’s concentrating. Like he’s stepped out of this world and into the inside of his own head. It makes me want to know what’s going on up there. To burrow inside and spy.
“I wouldn’t have, a couple weeks ago.” Lark returns to the sofa, apparently satisfied now. I can’t help but notice that when he takes a seat again, it’s far closer to me this time. Close enough that our thighs bump against one another, the warmth of his leg searing through mine, electrifying my entire body.
Fuck.
I’m in trouble.
“You aren’t the only one who’s been busy the last couple weeks.” Lark catches my eye. We’re so close that in my overbright apartment lighting, I can see the individual flecks of yellow scattered through his green irises. I can see the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly, as we hold one another’s gazes. “As soon as we signed your contract, I started to research makeup design and color theory. Just the basics, of course. I don’t have your eye.”
He hands the palette back to me, and I take it, our fingertips brushing as I do. His hands feel strong as ever, and the sensation sends fireworks through my veins.
“You’re very talented, Cassidy,” he says quietly. “Even a novice like me can tell.”
“Do you always research every new company investment you take on?” I ask, my own voice coming out soft too. Or was this one different? I don’t ask that second question. It tiptoes too close to asking what I really want to know.
Have you been thinking of me as much as I’ve been thinking of you?
“I try to, yes.” Lark’s eyes jump back and forth between mine, studying me. “It’s good practice to understand some of what you’re putting your money into. But…” He glances down at where our legs touch on the sofa. Back up at me. “There are some companies I take more interest in than others, I have to admit. Some businesses that seem more… promising, to me.”
Best of Penny Wylder: Boss Romance Page 20
