by Parker Swift
Hannah walked in, looking slightly frazzled, and we all straightened up. “Fiona, Lydia, don’t forget that I’ll need you two at the museum Friday night.”
Fiona looked totally unsurprised. “Of course, Hannah.”
Well, this changed things. At least I’d be around to witness Amelia’s pursuit, even if it just meant having a front-row seat to Dylan choosing her over me. The idea of being with him, or, more accurately, not being with him in public was somewhat nerve-wracking.
“Lydia, Fiona will fill you in, but for the most part I’ll need you two there early to make sure the dress is in order, and then for a little bit after it begins to make sure the model is taken care of. After that you’re free to stay and enjoy or jet off. Just check in with me first. And, Fiona, show Lydia the closet.” She waved an exhausted wave and headed to the elevator.
“‘The closet’?” I looked at Fiona and Josh, who were jumping little jumps and clapping their hands in unison. They grabbed my hands and practically dragged me down the hall to a set of double doors. Fiona pulled them open to reveal a huge walk-in closet, lined with racks and racks of Hannah Rogan clothes, mostly gowns.
Fiona was beaming, and explained, “These are samples, previous year’s runway looks, dresses sent out to magazines, all of the extras, so to speak. Hannah rarely lets us take advantage of this. I was here a year before I was allowed in here. You’re here, what, a week, and you’re in? So unfair. Anyhow, since you and I will be orchestrating the whole thing tomorrow night, we have to look good, and this—” she spread out her arms, gesturing to the racks of gowns “—is where we’ll find dresses.”
Josh jumped in. “And the shoes, and the bags. Ugh, you two are so lucky! When will she start doing menswear?” he grumbled jealously. “Lydia, we are totally going to make you over—we will Hannah you into submission before you head out the door to that party.”
“Well, thank god for this. Seriously. Left to my own devices, well, you’d probably get a glimpse of my high school prom dress.” I looked at my watch, and saw that it was 5:40. Lloyd was probably outside already. “Sorry, guys I have to run. Can’t wait to dive in tomorrow!”
I tried to contribute to the enthusiasm, but my brain had already fast-forwarded to when I would be in Dylan’s office. I darted into the bathroom, straightened my top and skirt, reapplied lipstick, and pinched my cheeks. And I literally ran out the door.
* * *
Outside, Lloyd was waiting in a navy blue Jaguar, and for the first time he wasn’t standing outside the car, ready to open my door. As soon as I stepped in, he greeted me and said, “Forgive me, Miss Bell, for not opening your door. Mr. Hale thought this might be less conspicuous.” Ahh, well that explained it.
“I’ve been his chauffeur for nearly a decade, and I’m known by many of his associates, you see, and, well.” Poor Lloyd was clearly struggling. He probably had never not opened a car door in his life.
“Please,” I said, rescuing him, “it’s fine, Lloyd. Thank you so much for the ride.” I could see Lloyd’s expression relax as he pulled out into traffic. “I am guessing that explains the change in cars, as well?”
“Yes, Miss Bell. The other vehicle you’ve ridden in is the only one like it in the city, custom-made, you see, quite recognizable. He keeps this car for more private matters.” I nodded. I guess Dylan really was taking this whole keep-Lydia-a-secret thing seriously. The thought tugged at me, but I pushed it aside.
We pulled up outside a glass and brick building right on the south bank of the Thames in Butler’s Wharf. It looked like an old warehouse or factory that had been retrofitted. “Thank you for the ride, Lloyd.”
“Of course, Miss,” Lloyd said from the front seat. He glanced at me in the rearview, and smiled. “I know Mr. Hale would prefer you not take the tube.”
As I rolled my eyes, I heard my phone buzz, and looked at the incoming text. It was from Dylan.
THURSDAY, 6:00 pm
I’m waiting. Top floor.
Lloyd remained in the driver’s seat while I sprang from the car, and I had to stop myself from running to the elevator as I had out of my office. Although I was still irked from being unwillingly thrust into a catty jealous frenzy about Caroline and Amelia, my skin was already tingling in anticipation, the familiar goose bumps rising to the surface. I wanted him.
