Red Hot Rival

by Cat Carmine

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you talked to George Shapiro recently?” That seems to be the only possibility. We’re fast approaching the drop dead point for the IPO, but Trent’s still been insistent that he’d be able to figure something out in time. I haven’t believed him … until now. There’s just something about his posture, about the crook of his grin, that tells me there’s sure as hell something going on.

  “Why would you say that?” he asks casually. “But the answer is no, I haven’t spoken to him.”

  “So why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?”

  “Me? I hate the taste of canary.”

  “Funny.”

  Trent glances down at his watch and smiles. “Almost nine. Should we make our way out to the lobby?”

  I eye him for another moment before I finally shrug. “Might as well. Let’s go.”

  We stroll out into the east lobby together. There are already people gathering there, and a group of reporters — obvious from their cameras or the videographers who trail along behind them — stationed up near the front. The turnout is impressive and there’s an air of excitement in the room, and for a minute I forget my heartache and just feel happy for Tomas and Trinity Central.

  Once the crowd fills out a little more, Tomas steps behind the podium. He taps it once and the soft thud echoes through the room.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he starts. “Welcome and thank you for coming to the final evening of Trinity Central Hospital’s Homes for Hearts Lottery fundraiser. As most of you know, this is our biggest annual fundraiser and contributes, on average, 10 million dollars a year to research. That research helps cure, and assist those living with, diseases like cancer, diabetes, Parkinson’s, and Alzheimer’s.

  “This year, I am overjoyed to tell you that we have seen our greatest fundraising efforts ever. Thanks to your generous support and contributions, we’ve successfully raised a record-breaking 21 million dollars.”

  There’s a surprised gasp throughout the crowd and then a long and thunderous round of applause. Trent and I join in enthusiastically.

  From behind the podium, Tomas beams. He launches into a long list of thank-yous, naming, it seems, every sponsor and patron in the room. I scan the crowd while he talks, looking for Bree. I immediately spot her red hair — she’s up near the front, her head tilted gracefully as she listens to Tomas speak. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Almost too beautiful to be real.

  “I know you’re all eager to find out this year’s winners,” Tomas continues, once he’s wrapped up his acknowledgements. “But first, we have a special award to present. As you know, this year, we opened our homes up to a talented group of designers who helped us make the spaces even more beautiful than they already were. To help us present this award, I’d like to call on Bree Bailey, CEO of Bailey Living, and Luke Whittaker, Chief Creative Officer and acting-CEO of Loft & Barn.”

  Bree is closer to the podium so she makes it there first and looks out at the crowd as I pick my way through to the front. When she sees me, she smiles. It’s a true smile, too, happy and genuine, and it’s like a punch to the guts. It’s the smile she used to give me when she’d wake up in the morning and find me watching her, or when I’d come up behind her and kiss the back of her neck.

  When I step behind the podium with her, she squeezes my arm. It sends a jolt of warmth through my limb.

  She leans forward to speak into the microphone.

  “Thank you, Tomas. I know I speak for both Luke and I when I say this has been an incredible — dare I say life-changing — experience for both of us. The passion of these bloggers and designers is truly unsurpassed, and I hope this won’t be the last chance we have to work with them. It was hard to choose a winner, but Luke and I are happy to announce that we’d like to present the Homes for Hearts Design award to Jenny Gibson, for the living room she designed in the Gold Coast townhouse.”

  Bree picks up the plaque that’s sitting on the podium and hands it to me. I scan the crowd and see Jenny hurrying towards the stage. I pass her the award and Bree and I both shake her hand while photographers snap photos. We stand for a few more posed shots, and then Jenny leaves the stage.

  I look towards Bree, waiting for my cue to leave, but instead she leans back into the microphone.

  “I hope no one minds if we stay up here for another couple of minutes,” she says. “I promise we’ve already cleared it with Tomas.”

