A Will and a Way

by Maggie Wells

  “Not until I fire you.”

  “You are quite the charmer.”

  “So I’m told.”

  Betty didn’t resist when he reached for her again, but instead of taking her hand, he clutched the hem of her jacket. Falling back against the desk once more, he dragged her to him.

  He spread one hand across the small of her back, holding her there, but with the same easy pressure he’d exerted at the bar. She could break away any time. Once again, he left the choice entirely to her.

  “You know, this doesn’t have to be all or nothing. We could have both.”

  “Both?”

  Dark eyes, eager and searching, scanned her face. “Do we really need to waste time? I think we both know that one way or another, this is going to happen.”

  “Is it?”

  “Fate.”

  “Wishful thinking.”

  “That, too,” he conceded. “I know I want it to. I want it to happen so badly I can taste it.”

  She inhaled sharply when he moved in closer. Warm breath teased her lips. Heat rose off his skin.

  “I could still taste your mouth the next day. I want more.”

  Soap, aftershave, and the heady scent of determined, predatory male laid waste to whatever good sense she had left. His fingers threaded through her hair. He cradled her cheek in one palm. Slowly, deliberately, and so masterfully she had the absurd urge to applaud, Will used the utter surety of each caress to dismantle her defenses. Each heartbeat he waited to kiss her felt like a lifetime.

  “Please.”

  Her plea bounced off his lips. She could taste the anticipation pooling on her tongue.

  His dark eyes flared. He knew exactly how much she wanted him. The bastard.

  “Please what? Give you the job? You’ve got it.”

  “Kiss me.”

  His pink tongue darted out to moisten sculpted lips, but still he held back. “I just need to be sure we’re clear. You’ve got a job as long as you want it.”

  “No strings attached?”

  “Not a one,” he promised.

  “And in bed?”

  “You can have whatever you want.”

  Betty nearly wept with gratitude when he pressed those warm, damp lips to the corner of her mouth. He chased that opening salvo with a feather-light brush and a playful peck. None of them were enough to douse the slow burn he ignited inside her.

  “But right now, I need to know… How are you with spreadsheets, my beautiful Betty?”

  “Spreadsheets?”

  He grimaced and waved a hand at the computer centered on a sleek desk. “If you’re as familiar,” he made the word sound positively filthy, “with that thing as you say you are, you can save me.”

  “Save you?”

  “I have a meeting, and I’m already late. If you can make it give me the permits I need, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Worth my while as in I get a steady paycheck, or worth my while in other ways?”

  “Yes. Both.” He flashed a cocky smile. “But first, I really need those permits, Ms. Asher.”

  Chapter 6

  By the time noon rolled around, Betty repaired and rebuilt three spreadsheets, removed the fine layer of dust covering everything in the reception area, and had taken a half-dozen messages from women claiming to need Will to return their calls immediately, if not sooner. She stood staring at the selection of coffee pots beside the single-cup machine. Awkward encounter with her barroom lothario aside, this assignment was proving to be far better than the frantic three days she’d spent trying to keep up with a hyper-wired commodities broker. He’d been impressed enough with her skills to offer her a permanent position on the second day, but she hadn’t been crazy about the hours or the guy’s erratic mood swings. Just as she wasn’t nuts about fielding phone numbers for a man who’d kissed her straight down to her toes then run.

  Not that she didn’t deserve it, turnabout being fair play and all. She had left Will high and dry that night at the bar.

  She helped herself to a dark roast that claimed it could strip the hair from her chest then sprout a fresh crop. She’d done the right thing in ditching that broker. It would be much easier to mix up a few digits on a phone number from someone named Misti—with an I—than to drag herself out of bed at four-thirty each morning. The past few days had peeled away another layer of her bravado. She wasn’t proud of her behavior in the bar, but oddly enough, she was more ashamed of the fact that she’d ditched. She’d promised herself she’d leave all that judgment and uncertainty behind. She was a grown-ass woman with needs and the right to have them met as she chose. And if she chose to get too tipsy on kerosene and rub all over a Hollywood fantasy of a man, then that was her own damn business.

