Nothing had ever been so good.
Long afterwards, she trembled against him. His legs ached, and his back muscles shrieked. He hadn’t kissed her, he’d taken her. His hand was still tangled in her hair, and he pulled it all aside to kiss the moisture from the corners of her eyes.
She hiccupped like a child who’d been crying. He rocked with her, still inside her. A contraction rippled over his cock.
He wanted to hold her, stay in her, but bent over her as he was, the desk must have been cutting into her abdomen. Easing back, he pulled out. She mumbled. He quickly dispensed with the condom, burying it in the trash, and flipped out the light. The moon streamed across her hair, setting it aglow.
She hadn’t moved, not even to pull down her dress. He covered her, then gathered her into his arms and carried her to his chair, arranging her in his lap.
She immediately hooked an arm around his neck and nuzzled his throat. “What was that?”
Cataclysmic. Earth shattering. “Good sex.”
“Really good sex.” He felt her smile against his skin. Then she rolled her head on his shoulder to gaze up at him. Moonlight sparkled in her eyes. “I shouldn’t tell you this. It’ll go to your head, but no one’s ever done that to me before.”
Made love to her? His heart kicked. “Taken you on a desk?”
She laughed, that musical sound he adored. “No, silly.” She ran a finger across his lips. “I mean I’ve never had an orgasm when I’m doing that.”
“Then you haven’t been with the right man.” He wanted to laugh at his joke, but there was nothing funny about it. He was her first. Jesus.
She lay completely still in his arms, then finally, she relaxed. “I don’t think anyone ever took enough time.”
It hadn’t been time. She’d been wet and ready before he even put his hand between her legs. And damn if he didn’t want to crow, while at the same time, he needed more from her than an orgasm. Or ten. Even a hundred.
He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me your name.”
She leaned back to look at him once more, then she mouthed the one thing he didn’t want to hear. “Jezebel.”
DON’T spoil it, don’t spoil it. Trinity willed him to hear her thoughts. She snuggled closer. Sex had never been like that. The orgasm had come from deep inside, shattering up and outward, shooting her out of her own body. She’d screamed.
Had she sounded like a braying donkey? Maybe. But so what? He’d gone crazy for her anyway.
Part of what made it so good was that they had only sex between them. She was free to do naughty things like have full-blown sex on a desk right in front of the windows. Or to take him in her mouth in the backseat of his car. To make herself come for him, to push him into stroking himself for her. She wanted to do so many more naughty things. With him. For him.
She wanted him to make her come like that over and over.
If he knew her name, he’d find out everything about her, and they’d become just another “relationship” with all the pitfalls, and worse, with the inevitable outcome. She’d proven she wasn’t good at relationships. All her inhibitions would come rushing back; she’d start acting a role, drive him away.
Trinity traced her fingers over his lips, then touched her own. “You’ll like me better if I’m a mystery.”
She could not lose the way he made her feel. Now, more than ever, after that incredible orgasm, she couldn’t let Trinity Green scare him away. So much better to remain his mystery woman, Jezebel.
11
“HOLD!”
Ron Rudd squeezed a hand through the elevator doors.
Ah shit. Scott enjoyed his job. He just didn’t enjoy his boss. He had to take the guy five days a week, but early on a Saturday morning, Rudd drained last evening’s lassitude right out of him.
“Glad you’re taking the audit seriously, Sinclair.”
“I take my job seriously.” Ass. Rudd needed supervisor training. His VPs were dropping like flies. Then again, that was a good thing. The company didn’t need eight VPs.
“Good. I hope you’re seriously considering how to correct the bottom line, too.” Rudd tugged on the neck of his polo shirt as if it were strangling him.
“The bottom line isn’t the issue, Ron.” The value of his stock options were the issue in Rudd’s mind. “It’s overspending. The world-class lobby in our manufacturing facility”—a ridiculous expenditure in Scott’s opinion—“doesn’t need to be that world-class. ” The design alone was seventy thousand dollars.
“If we want to be a world-class company, we have to look like a world-class company.”
That had been the standard party line all last year, when they put in the new computer system, which Scott had agreed was a necessity. It was the leather lobby chairs, marble floor, and expensive signage on the building he took umbrage with.
“And may I remind you that those are capital expenditures and don’t affect the bottom line?”