  Her voice carries throughout the room, but I’m sure the slight tremble in it isn’t obvious to anyone but me. I look curiously at her, wondering what in the hell she’s doing.

  She scans the crowd nervously, and then she smiles again.

  “First, I’d like to ask Trent Whittaker to join us here at the podium.”

  What the ever loving fuck? I watch as Trent makes his way to the front. I lean in towards Bree, trying to catch her attention, but she won’t look at me.

  Trent has to pass right by me to get to the podium, but I grab his arm before he can.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I hiss.

  He claps me on the back. A wide grin stretches across his whole face.

  “Remember when I said we just needed a big win?” he whispers.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well … we got it, buddy.”

  34

  Bree

  I can’t look at Luke. I can’t. Because if I do, I’m going to laugh or cry or maybe just kiss him, right here in front of everyone. Instead I focus on Trent, picking his way through the crowd to get to the front. I’m gripping the edge of the podium so hard I’m sure I’m going to leave half-moon fingernail marks in the woodgrain. Every part of my body feels like it’s sweating right now. Under my long dress, my legs are shaking.

  I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Well, okay, I’m making a life-altering announcement in front of a room full of strangers. Worse, I’m about to spring a hell of a surprise on the man I love. I keep telling myself he’ll be happy, but what if he’s not? What if this still isn’t enough to save us?

  Trent reaches the front and I see him whisper something to Luke. My stomach clenches as I watch them together.

  It has to be enough.

  It has to be.

  Trent comes to stand on my other side and gives me a quick nod. I take a deep, shaky breath and turn back to the microphone.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said this process has been a life-changing experience. Over these past couple of months, I’ve come to have a deep respect — some might even say love — of Loft & Barn. Watching our bloggers and designers work with both collections has shown us how Bailey Living’s vintage style can be blended seamlessly with the modern sensibility of Loft & Barn. Together, we can be something greater than the sum of our parts.” I take one more deep breath. “We learned all of this because of the Trinity Central Hospital fundraiser, which is why we wanted all of you to be the first to hear the news. Trent?”

  I step aside to give him the microphone, and my shoulder rubs against Luke’s. Even that simple touch sends my heart racing, but I can’t — won’t — let myself look up at him. I might fall apart if I do. Instead I squeeze my thighs together, trying to stop the throbbing between my legs.

  “Thank you, Bree,” he says smoothly. “I agree one hundred percent with everything you just said. That’s why it is our pleasure to announce that, effective immediately, Loft & Barn has acquired Bailey Living.”

  The crowd gives off a surprised murmur. I hear Luke suck in his breath and I finally risk a glance over at him. He’s staring at me, his eyes dark. I can’t read the expression in them. I had hoped he’d be ecstatic, but he looks confused, concerned, wary.

  “Rather than simply folding Bailey Living into Loft & Barn,” Trent continues. “We’ll be opening a new division called Bailey Vintage, that honors the history, integrity, quality and style that Bailey Living has always embodied. I’m delighted to add that Bree Bailey has agreed to come on as a part-time consultant to help us reimagine and gr
ow the new line.”

  I sneak another peek at Luke, but this time he isn’t even looking at me. He’s staring straight ahead. There’s a slight smile on his face, but I can tell that it’s forced, that he’s only keeping it on because he’s standing up here in front of all these people.

  God. Maybe we shouldn’t have put him on the spot like this. Trent and Hannah had thought it would be a good idea, but now I’m second-guessing everything. Did I do the right thing?

  I know selling the company to Trent is the right thing to do. It’s what Dad had wanted, after all. And I’d only had to talk to Trent for a short while to realize he has an incredible amount of respect for my father. I know he’ll do everything he can to honor the integrity of Dad’s life work. In fact, keeping me on as a consultant had been his idea, so I know he’s committed to the idea. And best of all, I’d been able to get him to agree to keep our entire staff for at least three years, so no one would lose their jobs.