  This big, bad city was her brave new world.

  She mainlined the caffeine as she poked through the kitchen cabinets, making note of various office supplies and food stuffs stored there. Given the stockpile, she deduced that someone had a serious yen for Pop Tarts and gel pens. Her money was on Will for the snacks and the yet-to-be-seen Greg for the writing implements. Uncertain if she should leave the office empty and unlocked long enough to run out to get some lunch, she helped herself to a toaster pastry and peeled back the foil wrapper as she took in the odd mixture of homey and utilitarian fixtures.

  A massive file cabinet stood opposite the refrigerator. The built-in pantry was loaded with blueprints coiled into tight rolls. She stroked a fingertip over the curling corners of one bundle then carefully closed the doors. Just off the kitchen, another office held a battered surplus desk that was the antithesis of the sleek design in the front areas. She knew it must be Will’s even before she spotted the jumble of hard hats, heavy-duty jackets, and muddy work smothering a metal folding chair in the corner.

  He’d taken great pains to reassure her while she’d extracted the information he’d needed for his meeting. Claimed he wasn’t in the office very much, and when he was, it was usually before or after business hours. This barely-furnished and excessively dusty office lent a bit of credence to his story. It was unmistakably his. An ‘up yours’ to the strictures of business administration. She smirked as she eyed the stack of manila file folders, cheap task chair behind the desk, and the wall calendar proclaiming it to be July even though April was just around the corner.

  She crossed the room to take a peek at June and August, wondering if there was any particular reason time stopped in the dead of summer. The other pages were much the same, leaving her to conclude he must prefer his bikini-clad women in tool belts rather than safety goggles. Or, in the case of Miss August, wielding a nail gun as pneumatic as her breasts.

  “Hello?”

  She jumped at the sound of Will’s voice. Hot coffee sloshed over her hand. She left a trail of Pop Tart crumbs in her wake as she rushed from the office.

  “Betty?”

  She shot a worried glance at the incriminating bits of pastry then squared her shoulders. “I’m in the back.”

  He skidded to a halt in the doorway, a carrier bag banging against his leg, and cocked his head when he spotted her hover at the door to his office. “Oh. Hi.” The obvious relief in his crooked smile made her heart do a lazy somersault in her chest. “I was afraid you’d ditched again.”

  “I was just looking around.”

  “I brought lunch.” His gaze traveled to the crushed toaster treat in her hand. “Ah, I see you found Greg’s stash.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “These aren’t yours? Don’t tell me you’re a Toaster Strudel man.”

  Will shook his head as he crossed to the counter. “I prefer real pastries.”

  “Heretic.”

  He looked up from the containers he was unpacking, and she shrugged.

  “Pop Tarts are a classic.”

  “There’s a German bakery two blocks down. I’ll bring in real strudel.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I should leave
for lunch or not,” she said, tossing the uneaten pastry in the trash. “I didn’t have any way to lock up, and I hadn’t thought to pack something.”

  He nodded. “I figured. I tried to get back, but things got snarled on the site check.” He jerked his chin toward a cabinet. “If you’d grab a couple of plates, I have lasagna and fettuccine Alfredo. I had them throw in some grilled chicken, but I didn’t know if you eat meat or not….”

  She nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh, I eat meat.”

  His hands stilled, and he shot her a narrow look. “Now? You’re going to start this now?”

  She blinked, taken aback by the swift shift in topic. “Start what?”

  “I was going to try to be a little professional. At least, until five o’clock,” he amended. “But if you want to start tossing the innuendo around now, just say ‘Go,’ sweetheart, and I’ll throw you up on the table and have you for lunch.”

  Her pulse fluttered as she darted a look at the tiny table pushed up against the wall. She sincerely doubted it would hold the weight of the lasagna, much less two people hell-bent on devouring one another. Swallowing to soothe her parched throat, she bit the inside of her cheek in a weak attempt to control her raging hormones and marshal her thoughts.

