“Your purchases were delivered earlier,” the concierge informed them as the door slid closed, “and I took the liberty of having them brought up to your rooms.”
Max stepped closer. Except for the light touch of his hand, he wasn’t touching her, but he might as well have been. He was like a wall of heat behind her, and her skin tingled with the knowledge that if she leaned back a scant inch or two, she’d have all that delicious muscle pressed against her from shoulder to knee.
As if he’d read her mind, his grip tightened on her waist.
The shorter lady, closest to Emma, shot her a conspiratorial wink. “If only our husbands were as attentive as Gerald here.”
Emma forced herself to concentrate, to smile at the quip, even as Max’s thumb stroked a lazy back-and-forth along the top of her skirt, igniting everything that had been on simmer since they’d gotten out of the car. Since he’d given her a blinding orgasm with the same fingers that were digging into her hip.
“Also, Mr. Fernandez called to say that he and Mr. Tuttle will be later than expected, so your dinner reservation has been moved to seven o’clock.”
The ladies shook their heads in unison, but they looked more amused than exasperated.
“After forty-three years of marriage, I guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise,” the taller woman said. “At least one of us has found a man with the good manners to be home on time for dinner. I hope this means he’s taking good care of you and not leaving you alone in the city while he works all hours.”
To Emma’s surprise, Max’s voice rumbled near her ear. “I’m definitely not leaving her alone, ma’am.”
“That’s excellent. Just what I hoped to hear.”
Emma didn’t like the way her heart bumped against her ribs at Max’s kindness, indulging in small talk she would have expected him to find annoying.
She leaned back ever so slightly, giving into the heat of his body, needed the contact.
“What a lovely couple you two make.”
Emma started, pulling away from Max. “Oh, we’re not...”
“Thank you, ladies.” Max cut in, drawing her back against him. “And I’m sure the business at hand must be very important if it’s keeping your husbands away from such beautiful dinner companions.”
The shorter lady tittered at the compliment. “Well, aren’t you a charming young man? Handsome, too.” She turned her attention to Emma. “This one’s a keeper,” she stage-whispered as the elevator doors slid open.
“Nice meeting you. Enjoy your dinner,” Emma managed weakly. The words came out too breathy.
“Oh, we will,” the taller woman assured her as she and her friend stepped out of the elevator. “Just not quite as much as you will,” she added, her eyes flicking to Max as the doors slid closed behind them.
They arrived at the penthouse two floors later.
“Will you require anything else this evening, Mr. Whitfield?” Gerald asked.
“I think we can take it from here.”
“Of course, sir. Have a lovely night, Ms. Mathison.”
Emma returned the nod, her knees a little shaky as she and Max stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the only door on the left-hand side of the hallway. They walked quickly, eagerly, and close enough that their arms and hands brushed inadvertently along the way, keeping her body tuned up for the main event.
Somewhere between getting out of the car and the elevator ride that had been a master class in foreplay, Emma found she couldn’t summon her earlier outrage at Max’s presumptuousness, because now, a hotel seemed the perfect place to finish what they’d started in the back seat, and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him again.
What was happening to her?
It was like she’d opened Pandora’s box to find it contained nothing but lust and now she couldn’t remember what it was like not to want him.
Emma turned toward him as they arrived at the door, leaning against the wall and watching him as he retrieved the keycard from his pocket.
The lady in the elevator was wrong. Max wasn’t charming—that was far too bland a description for his ability to read a room, to adapt to the situation at hand. Charismatic was a more appropriate adjective, she decided. Handsome, though, was right on the money.
The dangerous kind of handsome that grabbed her by the hormones and stoked something wild in her. She licked her lips and his eyes darkened as he stepped close. Emma lifted her chin automatically, but he bypassed her lips, and his breath ruffled the hair tucked behind her ear.
“You’re leaning on the keypad.” His voice was so low and sexy that it took her a second to parse the quotidian words. But before she could frown at him, he slipped his hand between her and the wall and the resulting arch of her back brought her breasts into contact with his chest. The door clicked as the locking mechanism released. With a grin, he grabbed the knob with his other hand, pushing it open.
“After you,” he insisted, and in retribution, she made sure to press against him as much as possible as she slipped through the doorway and into the room, reveling in his groan.
In a feat of magic, or more likely the quest for a better tip, her suitcase was already inside, looking dingy and cheap against the gleaming wooden floor.
“Wow.”
It was a beautiful suite, with a top-of-the-line kitchenette to the right and a sunken living room to the left, complete with modern white-leather furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across Los Angeles, shown off to glorious advantage in the evening light.
The snick of the door closing sounded a moment before his deep voice.
“Glad you approve.”
Max stepped close behind her, stealing her attention from the killer view. Her head lolled to the side, giving his lips easy access to her neck, and he pressed a kiss there as he slid his left hand around her waist and pulled her back against his hard body.