The elevator doors opened, and there he was, standing right outside my car, hands in his pockets, looking urbane, completely relaxed, and in control. Images from the Internet flashed into my mind, and I couldn’t reconcile the man before me with the shaggy bad boy in those photos.
“Hello there,” he said, his lips curling into that unbelievably sexy smile. He spoke so seductively I lost track of myself and forgot to move. He leaned in and blocked the closing elevator door. “Are you coming, Lydia?” He smiled, clearly amused by my sudden paralysis.
“I’d imagine that’s on the docket,” I told him. I couldn’t believe I’d actually just said that. Operation Remain Cool was in effect. His jaw dropped in mock shock.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the elevator. “You cheeky girl. Come here.” He pulled me right to his chest, holding my hand and keeping one at my back, almost like we were slow dancing. I inhaled that salty-sweet smell of his, and let it feed my memories of our evening together. I was just beginning to warm inside his embrace, when suddenly he released me and stepped back, hands back in his pockets. I was confused until I saw a smartly dressed middle-aged woman walk into the elevator bank.
His whole posture had shifted, and the woman wished him a good evening. He nodded at her and wasn’t even looking at me when he said, “Right this way, Miss Bell.” The tone of his voice was casual and businesslike, like he’d never met me before in his life. It was an impressive shift, so expertly executed that I suspected this wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.
“Thank you, Mr. Hale,” I said, playing along. I followed him past the woman waiting for the elevator and into the vast space. Apparently most of the offices were on lower floors, because this space seemed mostly taken up by scale models and large tables. The design was stark, clean, light, and modern. It was open with insanely high ceilings and exposed brick.
“How many people work for you?”
“I’m the only principal. I have six other architects that work for me, and we have an internship program for students. And then several administrators.” I didn’t see a paper or pen out of place anywhere, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the boss’s preferences for control extended down to rules about clean workspaces. We passed a large central space that was wide open with enormous drafting tables and computers hooked up to multiple monitors. A few diligent types were leaning over the tables, working hard.
We were about to enter through a set of tall grey double doors, when we were stopped by a nervous-looking younger guy, an assistant presumably, who said, without looking Dylan in the eye, “Sir. Excuse me, but—”
“What is it, Thomas?” Dylan demanded curtly. “I said no interruptions.”
“I know, sir, and I apologize, but I’ve just had a call from the Sheik’s secretary informing me that he doesn’t like the balcony structure. He’s worried about access, and—”
“Thomas.”
“Yes, sir.” Poor Thomas seemed like he might be sweating even from his ears.
“Have you ever known me to alter my designs? For anyone?”
“No, sir. But I thought, because he is who he is—”
“I understand, but no. Please pass on that if the Sheik isn’t pleased with my design there are several other architects he could work with.”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas looked terrified and turned to sheepishly head towards his desk. Dylan looked at me, and I was pretty sure he could sense my intimidation or maybe my sympathy for Thomas, because he heaved a sigh and then looked back towards his assistant. “Thomas, email me the contact details. I’ll make the call myself.”
“Yes, Mr. Hale,” replied Thomas, visibly relaxing.<
br />
Dylan looked at me, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe that he’d just given in, and he ushered me into his office. The evening light flooded in from the large industrial windows on two sides of the room, but I barely registered the cavernous stylish space. Now that we were alone and away from the gaze of strangers, all of my attention was zeroed in on the strong beautiful man before me. He immediately closed the door behind us, locked it, and grabbed my hand firmly in his own.
Chapter 14
Worried we’ll get caught?” I said, following him across the gleaming dark floors to his desk. He took off his jacket and tossed it onto his chair, then pushed me against the smooth pale wooden surface, the edge digging into my ass, and leaned into me, over me. I had to brace myself with my arms pillared at my sides. I looked up at him, breathing him in, our faces so close. Every inch of my skin tingled.