  “I wasn’t tossing innuendo. I was simply telling you that I am not a vegetarian.” She chuckled, trying to imagine how she’d have made it through two decades worth of rubber chicken, down-home barbecues, and church-sponsored spaghetti suppers subsisting on the ranch-drenched bits of iceberg lettuce people liked to call salad. “I’m a Southerner. We eat vegetarians for breakfast.”

  That sparked a laugh from him. “You do?”

  Letting one shoulder rise and fall in a manner that would have infuriated her mama, she smirked. “They go real well with buttered grits.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned back to the containers but slid her a sidelong glance. “So, just so I’m clear, that’s a yes to lunch and a no to…lunch?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “I’d love some chicken and just a little of the fettuccine, please.”

  He bobbed a quick nod then grinned like a boy. “I was hoping I’d get the lasagna.”

  Laughing, she retrieved two plates and set them on the counter as he rummaged through a drawer. “I’d be passed out at my desk by two if I ate that.”

  Plastic spatula in hand, he looked down at the rich pasta dish then up at her. “Hmm. The desk would work.”

  “Ha!” Shoving the edge of the plate hard into his stomach, she used his distraction as an opportunity to find her lunch. “You have a lot to learn about women, Will Tarrant.”

  For the first time since she met him, he looked truly surprised. “I do?”

  “Southern women, at least,” she conceded. “Never get between a Southern girl and her next meal.” She forked a grilled chicken breast onto the plate then added a portion of pasta far smaller than the heaping helping she truly wanted. She’d have to take it easy on the carbs if there was even a remote possibility of him seeing her naked. Sadly, she wasn’t twenty anymore. “That’s how a fella might lose a hand.”

  * * * *

  Lunch with Betty was a revelation. Yes, she was beautiful and smart, but Will had known that within the first two minutes at The Pump. He didn’t expect the easy conversation and earthy sense of humor. Beneath the cool, competent exterior and polite smile was a sharp wit backed by keen observational skills. The more he talked to her, the more he wanted her. Here on the table. There on the desk. Everywhere.

  He watched as she took a sip of water, mesmerized by the way her bottom lip pressed against that lucky glass and aching to pull its slightly-too-full mate into his mouth again. She gave him one of her ice-queen glares as she lowered the glass, but he wasn’t fooled. Her eyes were warm and her mouth was slick. He wanted another kiss. Hard, hot, and deep. Deeper than the other night.

  The tip of her pink tongue darted out to catch the moisture from her lip. Her eyes never left his. She was every bit as aware of him as he was of her. Hell, if she didn’t act so skittish, he’d think she was deliberately baiting him.

  “I should get back to work.”

  He placed a hand on her arm, and the hectic color in her cheeks told him she felt the same wave of heat that washed through him. “Take the afternoon off.”

  “Will—”

  “Don’t think. Thinking about things only leads to disappointment.”

  The smile she gave him was wry, but her eyes sparkled with devilment. That was more like it. The air of recklessness she’d had the other night was back. All he wanted to do was add some kindling to that spark.

  “Tell me you didn’t go home and think about me.” The legs of her chair scraped the floor as she stood, but Will didn’t relinquish his hold on her. Instead, he slipped his hand down to her wrist and wrapped his fingers around her. Tight enough to let her know this time he wouldn’t let her escape as easily as she had before. Eventually, he rose, too. “Do you want me to believe you didn’t lay awake that night like I did? Are you going to pretend you weren’t every bit as hot as I was?”

  “I have a vibrator.”

  Her teeth clicked when she snapped her jaw shut. Her eyes widened enough to let him know she hadn’t planned to divulge that particular bit of information. In that same instant, he pictured this pretty, proper Southern belle buried in a mountain of frilly pillows on a bed draped in that gauzy mosquito netting crap, fucking herself with a dildo, and damn if it didn’t make him hard as a goddamn rock.

