Command.
Control.
Patience.
You own these, Shep. Remember that. You wield them at master levels. Use them to your advantage. To gain the upper hand. Bide your time. You’ve waited too long to fuck it up now.
For good measure, though, I toss up a prayer to the heavens, not because I don’t believe in my own skill set, but because a man can use all the help he can get.
Satisfied her working at DSC won’t throw me off track, I turn my attention to Richard, and ignore her sharp intake of breath when I say with a grin, “Appears your spite has decided to show up for work after all.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Killian?”
“Mmm?” I mumble, head down.
Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Do. Not. Look. Up.
I’ve been pretending to be engulfed in my laptop ever since she walked into the room a few seconds ago. It’s not to be rude. It’s self-preservation. Every time I lay eyes on her, my craving for her grows tenfold.
These past two weeks have been insufferable. A walk straight through the bowels of hell would most accurately describe each and every second. It’s left me weakened and on edge.
The iron will I thought I’d perfected has failed me miserably. My backup prayers clearly fell on deaf ears. My hand is tired, my cock is sore, and I genuinely don’t know how I’ll make it another day without doing something neither of us is ready for.
“Do I have a big zit on the tip my nose or something?” She says this with a half laugh that’s sweet, threaded with a dash of spice. It’s an irresistible combination.
“Wouldn’t know,” I croak. I keep my attention glued to my computer, trying not to breathe. Her perfume fills my lungs with each inhale. It’s intoxicating, as if she’s laced it with some sort of aphrodisiac. Not that she needs any help in that area.
To my dismay, it’s just the two of us in this dimly lit conference room the size of a shoebox. Until today, I had succeeded at not being alone with Mavs. I arrive a couple of minutes late to every meeting I know she’s attending and sit as far away from her as possible. I started parking in the main employee parking lot when I found out her father had given her the VIP parking spot next to mine. One day last week we were the final two in the building, and while I had at least another two hours of work to put in, I packed up and finished at home.
And yesterday, she asked me to lunch. I lied. Told her I had plans with the mayor—the big brother of an old high school buddy of mine—on a rare day when I was actually free. So, to keep up pretenses, I left the office and drove around for an hour and a half to clear my head and regain focus.
Didn’t work. And I came back hungry, forgetting to eat.
“Killian?” she says again, this time with quite a bit more bite and insistence.
“Where is everyone else?” I snap impatiently.
There are a dozen people on this project, our biggest sales opportunity of the year so far, worth more than forty million dollars over a ten-year period, and yet here we sit, alone, the walls pushing us closer together with each passing minute. I can’t take much more.
Why Maverick was assigned to my sales team as project manager I still do not know. No, I do. It’s Karma. My penance for fantasizing about this woman for all these years.
“I didn’t invite anyone else. It’s only you and me.”
“You . . .?”
Fuck me. What did she just say?
The fluorescent light overhead flickers a time or two before burning faintly again. Perfect. Ignoring the hope we’ll be plunged into complete darkness soon, I ask, “What do you mean you didn’t invite anyone else?”
Now I do look up, positive I did not hear her correctly. A tongue-lashing sits at the ready, yet the second our gazes connect—no, crash—the second our gazes crash, it turns to ash, tasting of regret when I notice the shaky curl of her lips.
She’s worried I’ll be angry. I am. She is testing every ounce of control I foolishly thought I possessed.
“I, uh . . .” she stutters and trails off, quickly glancing at the door.
I follow, staring briefly at the slab of solid oak that’s closed, separating us from the rest of the company. From my assistant. Her father. And my brother, Kael, who is right next door.
My pulse kick-starts. My thoughts race to places that are raw and rabid and forbidden in the workplace.
Not now. And definitely not here.
Taking a few extra seconds, I work for self-control. “Why?” I ask at last, my tenor a mixture of loose gravel and course sand. It sounds like an invitation for her to shed her clothes if ever I heard one. Hell of a plan if you ask me.
“Why, what?”
All I hear in her breathless response is, “It’s about damn time.”
I couldn’t agree more, Small Fry.
Grabbing a pen, I flick it on and off for something to do with my hands, lest they end up unbuttoning the lavender cardigan she’s fastened all the way to her throat. I wonder if she’s wearing anything other than a bra beneath?
I picture how her perfectly proportioned breasts must look perched in white, lacy cups. Would the dark of her areolas peek through? Fuck. My mouth waters at the thought of my tongue tracing where fabric meets bare flesh, of sucking an aroused nipple through the material and the biting of her nails into my back, drawing blood.
The vibe in the room transforms, becoming noticeably charged.
She starts drawing tiny circles on the table with her index finger, eye contact not breaking with mine. Her posture softens. And the way a pink flush spreads up her neck, coloring her face as she moistens her lips, I’d say her thoughts traveled to the same place mine did.
I am insanely hard right now, and I swear to Christ if she sucks her lower lip between her teeth, I am done for. It’s a nervous habit of hers that drives my thoughts to sordid places. I’m embarrassed at how many times I’ve imagined those teeth gently scraping the head of my cock as I dive to the back of her throat.
Concentrate, Shep. Stop thinking of her eyes locked to yours as you take her in the basest way possible.