“We won’t,” he said with total certainty. He was caging me in, his arms firmly pressed against my sides, and his stare was bearing down into me. “How was your day, damsel?”
He reached down and put his hand between my legs, slowly bringing it up and my skirt with it. He moved slowly enough that I was desperate for him to get to his destination, but fast enough that I didn’t have a chance to think. I had no choice but to listen to my gut, which was telling me to throw myself at him with abandon. He leaned down and kissed my neck.
“Informative,” I replied breathlessly, his touch already detonating sparks in my body. He lightly brushed my entrance with the side of his finger through my panties, and then moved his hand around, smoothing it over my ass. Grabbing the edge of my underwear from the top, he pulled them down, edging them past where the desk met my legs, and let them drop to the ground. He picked them up and quickly deposited them in the garbage can next to his desk.
“What? You’re not going to add those to your stash?” I protested. “You know I might need them later. You’re awfully—”
He cut me off. “No underwear,” he said. “Not with me. Ever.”
I started to open my mouth, but he laid a finger over my lips and kissed me, effectively silencing me. I should have been fighting against this more, but Christ, it was so possessive, so hot.
“You—” he brought his hand back up my skirt “—are drenched.”
I gripped his upper arms with my hands, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back as he stroked me. I could feel my insides start to pull and tighten just from his feathery touches. He leaned farther into me, and I felt his straining erection against my leg. In that moment, all I wanted was for him to be feeling the pleasure I was feeling, to have my lips wrapped around him. Images of Amelia and Caroline were flashing through my mind, and I wanted to possess him, claim him, even if it was only for this moment. I moved my hands to his belt and started to unbuckle it, but he grabbed my wrist, shaking his head.
“I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Fine,” I conceded, because I was already so close, “but I’m going to get my turn.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said while taking both of my hands in one of his and locking them behind my back, using his other to taunt me. He leaned into me, kissing me hard, making me feel like I was going to fall back onto his desk. His free hand continued to graze me, tease the crease between my sex and my thighs, laying whispers around the edges, almost touching me where I needed it the most but not quite. I could feel the sweat surfacing, and my legs starting to grow weak with need.
“Dylan,” I groaned. “God, holy mother of…Please.”
“Please what?” He was getting closer. He quickly swept over my clit, making me gasp, but was once again at the edges.
“Touch me.”
“Look down, Lydia,” he said. “Watch me make you come.”
I looked at his eyes, fiercely searching mine, and then I looked down. I saw my skirt hiked high above my waist. I saw my flesh exposed to him, spread for him, and I saw his hand rhythmically stroking me, toying with me. He sank his fingers deeper into me, stroking the front wall inside, hitting that perfect spot. I came fast and hard into his hand, and my chest shot forward as the peak of my orgasm tore through me. He met me, his mouth on my neck. He bit me, hard, and I let out a yelp. The slight pain was the perfect accent to my pleasure, and I felt ravished. This was no teenage finger fucking in your parents’ basement.
My breathing came down, and my eyelids were heavy. I fell forward as he released my wrists, and my head met his chest. He pulled me in and stroked my bare ass before lowering my skirt.
“I’ve been thinking about getting you off all day,” he said, holding my face. “Open your eyes.”
I looked at him with a sleepy smile and replied, “Lucky me.”
He lifted me completely onto his desk before backing up, and I dangled my feet. He moved around the office, collecting things, wrapping up his day.
“I saw Amelia Reynolds today,” I said, with as little emotion as possible. He paused at her name.
“Oh?” he asked with a cool clipped tone.
Ugh. I felt like he was a million miles away all of a sudden. I didn’t want to get into a fight, but I also wanted him to know that I wasn’t ok with being lied to or being made to feel like I had to compete for him. I also just wished I didn’t care. But I did, and I hated myself for not being able to hide it. This is why I had always known that letting myself go would be dangerous. I wasn’t built for playing it cool.
He looked at me, waiting. I could feel his eyes on me. “Look at me, Lydia. What is this about?” He was stern all of a sudden, demanding.
