by Karessa Mann
My heart beats in my throat. “You didn’t have to use your middle name with me last night. I’m sure you thought I was a simple business woman from out of town who would never tie the name Marcus to the Knight dynasty.”
The elevator bell dings. “You are wrong about one thing.” As the door opens, he looks at me with the same delirious desire he had in his eyes the night before. “You are anything but simple.”
He steps inside, but it’s a moment longer before I can get my legs to move.
“Coming?” He lingers on the word, giving emphasis to the double entendre. And now—I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk at all.
I keep my eyes down as I stand beside him, the door closing us in. Instantly, he curves his body so he’s facing me. My back is pressed against the wall. I look up and match his eyes, and I know my expression mirrors the lust in his. I try to hide it from him, but he’s standing so close that I’m pretty sure I fail miserably. When Marcus speaks I can taste the sweet mint of his breath.
“Tell me you can’t stop thinking about last night.”
“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” I breathe.
He steps even closer, his chest pressing against my breast. “Tell me you can still feel my fingers on the curve of your back as you pressed your ass against me.” Ever so gently, he traces my mouth with his thumb, my pouty plump lips tingle from our love making. “I can still recall the tremble of your lips when you were just about to come.”
Unable to speak, I close my eyes. With only his words, he has transported me back to last night and I am reliving every succulent touch of his hands and mouth that skillfully aroused my body.
He places his palms against the back wall, his forehead almost touching mine. He takes in a deep, savory breath. “I can’t get the scent of you out of my head. I could smell you on my skin, making it hard to sleep.”
Vibrations move through my body as the elevator lowers us to the ground. My arms are like concrete, my hands pressed on the wall behind me. I quiver as he gently leans down and trails his nose against my ear. “You can tell me to stop.”
But I can’t. Or I won’t. I know that I should, but it’s the last thing I want. I tilt my head to his, encouraging his lips to find mine. My silence is my answer.
“There is just one thing left to do before you are officially hired on here.”
At any moment the elevator will stop and we will be caught in this most inappropriate position. But I can’t seem to pull away from him. I only want more.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“Fill out the paper work.” His lips trail the side of my jaw. I lean back my head and sigh as his lips caress my throat in soft brushing strokes. When his mouth reaches my ear again, he whispers, “But I’m not ready to do that yet.”
I freeze and brace myself for the worst. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m fit for the job. Maybe he will talk his sister out of hiring me.
“Don’t be nervous.” He smiles against my skin. “You are more than qualified for the position. But once I’m your boss…” His mouth slides over my jaw, up my chin and lands softly on my mouth. “I can’t do this.”
I groan lightly as his lips brush against mine, tantalizing my delicate skin and torturing me. He doesn’t press down for a kiss. Instead, he softly sweeps his velvety lips back and forth, ever so gently over mine like a secret whisper between us. I’m frozen in place, my eyes closed as the sensation of his delicious mouth electrifies my sex. I moan, wanting to push my tongue into his mouth and taste him. My lips part just enough so that the heat of his breath mingles with mine.
“If you want more…” His words tickle my lips. “You will have to initiate it.”
I am just about to show him how much more I want when the bell dings and the door opens to the lobby. He quickly pushes away from me and the only thing the crowd hovering around the elevator sees is me trembling against the wall.
* * *
Marissa knight won’t stop talking. She shuffles papers left and right, obscuring the desk that was conspicuously tidy during my interview.
In two weeks’ time, I have quit my job at Embassy, officially taken on a Seattle residence, and started my job at Knight Hotel.
And not once in that time have I spoken to Marcus Knight.
I received a respectful bouquet of orchids when I arrived at my new home, along with a card that read, “Welcome to the Knight team. I look forward to our future together.” I left a message on his voicemail thanking him for the thoughtful gesture. Other than that, all communication between Marcus and I has been through Marissa. I have no way of knowing if that is just a coincidence or by his insistence. I fear every time she calls me that it will to tell me I can take my whoring ass back to Embassy, but instead I am repeatedly surprised by the kindness in her voice. Either Marcus hasn’t told his sister about our previous tryst, or she doesn’t care.
I can’t stop thinking about what he said. He made it clear that if I wanted something more between us, it would be up to me to take the lead. I wake every night in a sweat, my thighs trembling as I remember his touch, and all I want is to reach out to him, to continue what we started. But how can I do that now that he’s my boss? And yet, how will I be able to work with someone I can’t stop thinking about?
I was tempted to turn down the job at first. Though, on a professional level, I know it would have been the worst mistake of my life. I decided that I would not let one man deter me from a successful, profitable future. I deserve this job. I worked my ass off for this job. They are lucky to have me. So no, I will not let “Mr. Chivalry, a.k.a. best fuck I ever had” take this away from me. I can be professional. I can keep my panties on.
“I’m sorry?” I say as I emerge from my daze to find Marissa staring at me.
“I asked if you received an email yet from Mr. Gladstone.”
I fumble with my phone, my cheeks flushing as I search my inbox.