  But not consulting Luke on any of this … maybe that part was a mistake.

  I look up at him from under my lashes and find him still gazing straight ahead. His body is ramrod straight and I want to run my hands along his chest, make him look at me and talk to me and tell me what he’s thinking.

  Soon. As soon as we can get out of here.

  One of the reporters in the front row raises his hand to get Trent’s attention.

  “Oh, I see we have questions,” he says, acknowledging the man. “Yes?”

  “How do you anticipate this acquisition will impact your impending IPO?”

  “Well, we expect it to make Loft & Barn an even more appealing investment. After all, now you’re getting two companies for the price of one.” Trent grins. He’s so confident up there. I feel a wave of relief that I’ll no longer be responsible for the daily decision-making at Bailey Living. Trent seems like the kind of man who was born for this job.

  Another reporter raises her hand. I recognize her from the other day, the one who was grilling Luke about our kiss. Robyn, I think her name was.

  “Question for Bree,” she says.

  Great. I force myself to smile but at my sides, my hands are balling anxiously into fists. “Yes?”

  “Now that you’ll only be working as a part-time consultant, does that mean you’ll be returning to Bounce?”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “That’s the plan, yes.” And God, I. Can. Not. Wait.

  “So will you be going back to Paris, then?”

  Shit. I glance over at Luke but he still won’t meet my gaze.

  “That’s … still undetermined,” I mumble. Margaux and I had discussed it, and it’s certainly a possibility, but what I really want is a reason to stay in Chicago. I want Luke to give me a reason to stay in Chicago.

  Trent catches my discomfort and steps back to the microphone. “Thank you all for letting us share our exciting news with you. We won’t take up any more of Tomas’s time up here. I know everyone is eager to get to the real excitement of the evening — the lottery winners.”

  With an easy grin, he turns away from the podium and the three of us make our way away from the front.

  Tomas heads back behind the podium and starts to speak, but I’m too focused on Luke to pay any attention. As soon as we’re away from the front of the crowd he grabs my arm and pulls. He moves quickly, but I follow him as we cut a swath through the crowd. He stays two steps in front of me and I keep my eyes on the solid wall of his back, covered in an expensive tuxedo jacket.

  I expect him just to lead me somewhere quieter where we can talk, or maybe over to the bar, but instead he pulls me right towards the main doors of the hotel and then out into the cool night air. He hasn’t said a word to me yet, and he still doesn’t as he hails a cab and hustles me towards the car.

  “Luke…”

  “Come on,” he says gruffly. He eases me into the cab and slams the door closed behind me. My heart seizes. Is he really not even going to talk to me?

  But no. I watch as he crosses around behind the cab and climbs in the other side.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Your home?” I ask hopefully.

  He shakes his head, and gives the driver my address.

  Disappointment courses through me. This isn’t working out at all how I’d hoped. Luke stays quiet the entire way and my fear and anxiety double with every mile. He’s sitting right next to me, but with every silent moment, I feel him slip further and further away.

  God, don’t let me have fucked this up. Please don’t let me have fucked this up.

  When the cab pulls up in front of my father’s brownstone, I reach into my handbag for my wallet, but Luke is already paying the driver. He hops quickly out of the cab and comes around to my side, opening the door and helping me out. My hand in his is the most physical contact we’ve had in weeks and it immediately sends a jolt of longing through me that’s so strong it almost knocks me to my knees.

  As if he can feel it too, Luke squeezes my hand and then doesn’t let go. As the cab speeds off, he pulls me up the six steps to my front door.

  It pains me deeply but I let go of his hand long enough to fish in my handbag for my keys. I unlock the door and then turn to face the gorgeous man standing behind me.

  “Are you … would you like to come in?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

  Luke’s eyes seem to burn right into me.

  “Fuck, yes,” he breathes.

  A shiver runs the length of my body, from my hair all the way down to the tips of my toes. He’s not touching me but I can still feel the heat radiating off his body.