“She’s one of Hannah’s biggest clients. She was picking a dress for this museum event with her stylist, and all she was talking about was the Dylan Hale.” Yes, I could do this. I would just tease him about it, relentlessly. Keep my anxiety at bay with humor. “And about how she and your mother see wedding bells. It looks like someone’s going to get lucky tomorrow night. I mean, I’ve seen her nearly naked, and you could do a lot worse. If you—”
“Stop,” he commanded. He said it so firmly, so decisively, that I didn’t hesitate. And his tone cut through all my bullshit. He wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me tightly towards him. “I don’t do relationships, Lydia. With anyone—that’s not about you. And you’re the only woman I’m getting ‘lucky’ with—I told you that.” He had told me, but this whole situation was new to me, and knowing that there were women like Amelia out there required a level of trust, a gamble, that I wasn’t entirely sure I could embrace. “Plus,” he continued, “Amelia Reynolds is a spoiled twat.”
I smiled, hating to admit that I felt reassured, and put my forehead against his chest. “She is, isn’t she?”
After laughing, he held my face in his hands and tried to read my eyes. “Was there anything else?”
I didn’t really want to go into the Caroline thing, and I probably should have just kept my mouth shut and ridden the reassuring wave. But I must have been silent for too long, because as if on cue, he asked, “Lydia, what is it?” He could see right through me.
“I may have Googled you again, and,” as I said it, he look resigned and sighed. He knew exactly what was coming. “Just tell me one thing,” I started, without any real sense of what I’d say next. Fun, I reminded myself. No strings. It’s what I’d agreed to. I hated how raw I felt, how stuck I was between embracing the hot casualness of this arrangement and letting myself want more from him. I needed to get back to the place where we were giving each other outrageous state-altering, forget-your-own-name orgasms. I needed to take back control, if not over our sex then over the emotions. I smirked mischievously. “Did you tell Princess Caroline she couldn’t wear underwear, too?”
He smiled and eyed me, suspicious of my ability to roll with this whole royal-ex-fiancée business. “No,” he started quietly. “Just you.” He leaned in and said directly into my ear, “Yours is the only pussy I can’t bear to be separated from by fabric, no matter how thin.” Then he kissed me with a sweetness in direct contr
ast to his crude words.
He brushed my cheek and looked at me with concern, somehow letting me know that I was fooling no one with my cool act. “Lydia, Caroline and I know each other from grammar school. We were only twenty-three when we got engaged. And it was—well, it was a disaster, actually. But it’s been over for a long time, and we’re just friends. It’s all we ever were, really.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to explain.” Although I wanted nothing more than an explanation at that moment. Well, almost nothing more.
He moved his thumb back and forth across my cheek and kissed me so gently. He licked my lips and grabbed my lower lip between his teeth, sweetly tugging. And as he toyed at my tongue with his, I felt the anxiety drop away, too easily, probably, and it was replaced with the lust lingering just below the surface. His hands glided over the silk of my blouse, and he unbuttoned the top several buttons and slid his hand in. He freed my breast from my bra and began stroking his thumb over my tight nipple.
“Trust me, Caroline and Amelia are the farthest things from my mind.”
I couldn’t tell if that was the truth or if he just wanted me to feel reassured, but I didn’t care. It was what I needed in that moment. My head fell back, and I arched my spine, pushing my breast into his hand, begging for more. He could bring my arousal to the surface in an instant.
“Alright, damsel…” His fingers slowed and shifted to a gentle coaxing, and he tucked my breast back into place, leaving me feeling bereft. “Your turn.” He looked at me expectantly.
He had just been fondling me, working me up, and now he was going to stop? I gave him a look that I hope communicated the depth of my sexual frustration.
“Getting greedy? Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet, but I want to know what you were going to do if I’d let you unfasten my belt.” He looked down at his growing erection, and I licked my lips. I’d been thinking about getting my mouth around him for three weeks. It wouldn’t be my first blow job, but it would be the first one I’d ever actually wanted to give.