I take in a breath, blow it out in five even counts, and pretend to relax. This is precisely why I have been avoiding her.
Command.
Control.
Patience.
Jesus, man, get a grip.
After I will my dick to deflate, I push myself away from the table and draw an ankle up atop the opposite knee. Though there are six chairs at the round table, she’s placed only an empty one between us. I could reach out and touch her. How I want to, but I have got to regain the upper hand or the outcome could be dire.
“We have a lot of work to do, Mavs. We don’t have time to waste with whatever games you’re playing.”
Fire.
Molten and scorching.
It’s what’s currently raining down on me from her narrowed eyes, burning my flesh in both the worst and best ways possible.
Better than the alternative, I suppose. Or is it? I’m beginning to wonder.
“I had questions about how the federal vendor vetting process varies from state ones, so I didn’t miss an important step, and I didn’t want to sound incompetent in front of everyone else. Since you have the most experience with both, I thought maybe you would be willing to help me understand.” There is no longer an ounce of sugar in her even voice. It’s a hundred and ten percent spice, particularly when she adds, “My mistake.”
Chair legs scrape angrily against the floor when she stands and haphazardly gathers the papers she’s spread out in front of her. Two fall on the floor. She bends down to scoop them up. They crumple when she stuffs them into the manila folder.
Yeah. I probably could have handled that better.
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t know I needed to,” she retorts hotly, slapping the crap out of that folder as if it were the one who wronged her. “You mentor everyone around here.” Her
eyes are liquid balls of flames. It’s hypnotic. “Guess I’m the exception.”
I want to mentor you, all right. But not in the boardroom.
Lips pursed together, she refuses to look my way as she attempts to skirt around me, which she has to do to exit.
I should let her stomp off, angry. That was my intent, after all. Only the self-preservation I’ve been hanging on to goes to hell in a handbasket when I get a whiff of scents elemental to Maverick. Before I know what I’m doing, my feet are planted and I’m blocking her path.
At six feet even, I’m not that tall, but I tower over her five-foot-four petite frame. It should give me a sense of dominion, this superior position I hold. It doesn’t. She is the one with a power she is wholly unaware of, yet wields with native expertise.
Silence sits heavy. Her breaths come fast, hot fury needling the spot right in the middle of my chest with each ragged exhale. Those raven locks I want tangled between my fingers tickle the underside of my chin, ratcheting up my desire to bury my face in her neck, between her legs.
It’s pure bliss, being this close to her, something I’ve denied myself for not just weeks, but years. I long to wrap my arms around her and sway as I sing the sweet lyrics of Andy Gibb’s “I Just Want To Be Your Everything” softly in her ear, a favorite of hers. I want to undress her slowly and worship every curve of her body before making love to her for the first of countless times. I want romantic nights lying in the cool grass, locating each constellation in the night sky. I want arguments followed by make-up sex. I want everything I’ve told myself I shouldn’t.
She tries to create distance by stepping back, but I gently grip her bicep, keeping her next to me. No way, Small Fry. You’re mine now.
Command.
Control.
Patience.
All evaporate like dew on a sunlit morning when I hear the catch of breath in the back of her throat. Her chest expands rapidly, though it’s no longer the hotness of anger driving the cadence. It’s want.
“Move,” she huffs. She doesn’t mean it.
“No.”
I edge a finger under her chin and tilt it up so she’s forced to look me in the eyes, and when she does, the air thickens with electricity. It’s potent, the sting of its voltage running on a continuous loop between us. This is the only place I have ever wanted to be, weightless within the atmosphere surrounding her.
I’ve felt this before, this irrefutable draw. Many times. But where I was able to shut it down when it tried to consume me, I’m helpless this time. We each feed it in equal parts now. It pulses and breathes, a living entity neither of us can control.
She blinks at me, desire the fuel lighting her up. The ache for her that’s my constant companion builds to combustible proportions, and as a result, I do something rash.
“Meet me at Harbor Park tonight. Nine thirty.”
“Harbor Park? But . . .” Her forehead crinkles in confusion. I resist the urge to smooth the flesh out.
And yes, I am an ass. Asking her to meet after dark implies I don’t want to be seen with her . . . and I don’t. I can’t, but it’s not because I’m ashamed to be with her. It’s the only way. We cannot be found out. Not yet. There’s too much at risk.
“You want to be mentored, right?”
My heart is pounding. Talk. We’re just going to talk.
Riiight.
This is not the plan, Shep, the rational side of me chastises. She needs time. Wings. Maturity. Worldliness beyond the confines of Dusty Falls and her father’s shelter. Yet the only logic I’m listening to is from the organ beating madly against my rib cage. The heart knows no rationality. Love follows no rules.
I drop her arm and take a half step back, breaking physical contact altogether before I put my mouth on hers. If that happens, I won’t be able to stop. Not now. Not ever.
Her wrinkles deepen, now spreading down the sides of her button nose.
“But—”
“Maverick.” Pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger, I slam my eyelids shut and take a deep breath. My patience is about to snap in two. “Will you be there or not?” I ask, dropping my hand back to my side with a thud.
Say no.
Say yes.