  “Okay,” I say. I try to calm my quavering breath. My hands shake as I push open the front door and we step inside.

  35

  Bree

  As soon as we’re in the house, Luke kicks the door closed behind us and throws me up against the wall. For a second I’m shocked, until I see the pure animal lust written across his face. His body is tense, coiled, and he presses himself against me, pinning me against the entryway wall.

  Luke crushes his lips against mine. In a moment, weeks of worry and heartache disappear, replaced by a physical longing that’s so intense and raw it almost makes me scream. I open my mouth to him, letting him in, letting him take whatever he wants. Everything I have is his to take. Everything I have is his.

  His lips press ferociously against mine as his tongue invades my mouth. I try to breathe him in, to savor this moment, but I feel so desperate for his touch that I want him to just rip off my dress and fuck me right here in the hallway.

  Luke’s hands roam my body, touching me everywhere as I claw at his shirt, frantically trying to unbutton it. God, why does it have so many buttons? Why are there so many layers still separating our skin? I yank the shirt tails from out of his pants and slide my hands up under his shirt, feeling his taut skin and his rock hard abs.

  He shrugs off his jacket, letting it pool on the floor behind him, and then he yanks off the bow tie he’s wearing. Finally, my fingers find purchase on his shirt and I manage to yank open the remaining buttons. The sight of his bare chest is mesmerizing, and I let my fingers dance over the smooth planes, the ridges. I scrape my nails over his tight brown nipples and he groans.

  He runs his hands over my torso and cups my breasts. His mouth is against my neck, his breath hot against my skin. He runs his tongue along the curve of my throat and I whimper.

  “Luke…”

  “Why does this dress have to be so fucking complicated?” he growls.

  I start to laugh but he silences me with another ferocious kiss. It’s a claiming kind of kiss, and I let him mark me with it. I want him to know that I’m his … and that he’s mine.

  Luke pushes my skirt up. There’s so much fabric it spills over his arms as he bunches it around my waist, and I hold it up for him as he presses me against the wall. His hand trails along my bare thighs and then between my …

  I gasp as he pres
ses his fingers against my slit. His touch is electric. He grinds the lace fabric of my thong against my clit and the sharp shock of it makes my legs shake.

  “Luke,” I breathe.

  He pauses. “Yes?”

  I breathe again. “Don’t stop, okay?”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  He yanks at my thong and I hear a tearing noise as he rips it from my body. My pussy — and all my wetness — is bare to him now. He drops to his knees in front of me and breathes in deeply.

  “God, I’ve missed the smell of you,” he says. His voice is low and husky. “I’ve missed the taste of you.”

  “Me too,” I manage to squeak, even though it doesn’t begin to express what I’m feeling right now.

  Luke grins. His large hands grip my thighs, holding me in place as he looks up at me.

  “I’m going to eat your pussy now, Bree,” he says. “I’m going to suck your clit until you scream. Until you come all over my face. And then I’m going to lick up every bit of that sweet cream. Because no one tastes like you, Bree.”

  All I can do is nod, as I press my back against the entryway wall.

  Luke leans in and then suddenly I feel his hot tongue against my clit.

  Every nerve ending I have seems to be tuned to the same frequency, all of them blasting the same pulsing signal that’s radiating out from my core.

  Luke groans as he flicks his tongue over my pussy. Below the fabric of my dress, I can see his dark head bobbing between my legs. His enthusiasm turns me on almost as much as the voodoo magic he’s working with his mouth.

  My thighs shake as his ministrations become more focused. He trails his tongue up and down my slit, runs his teeth along my lips, sucks my clit into his mouth. He lets go of one thigh and uses his free hand to find my channel. When he sinks two fingers inside me, my legs almost give out.

  I press my back against the wall and he holds me up as the sudden orgasm overtakes me. I feel myself pulse around his fingers as he plunges them in and out of me.