Where the hell had the man obtained his MBA? “True,” Scott drawled, “but cash is king, Ron, and the interest on the credit line plus the invoice factoring is sucking us dry.”
“If you negotiate the rate down on the factoring—”
“I’ve already gotten it down three percentage points.” Selling receivables invoice by invoice was a stopgap measure. Why the board of directors signed off on Ron’s proposals, Scott hadn’t a clue. He’d fought against both capital expenditures.
The elevator dinged, stopping on their floor. Thank God. He wanted a peaceful Saturday with Rudd staying on his side of the hallway. He had enough of the man during the week.
As Scott pulled out his card key, his boss got in his parting shot. “I’ve discussed the M4 reserve with Johansson, and he agrees it can be reversed.”
Johansson was chairman, but accounting was not his strong suit. He didn’t know generally accepted accounting principles from his ass. With all the accounting scandals in the last few years, Scott wasn’t putting his own butt on the line. “If the analysis bears that out”—he had Grace and her people working on it to satisfy any question in Johansson’s mind—“we’ll relieve the reserve. But it’s still getting disclosed, and it won’t help you make projected earnings. ” The beep of the alarm drowned out Rudd’s answer. Scott let the door close on him.
Ah, blessed silence. Since it was early, before eight thirty, if anyone was working on a Saturday, they most likely wouldn’t be in until later. He planned on a good two hours, then he’d take care of some garden work. Both Lexa and Brooke were home next weekend, and he wanted to get the chores out of the way so he could spend time with them.
Waiting for his computer to boot up, his mind drifted to Jezebel. Her scent filled the office, sweet, all woman. When he closed his eyes, he could feel her heat taking him. He’d never before crossed the bounds of business and pleasure. Yet in the last two weeks he’d talked explicit sex at least once a day, and last night, he’d broken the no-sex-at-work rule.
His heart beat faster knowing he’d given her the best damn orgasm in a way no man had before. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on without her name. As long as he was in the dark, she could leave him. All he had was a license plate.
Grace’s light knock on his open door broke into his reverie.
“I didn’t expect you today.” He typed in his password.
She ventured in, took a seat. “There’s always a few more schedules to check before the auditors get here.”
Her casual clothes consisted of jeans and tight sweater. Conclusion, she was definitely over the divorce and ready to move on. Thus the inquiry about a gym. She didn’t look bad, but women always seemed to want to lose another five pounds.
Which made him think of Jezebel and absolute perfection.
“Thanks for your dedication,” he answered. With Grace on the other side of the desk and unable to see his computer screen, he felt fine opening up his personal e-mail. He’d checked before leaving for the office, in case Jezebel e-mailed to tell him wha
t an incredible night it had been. She hadn’t. Now, his in-box contained only spam.
“If you need help going over the audit committee agenda, just ask.” Grace plucked at cat hairs on her sweater.
“Thanks for the offer,” he said automatically, his attention caught by an odd subject line on one of his e-mails, “I saw you last night, Scott.”
He would have written it off as spam except for the use of his name. He didn’t use any identifier in his address. The sender’s ID struck him as odd, too, ISAWU followed by a .com from one of the free e-mail Internet sites.
“Are you okay, Scott?”
“Fine.” Again, an automatic answer—99 percent of his focus was on the e-mail as he opened it. The JPEG image attachment entitled “Scott and his friend” started a buzz in his gut, his guilty conscience at work.
Grace eyed him, her head tipped like an animal trying to figure out the mysteries of a noise seeping from beneath the family couch.
“Don’t let me keep you from your work.” He wanted her out, now. “I’ll shout if I need anything.”
“Fine and dandy.” She rose, turned slowly, glanced over her shoulder, then smiled as she disappeared around the door.
At the risk of infecting his computer with a virus, Scott clicked on the attached picture.
Holy shit. He should have known seeing Rudd in the elevator was a bad omen.
The picture had obviously been taken from the doorway, yet he’d never heard the outer door open last night. At that point, he’d heard only sweet moans and cries. Damn. The office lights shone on his hair. He hadn’t dropped his pants, simply unzipped, so at least his bare ass wasn’t hanging out. All that was visible of his lady was her legs and high-heeled sandals. There was that blessing, yet the act being performed on his desk was clearly intimate.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” he muttered, and checked the photo’s properties. Someone had taken his picture with a goddamn camera phone.