She makes a quick note on a post-it as she says, “Personally, I think web designers are a dime a dozen, but Marcus swears by this man’s work, said he did the site for Opal Hotel, which we all know is our biggest competitor.” She picks up a stack of papers and starts rummaging through them, a deep creviced scowl on her forehead. “I don’t see why we would want to have the same man design our website that designed our rival’s. If word gets back to Opal, they will think we are just shadowing them, when we all know that Knight Hotel has the opulence to dominate them. It’s Opal that constructed their hotel to look like ours. Let’s not forget that.” She sighs and drops the remaining papers on the desk.
“Can I help you find something?” I offer. What looks like the remnants of a tornado, but in actuality is her work space, is enough to make my heart quicken.
She falls into her chair and looks up at me. “I don’t want us to appear weak. Opal cannot see us as inconsequential.”
I glance quickly at the clock. It’s not even nine in the morning and I already need a third cup of coffee to keep up with Marissa Knight. Or perhaps a stiff drink.
“I will speak to Mr. Gladstone,” I say assuredly. “As well as contact my…” I turn at the sound of the door opening and see his longs fingers wrap around the door frame before he even steps inside. His navy pinstriped suit makes the deep blue of his eyes ripen to a bright cobalt hue. His hair is shorter. Black waves fall over his forehead as though he just ran his fingers through it. He smiles pleasantly at his sister before his gaze falls on me.
“Welcome back, Ms. Caldwell,” he says politely.
“Anna. And thank you, Mr. Knight.”
“Marcus.” He gives a short laugh. “And you’re welcome.”
“We were just discussing the web design,” Marissa chimes in, drawing my attention back to her. The heat of him right behind my chair is palpable as he moves closer into the room.
“Yes, as I was saying, I will speak with Mr. Gladstone as well as communicate with other contacts I have.”
“You don’t believe Mr. Gladstone is best for
the job?” Marcus asks.
“I believe he’s very qualified,” I say, turning my professional smile on as I look back at him. “Have you heard of Sandra Bloom?”
Marcus cocks his head, giving me a look of amusement. “Of course I have. Everyone in the hotel industry has.”
“Well, it just so happens that I have worked with her on numerous projects and consider her a personal friend.” I beam as the look in his animated eyes changes to disbelief. “I’ll put a call into her now.” I stand, but Marcus doesn’t move, caging me in between the door and the desk. I force myself to look up at him, thankful his sister can’t see the mix of emotions on my face.
“Seems like you’re off to an impressive start here,” Marcus says with a gleam in his eye.
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Did you underestimate me, Mr. Knight?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not for a second.”
I step to the side as Marissa thanks me for my diligence.
“Of course. My cell is on, let me know if you need me.”
Marcus reaches past to open the door for me, his hand gently grabbing my elbow as I pass.
“Have lunch with me today,” he murmurs softly against my ear.
My eyes dart to Marissa, who is back to hunting around her messy desk, her focus far from us. I’m not sure what I see in his expression. Is he asking me as my boss, or as a onetime lover? And which would I prefer? No, I know which one I prefer. But this is a matter of what is right, not what I want.
He must see the conflict on my face. Leaning back, he drops his hand from my arm. “As a congratulations on starting the next chapter of your career here with us, of course.”
Why do I feel disappointment when I know I shouldn’t? “Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
A few hours later, Marcus is leading me to the elevator. I’m preparing for the same wave of lust that rolls over me every time I am in this small enclosed space with him. Today, though, it’s slightly muted as we cram into the back amongst the crowd of guests. I stifle a laugh when Marcus gets whacked in the stomach accidently by an elderly woman’s oversized, heavily studded purse. He winces.
When we reach the restaurant, Marcus places his steady hand on the small of my back and leads me to a table furthest away from the other diners. I falter and he realizes I’ve take notice of his choice in seating. His hand grazes my elbow and holds me up. His voice is low to the point of a soft rumble as he says, “I hope you don’t mind. You said you like the window now.”
He’s mistaken my hesitation for my fear of heights. I’m grateful that he cannot see inside my mind. If he could, he would see the two of us pressed together like magnets against the glass, our naked bodies consumed by one another. The vision in my head is so vivid, I begin to tremble. I’m grateful for his gentle touch.
“I don’t mind,” I say quietly.
He pulls out my chair and while he isn’t looking, I turn myself just enough so that I’m facing away from the majestic view. Without his hard, passionate body against mine, the window still holds a trace of fear for me.
He introduces me to the waitress who arrives with an expensive bottle of chardonnay. I peak a brow at Marcus when she leaves. “It’s good to be the boss.”
He chuckles and a small black tendril of hair falls across his forehead. He brushes it back. “I do write their pay checks.”
Taking a sip, I peer at him over the chilled glass. “As well as mine, Mr. Knight.”
He stares back at me for a moment too long and I can’t believe I am foolish enough to hint at our past when he is here, as my boss, taking an employee out for a first day lunch. If he wanted something more from me, he would have offered dinner…or desert.
“I remember,” he says in a tone I can’t quite decipher. “And call me Marcus.”
The waitress returns, asking if we’d like menus.
“I’m sure you have it memorized,” I tease him. “You tell me what’s good.”
A confident grin slides over his lips. With his eyes on me he says, “We’ll both have the grilled salmon with cucumber salad.”