The sensuous spell he’d woven in the elevator rushed through her with a vengeance.
Her bag slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a thud, and her breath came out in a rush as Max traced his finger down her right arm, from shoulder to wrist, before pressing something against her palm and curling her fingers around it.
His lips brushed her ear.
“Charge whatever you need to the room.”
And then his body was gone, leaving her needy and confused and having no trouble summoning the outrage that she’d been unable to find out in the hallway.
She spun around, holding up the keycard in her hand.
“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous as Max opened the door. “You’re going?”
His gaze dipped to the rip in her skirt, which was now well past midthigh and working its way toward indecent. All it would take was one good tug and it would probably fall right off...
“I saw your face when we pulled up to the hotel,” he said, lifting his eyes to hers. “I know why you think I brought you here, and I know how you felt about it. So yes. I’m leaving.”
He stepped into the hallway.
“But if you decide you want...anything, my room’s just on the other side of the hall.”
Then he strode away, leaving the door to click shut behind him. Her body cried out at the loss.
With a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her bag off the floor and set it on the marble countertop.
Stupid body.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MAX PULLED OFF his jacket as the door to his suite closed behind him and draped the expensive fabric over the back of the couch. He needed a drink.
This thing with Emma was messing with his head. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling his sleeve up his right forearm, before following suit with the left.
He couldn’t keep his hands off her, and when she wasn’t around, he couldn’t keep his mind off her. The near constant case of blue bal
ls was distracting as hell, especially now, when he should be laser-focused on SecurePay, on bringing down whoever was trying to screw him over. And he definitely shouldn’t keep ignoring the fact that it might be her.
He was just about to head for the fully stocked bar cart that sat in the far corner of the sunken living room and pour himself a glass of whatever bottle he picked up first, but a knock at his door stole his attention.
Emma.
The drink could wait.
He wet his lips. Walked to the door. Pulled it out of his way and braced a shoulder against the jamb.
“Why are you here?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her question.
“I mean, I know why you brought me here. Well, I thought I did, anyway. But why do you have a room?”
“I live here.”
That surprised her. He could tell by her quick frown, the way she opened her mouth to say something, but shut it without a word, before opening it again.
“You live in a hotel?”
“I rent this floor.” He shrugged. “It’s close to the office.”
Not that he needed to justify himself.
Emma looked down at the hallway carpet beneath her feet, then up at him. She was beautiful, and he had the urge to reach out and tuck her golden curls behind her ear, but she beat him to it.
“So, you didn’t bring me to a hotel to fuck,” she said, her voice soft, and the curse word on angelic lips made his cock swell.
She stepped closer. He breathed her in, and she smelled like the ocean and sun-warmed skin. Clean. Fresh. A little bit sweet.
“You brought me back to your place...”
An alluring gleam lit her blue eyes and she clasped her hands behind her back.
Max pushed the door open in wordless invitation. Lust licked at his belly as she ducked under his arm.
“...to fuck,” she finished, now that she was inside.
He turned to face her.
“And that changes things?” he asked, reaching up to pull his tie off. It hit the floor with a whisper of sound, but his senses were so keyed up that it seemed louder.
She nodded, and he popped the button on his collar.
“It does, actually. You don’t strike me like a man who brings a lot of women home.” Emma reached for the top button of her shirt.
“And just what kind of man do I strike you as?”
“Discerning. Brilliant. Jaded.” She undid another with each word. “Strong. Sexy. Good with your hands.” He followed her lead until they were both out of buttons.
“But not one who gets laid often?”
He walked toward her as she tugged off her shirt, abandoning it on the floor.
No fucking bra. He didn’t know what his problem was earlier, because right now it seemed an inspired sartorial choice.
Her breasts were plump and perfect, and he backed her up against the counter of the breakfast nook, not stopping until he could feel her taut nipples against his chest.
“I think you do all right for yourself.”
He slid his hands up her torso before lifting her onto the marble surface.
“Just not here.”
He ignored the accuracy of her assessment, let her push his shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and when it dropped to the tile, Max’s hands settled on her knees as he stepped between them, nuzzling her ear. “I’ve been dying to touch you.”
She ran her palms over his shoulders and across his back. “All we’ve done lately is touch.”
“Not enough. Not like I wanted to.” He slid his hands up her thighs. The tear in her skirt went higher than he’d realized, and he had the sudden urge to finish what he’d started.
“Those were just appetizers,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the curve of her jaw. “A quick and dirty fuck on my desk.” He nipped her earlobe. “A cursory grope against the window.” He dragged his tongue up her neck. “And a frantic hand job in the back of a car.”
She made a sound of protest when he pulled back, but her eyes followed his movement as he grabbed either side of the frayed black material in his hands.