  He pulled her closer. “I may not vibrate, but I can guarantee that you won’t have to resort to using rubber dicks to get off if I’m around.” He lowered his head. Mouths millimeters apart, he held her gaze. “Say no now if you’re going to say it.”

  “This is such a bad idea.”

  “Wrong.” Bypassing her mouth, he trailed a line of tiny, fleeting kisses along her jaw. “It’s Fate.”

  “It’s foolish.”

  “You’re delicious.”

  Ducking his next attempt at a kiss, she danced just out of his reach as she tucked her hand into jacket pocket. “I’m sure you can find someone else to snack on.”

  She held a handful of pink message slips out like a shield. He caught sight of the word ‘Jennifer’ and then a phone number as he plucked them from her hand.

  “But you’re the one I want.”

  “For now.”

  Dropping the papers without a second glance, he closed the distance between them. The messages scattered at her feet. He wound his fingers in her hair and gave a gentle tug, holding her close to him. “I told you. I want you. You’re the one I can’t get out of my head.” He chuckled when a helpless little whimper escaped her. A shiver of anticipation raced down his spine.

  “I need this job, Will.”

  “This has nothing to do with the job. I’m talking about you and me. For as long as we want each other.”

  “Can it really be that simple?”

  “It can if you let it. We’re two adults giving full and conscientious consent to a sexual relationship. Either one of us can end this at any time. No harm, no foul. No lawsuits, no recriminations. That is, if you still want me.”

  “Yes.”

  She whispered his favorite word again. He tilted his head to reward her with the kiss they both wanted so damn bad, but she turned to give him her cheek. She was pink and sweet as a ripe peach. Her skin was warm against his lips. Damn, he needed to taste her. Now.

  But Betty planted a hand on his chest. “No hanky-panky here in the office.”

  Will laughed and slid his free hand up to claim one of her breasts. To his delight and amusement, Betty let out a scandalized gasp then arched her back, pushing into his palm. He caught her ear lobe between his teeth and worried it until she went limp against him. He kneaded her through the fabric of her suit. Counting her bra, there were three layers of material between his bare skin and hers. Three too many. He teased her furled nipple th
rough those maddening barriers.

  “There’s going to be both hanky and panky here in the office, Ms. Asher, but I promise it won’t interfere with your work.”

  “But we shouldn’t…your partner….”

  Will raised his head. Staring straight into her eyes, he dismissed her concerns with a single shake. “You let me worry about Greg.” He’d tried to sound firm, but something he said seemed to have tickled her funny bone because she smiled that smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “What?”

  “No recriminations, conscientious consent,” she mimicked. “Are you a lawyer or something?”

  “I’m a builder.” The corners of his mouth twitched, but he suppressed the smile. It was disquieting to realize how much her amusement pleased him. “We like things to be clear, too.”

  “So we’re doing this?”

  The dewy softness in her voice shot straight to his groin. He swirled a thumb over the pointed tip of her breast, needing to weaken her resolve a little more. “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  Will swooped in to capture her mouth while the question still hung in the air. Warm, wet lips molded to his. Soft. Pliant. He teased them apart and took the kiss deep. Hot, commanding. He slid his tongue over hers, taking, giving, thrusting, and feinting. Needing to break down her reserve so he could get himself back on solid footing. Betty fisted her hand in his hair, gripping the back of his head. He broke away before she could wrest control from him.

  She appeared startled, disappointed, and more than a little confused by the abrupt end of this kiss. Good. He wanted her off-balance. It served her right after leaving him in the lurch. He fixated on the delicate pulse in her throat. The heavy rise and fall of his own chest barely registered, but the heavenly slide of her fingers through his hair was making him hit the high end of the Richter scale when it came to spikes of hot lust pulsing through him.

  “Dinner tonight?” The invitation slipped past his defenses, but the pink pleasure coloring her cheeks told him it was a winner.

  “Yes.”

  He almost roared like a lion when her fingernails raked lightly over his scalp.