“Sounds delicious,” I say when the waitress leaves. “I’m sure it doesn’t get old having a world class chef at your fingertips.”
His eyes slide from mine to the window. He’s lost in thought as he takes a drink of his wine, his gaze peering far out over Puget Sound. “I used to come here all the time as a kid. Somewhere around adolescence it stopped being cool to hang out at your dad’s hotel all the time.” He smiles with the glass against his lips. “I guess the food loses its desirability when you are forced to eat it every night, or at least the nights I was with my dad.” He sets the glass down, peering back at me. His undisguised sincerity is what first attracted me to him that night in the bar a couple of weeks ago. He wears his vulnerability in his eyes and somehow convinces me that I know him better than I really do. That’s both alarming and yet alluring at the same time.
“And now that you own it?” I press.
He chuckles. “Now where’s the time? I find myself eating late night room service over a pile of paperwork.”
My brow lifts. “In the penthouse? You live there?” The words come out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. “I guess I just assumed…”
He cocks his head to the side with a sly grin on his lips. “You assumed it was my playroom? Where I take all my one night stands?”
I blush and cast my eyes away. The bustling room has fallen oddly silent. I can see the patrons embroiled in conversations, their words buzzing around in one long song, but I hear none of it.
“Would you believe me if I said you’re the only woman I have brought to my suite?”
My eyes slide back to his. The intensity of his expression catches me off guard. “Does it matter?”
He smiles again, igniting a sense of Deja Vu from our night in the bar when we had the same exchange.
“Maybe not to you,” he says, playfully. He remembers, too. My lips fail me and I grin in return.
“Don’t you have a home?”
He sits back, more relaxed now, and takes a drink. “It just sold. I’m taking my time, eyeing the market and seeing what comes up.”
“Lucky you.”
His eyes cloud over and I wonder what it is that I could have said to make him react that way. Our food arrives breaking the spell between us. I take a bite, savoring the delectable salmon, the fresh silence between us making me tense. His phone buzzes beside his wine glass. He slips it into his pocket without looking at the ID.
I set down my fork and take a drink. “I spoke to Sandra Bloom this morning. She said she…”
“I’m not interested in talking business right now, Anna.”
My eyes narrow at the sharpness in his tone. “Then what is it that you would like to discuss, Mr. Knight?”
He shakes his head. “You’re doing it again.” He picks up his glass, bringing it to his lips. The movement is slow and meticulous and I can’t help but stare. “I want to talk about you.” He takes a drink, sets down his glass and leans his forearms on the tabletop. He looks at me as if he‘s blocked out everyone else in the room and I am all he sees. “I want to know you.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry as I try to speak. “You know I worked at Embassy…”
“Don’t give me your resume,” he scolds.
I lick my lips, his eyes following the trail of my tongue. His mouth parts and he draws in a shallow breath.
“I’m your classic type A perfectionist. My mom used to say I fall somewhere between tight ass and OCD,” I begin. “She’s my best friend and has been since I was thirteen. I’m always cold, even in the summer time and I wear socks to bed. Which isn’t very sexy. I prefer tea to coffee, except I am a sucker every fall for a skinny pumpkin latte. I hate to exercise, but find that running is the only stress relief I have next to a bottle of wine. I have a younger sister who is flighty and irresponsible and I can’t have a five minute conversation with her without an argum
ent erupting and yet, I envy her ability to be so carefree. My father is still working even though he was able to retire three years ago. I guess you can say that’s where I get my ethic.” I take a deep breath, replenishing the air it took to expel the CliffsNotes version of my life story. “Does that suffice Mr. Knight?”
His dazed expression slowly morphs into a sly grin. “Not exactly, Ms. Caldwell,” he says coyly. “What about the man that hurt you?”
My eyes widen at the mention of Brandon. “Why would you assume a man has hurt me?”
“Are you denying it?”
I want to deny it. But I can’t. My lips won’t even allow me to form the words. What is it about Marcus Knight that makes me want to confess all my secrets?
“My boyfriend of four years,” I say cautiously. “He left me nine months ago.” He watches me steadily, without the pity I expected. I take a sip of wine. He’s enthralled, as though every word I speak has genuine merit and that keeps me talking. “For another woman. She’s a trainer at his gym.” I shake my head and give a pathetic laugh.
“He was threatened by you,” he states.
My lips curl into a cunning grin. “I can’t quite imagine what is so threating about me.”
“Don’t you?” he asks, dumbfounded. “A woman as bright as you must know the control you hold over a man. He was threatened by your keen intelligence and power.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He leans forward, the salmon forgotten. I’m hungry, but I have an appetite for something different than the meal on my plate.
His expression is one of confidence, like he knows a secret about me that I don’t. I hear his phone buzz again. He makes no motion to answer it. “This woman—is she as accomplished as you?”
My lips tighten into a firm line. There are many words I can think of to describe the little tramp who uses the muscles in her thighs more often than the one in her brain. Accomplished is not one of the words I would choose.
“That’s what I thought.” He smiles. “There are men who feel weak when they’re with a woman who outwits them. Their pride can only handle it for so long until they begin searching for a woman who will boost their ego.”