He stared at the e-mail’s blank body. Blackmail? If so, why no demand? Without further data, he could only take it as a warning. He debated sending a reply. However, not acknowledging was the best approach at this point. It seemed prudent not to let the sender know he’d gotten to Scott.
Yet the questions roiled in his gut. Who the hell had spied on him last night? And why?
OVER the weekend, Trinity took Scott’s advice and called her brother to tell him she would not intercede with their father. He needed to deal with the problem himself. Of course, he didn’t answer his cell phone. After the fifth call, she left a message, though she hated telling him over voice mail. It seemed like the coward’s way out of a confrontation.
Of course, after she’d left the message, she was free to fantasize about Scott for the rest of the weekend. Friday night seemed like her very first time, and she felt all dreamy about it. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d picked up the phone to call him. But that wouldn’t do. She didn’t want to appear totally obsessed, even if she was.
And this morning, getting ready for work, she noticed how she filled out her suit jacket. So there, Ms. Rice!
At work, the coffee room was empty, and Inga wasn’t in her cubicle. The cash receipts list was still on the top of the pile in Trinity’s in-box. Nothing new. She sighed with relief at both blessings as she pulled out the office supply catalogue to order stackable in-boxes to better manage her influx of paperwork.
She didn’t notice the hush throughout the whole department until the thump of footsteps stopped in her cubicle.
“Where is it?”
She thought it might be Daddy, but she couldn’t be sure until she turned and actually saw him. She’d never heard quite that note— except the day he told her Lance was fired.
She swallowed. “Where is what?”
“The wire transfer.”
“What wire transfer?” She could feel all the ears listening through the cloth partitions.
“The Handle and Harbin wire transfer for the gold purchase.” His face was a dangerous shade of red. Explosive red. “I left it on your desk Friday afternoon while you were out to lunch.”
“There wasn’t anything on my desk when I got back.” And the cash receipts listing still topped her in-box. Just as on Friday.
“I put it here.” Towering over her, he stabbed the desktop.
“Well, I didn’t see it, so I didn’t do it.” And she felt sick. Her father never yelled at her.
“I know you didn’t do it because Handle and Harbin called asking where it was.”
“Well, I’ll do it right now.”
“Do you realize that means we didn’t make it into this week’s production plan?”
“No,” she whispered.
“They had to have the money by Friday to put it in.” His nostrils flared, and little red stress lines crisscrossed the whites of his eyes.
“Maybe they’ll make an exception if we ask them nicely.”
He stared at her. On the other side of the cube, someone stifled a guffaw.
Then her father grabbed her in-basket and started throwing papers on the carpet until he found one he held up to within an inch of her nose. She cross-eyed it, but couldn’t read.
“Send it now, and I will beg their forgiveness and promise my second-born child to them as consolation.”
“I’m your second-born child.”
“I know.” Then he stomped out. His footsteps rumbled around the perimeter and out the Accounting Department door.
Trinity couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. Then the whispers started. Indistinguishable voices, a snicker, another. She grabbed the wire transfer book and headed to Mr. Ackerman’s.
She didn’t trust Inga to tell her how to do it correctly. Because someone had taken the wire transfer off her desk while she was at lunch on Friday, and buried it in her in-box.
LANCE called her back in the afternoon. She took her ringing cell phone out into the hall.
“Trin, I need you to do this for me,” he said before she even spoke.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve given it due consideration, Lance, and I can’t.”
The upstairs hallway outside Accounting overlooked the lobby and stairs. Glancing up, the receptionist stared. Trinity didn’t know her name, either. “Let me go outside,” she told Lance. On her way by, she read the girl’s nameplate, then she smiled, memorizing the name.
Outside, the overcast sky darkened with the threat of rain. January oftentimes could be a good month, sunny, warmish, but by February, the rain was usually back.
“Are you there?” she said.
“Of course, I’m here.” Lance snorted. “Where would I go when my whole life is in the balance?”
She huddled beneath the overhang as the first splotches of rain hit the parking lot pavement. “You are so dramatic.” Trinity realized she often affected his same drama queen tone.
“This is important, Trin. I want to come home.”
She closed her eyes and hugged one arm across her midsection. She should have brought her jacket. “Then ring your father’s doorbell and talk to him.”
Show and Tell Page 17