“I didn’t get to undress you.” With a sharp yank, what was left of her skirt came apart, leaving her in nothing but her teal panties.
Still too many clothes.
“I didn’t get to run my hands over your body.”
He skimmed his fingers across her clavicle, down the slope of her breast before palming it, giving her the pressure she craved, if her groan was anything to go by.
“And I didn’t get to taste you.” He kissed her shoulder as he ran his thumb back and forth over her nipple, once, twice, and she gasped at the contact.
“Do you like that?”
Her answer was no more than a whimper as he lowered his head and drew her into his mouth. Emma arched under the suction as he worked the pink bud with his tongue, and she had to grab him to keep her balance, her fingernails scoring his shoulders. He lavished the other breast with the same attention, made her squirm under the onslaught until he had to come up for air.
“Tell me what else you want,” he ordered.
Her eyes were drowsy with pleasure when they met his, and her smile was sinfully naughty. “How about I show you instead?”
She planted a hand on his chest and pushed him back a foot so she could hop down from the counter.
Emma grabbed his hand, and he followed as she tugged him across the suite, down the steps to the sunken living room, stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown LA. The sky was turning pink and yellow as sunset approached.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore,” she mused playfully, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. He rasped out a breath as she sent them sliding down his thighs.
Then she was on her knees in front of him, pulling off his shoes, his socks, shoving his pants out of the way before divesting him of his boxer-briefs, leaving him naked. Exposed. So goddamn ready for her.
He was this close to losing all semblance of self-restraint. The air vibrated with desire. Desperation. Sex.
Max’s knees almost buckled at the first swipe of her tongue, and his breath escaped in a hiss as pleasure seared his every nerve ending. He reached out, bracing a hand against the window to steady himself.
He wanted to hold her there, fuck her mouth until he couldn’t think anymore, just feel.
He didn’t, though, because he was too close to the edge. He didn’t trust himself to control whatever she’d let loose. Not when she was making him crazy, and he couldn’t get enough of her mouth.
He looked down at Emma, one hand gripping his thigh, the other at the base of his shaft, his cock disappearing between her lips. She was so fucking gorgeous.
Then, as though she could feel his gaze, she looked up at him and his hips jerked with need. It wasn’t just her mouth he couldn’t get enough of, it was all of her.
This woman.
If he were being honest with himself, he’d been attracted to her since the day they’d met. But it had always been in that detached way that came from knowing that it would never become anything. And once something was off the table, Max put it to the back of his mind.
But now...
“Jesus, Emma.” He raked his fingers through her hair. “That’s so fucking good.”
She accepted the compliment by sucking him deep, driving him closer and closer to climax. His hand in her hair tightened to a fist. He didn’t want to come. Not yet. Not until he was inside her.
“You have to stop.”
She did, and he dropped to his knees in front of her, kissing the questioning look off her face.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he assured her, before he grabbed his pants and removed the condom from his wallet.
She bit her lip as he sheathed himself, and then he was pushing
her back onto the soft, shaggy area rug beneath them, as she wound herself around him.
It felt so damn good to be in control of something where the outcome was certain, even if it was just his own orgasm. Well, his and Emma’s. She was blowing his mind in all the best ways right now. Making sure she enjoyed herself was the least he could do.
Everything had been so messed up since his little coup d’état, and while ousting his father had been the right business decision, it had led to a world of trouble for Max. This security breach was the latest in a long line of annoyances, crises and calamities that he’d been wrestling under control since he’d put the old man out to pasture.
He’d been going full throttle for five years, trying to whip this project of his into reality. To prove he was right about the direction he was steering Whitfield Industries. It had been his sole focus for so long.
Until Emma Mathison had strode into his office, thrown his offer of employment in his face, and then rocked his world right off its axis.
Just like she was about to again. Because if he’d thought fucking her on his desk had been good, it was nothing compared to having her naked and writhing for him.
“Do you want me inside you?”
The words were rough on his lips, and he watched in fascination as her breath came faster. “Yes.”
“Ask me for it.”
“I want you to fuck me, sir.”
He stared down at the amazing woman beneath him, the one who’d worked almost as many hours as he had over the last three years to make SecurePay a success, and he realized that, while it had been so perfect that night in his office, when they’d been playing their roles, all part of one night of fantasy, that wasn’t what he wanted now.
“Say my name.” It sounded more like a plea than an order.
“Fuck me, Max.”
Oh God. That was it. He was lost. His arousal surged as he pulled her close, shoving her panties down her thighs. He needed to get so goddamn deep that neither of them could breathe.
Finally—Jesus, finally—he was right where he wanted to be, driving into her, stifling her moans with his mouth as he kissed her. He loved the way she wriggled beneath him, clasping him to her as she rubbed against him, letting him know that she was as turned on as he was.
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