She grips the folder close to her chest as if it’s her armor, as if it will protect her from what we’ve both set into motion. I’m afraid it won’t. It’s too late for that. She gauges me hard, trying to read my intent.
It’s entirely dishonorable, Small Fry. Believe that.
Her lips mash together into a straight line. I think perhaps she’s going to walk out without responding when I hear a hushed “Yes” as she sidesteps me.
Elation and frustration war in conflict with each other. I’m about to grab her and shake her or kiss her, I haven’t decided which, but the knob is in her hand and she has the door open before I can do either. And as my luck would have it, Kael is passing by at that exact moment.
Fantastic.
As if he can smell the pheromones pouring thick as morning fog from the room, he stops. His gaze jogs between the two of us, then over my shoulder, noting the empty room.
“Hi, Kael.” Mavs tries for jovial, but her nervousness is evident as she bounces from one foot to another. He, on the other hand, doesn’t even try for nice.
“Secret meeting?” His derision-laced accusation burns under my skin.
“No, of course not,” Mavs replies, her short laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were discussing some deadlines on the I-65 resurfacing project.”
“Uh huh.” His jaw ticks, his teeth clearly clamped together. He doesn’t take his eyes from Mavs now, trying to vet a lie. And Mavs is not a good liar. She could give Pinocchio a run for his money and win as evidenced by the telltale flush spreading like freshly painted watercolors across her cheeks.
Christ, Mavs.
“Hey, I was coming to find you,” I tell Kael, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. Kael doesn’t acknowledge me. He stays zeroed in on Mavs. A bead of sweat forms on her temple as if she’s under a heat lamp.
“Zandeski made some changes to the indemnification clause that I think leave us too open-ended. I need your opinion.”
I don’t. The changes are fine and I’ve already approved their request, but I heard Alicia clear her throat and quickly realized we were drawing unwanted attention. Richard’s office is directly across this small executive wing, his door open, and his scrutiny is the last thing I need piled atop Kael’s suspicions. I’m already in shit so deep waders are pointless.
“Is that so?” Seconds tick off before Kael gradually shifts his attention my way. The tension is fork-and-knife thick.
“Do you have a few minutes now?” I ask.
I want to bark at Maverick to get the hell out of here while she has the chance, but that won’t seem suspicious or anything.
“I suppose I could make time.” He swings the empty coffee cup that dangles between his fingers back and forth.
“Appreciate your flexibility.” I leave the sarcasm behind, though he didn’t. It won’t serve anyone well right now.
“I guess I’ll see you guys later then.”
I don’t acknowledge Mavs. I pivot and walk back into the conference room, hoping Kael will follow. The way the door nearly slams shut is my indication he did. He stands at my back, unmoving, silent. Still seething, I imagine.
Before he says a word, I have the redlined contract up on my screen. “What do you think?”
I step out of the way, but Kael stays trained on me. Now I’m the one being inspected. And I don’t like it, and unlike Maverick, I won’t put up with Kael’s backhanded bullshit.
Dragging out a chair, I take a seat. My legs fall open wide. “What?” I ask, crisply. Clasping my hands, I cock my head and wait for it.
“Cubs play the Hitless Wonders tonight.”
Huh. Not what I was expecting.
“Sure do,” I reply, not taking his bait.
Kael’s a die-hard Cubs fan, and he never lets me forget that my White Sox once carried that paltry label.
Nodding toward the laptop, I try to get us back on track, not interested in small talk or platitudes. I have hours of work ahead of me, and it will be difficult enough to concentrate knowing what tonight may bring.
“Thought maybe we could catch the game at Peppy’s like the good ole days.”
His invitation throws me. We haven’t watched our rivals play in, I don’t know how long. I miss it. I miss the bantering, the easy camaraderie we used to have. But those days are long gone, and I fear they can never be again.
“Can’t tonight. Sorry.”
“Oh?” Kael sits facing me, position matching mine, the contract all but forgotten. “Busy?”
He’s fishing, and Kael’s fishing skills are lacking, both literally and figuratively.
“Fuck yes.” I snort. “Busiest sales season this company has seen in years. I’ll be working until midnight.” I should be, though that’s not likely to happen.
“You’re doing well.”
I shrug. I’m doing all right, I suppose. I’d be doing better if I took Maverick and ran. This right here, his suspicion, the dissection of every word that comes out of my mouth, it has become commonplace between us. I know because I do the same.
“Look, I need to get back to it, so if you don’t have time now, it’s fine. I’ll email you the language I’d like you to review.”
“I thought it was urgent,” Kael quips. His body language is a one-eighty from his lighthearted tone.
“I don’t believe I said that. It was something I wanted to check off the list.”
Kael’s mouth angles down at the edges. “Okay, then. I’ll watch for the email.” He stands and stops, eyeing me. “You sure about tonight? Would be fun.”
I hate this. The strain between us. The jealousy. The lies. Suspicions. The erosion of our brotherhood.
“Another time,” I offer, wishing that were possible. Knowing it’s not.
“I’ll hold you to that.” He has one foot in the hallway before he turns and adds with an honesty I’ve not heard from him in a while, “I miss you, brother.”
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 31
