by Silver James
“Beautiful.”
Her skin darkened, transforming from pink to a dusky rose. She was embarrassed and Cash found that oddly endearing. Roxie reached for him. One finger traced the line of his jaw, her nail scraping lightly over his five-o’clock shadow. His body tightened in response.
“I should say something,” she murmured.
Cash raised a brow but didn’t reply.
“Something...memorable or sexy...or something.” She sucked in a deep breath and held it as her eyes roamed over him. “But it’s really difficult when I don’t even have the ability to breathe.”
“Give it a shot.”
“Wow?”
“That works.” He didn’t fight the chuckle that followed.
She trailed her fingers down his chest, brushed through the dark hair there. “No one has ever looked at me like you do.”
He furrowed his brow. “Oh?”
“I think I like the way you look at me. At least the way you’re looking at me now.”
“Then lie back, Red, and let me look my fill.”
Roxie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. You want to touch me.”
“I do.” He enjoyed the way her skin quivered. “I’m going to touch you.” He cupped one breast. “Here.” His other hand moved lower. “And here.”
Roxie’s tongue played peekaboo again and he darted forward to catch it with his teeth, giving her bottom lip a little nip in the process. Her eyes closed and she swayed slightly. “You could seduce me with your words alone.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She blinked and studied him, her head tilted slightly. He moved in to kiss the soft spot just under her ear, now that he had easy access.
“What do you see?”
Her question startled him so he leaned back. “What do you mean?”
“When you look at me, like you’re looking at me now. What do you see?”
Cash’s first thought was to give her a platitude but something in her expression stopped the cliché on the tip of his tongue. He studied her—her apparent wide-eyed innocence, her playfulness, the pouty mouth he wanted to kiss again. “I see a woman who doesn’t know who she is.”
He could see that his words stunned her, and likely hurt. He hadn’t meant to be that honest, and truth be told, he wasn’t sure where the statement had come from.
“I know who I am.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“No, Red, I don’t think you do.” He cupped her cheek, urged her gently to look at him. “I see a woman who thinks she knows, but she’s just now discovering how amazing she can be.”
And where the hell had those words come from? Though he wanted to deny them, he knew them for the truth. “I watch you even when you think I’m not looking.”
“That’s a little unnerving.”
“Maybe. But that’s who I am, Roxanne. I study people. It’s my job. I can’t step away from it. Some people are meant to see others. I’m one of them. And I see you for what you are.”
Did he? Wasn’t she supposed to be an enemy? Someone he needed to keep an eye on, to protect his family from? But it was him who needed protection. She was burrowing under his skin with her wide-eyed innocence, her expressive face and those damn lips calling to him, demanding he kiss her.
“You don’t trust me.” She pushed at his shoulders for a fraction of a moment. Then her fingers curled over them and tightened. “You don’t trust me,” she repeated. “But I don’t care.” And then she crushed her lips to his.
Cash grabbed what she was offering, tilting her head so he could deepen their kiss. This woman did things to him, sent jolts of excitement sizzling through his system, short-circuiting his brain. He’d started this evening with the intent to seduce her but now found he was the one being seduced—beguiled by her innocence, her blatant desire. A flood of anticipation washed through him.
He wanted to be reckless, to take something he wanted for a change. To ignore everyone’s needs but this woman’s and his own. He wanted to drink her in with greedy gulps, to live and act only in the moment, to taste the pleasure and the passion they could share.
When he scooped her into his arms without breaking the kiss, she arched against him, hooking her arms around his neck. She made needy little whimpers in her throat and he could feel her pebbled nipples against his chest. He’d planned to take his time, to taste and tease, to elicit long, shuddering climaxes from her before finally sinking into her warm depths and giving in to his own pleasure. Later. There would be time enough later for that. He wanted her now.
Settling Roxanne on the bed, her head and shoulders cushioned on the pillows piled against the headboard, he reached blindly for the nightstand drawer. He didn’t want to break the connection between them, but instead fed at her mouth, caressed her from the slope of her shoulder to the curve of her hip while he dug out a condom. Her breathing stuttered when his hand slid between her thighs. She arched her hips, a husky moan vibrating against his throat as he found wet heat. A hot wave of pleasure seared him. All of this was for him. He had no need to arouse her further. She was ready.
Cash managed to get the package torn open and the condom on. They were tangled together on the white comforter, touching, lips searching, in their desperate struggle to taste, to caress, to somehow get closer than they already were.
Roxanne’s magnificent hair splashed across the white pillows like a mass of silken fire. He ran his fingers through it just to see if the waves would burn him. They didn’t, but his skin felt scorched anyway. Her scent deepened, grew richer, and he happily filled his lungs with it, drowning in the spicy sweetness.
“Please,” she muttered against his mouth. He lost the battle against his greed. He wanted her. The depth of their need would drown them both if he didn’t act. His body knew what to do and a moment later, he slid into the wet silk of her center. Propped on his elbows, he looked down at her. Her lips were parted and damp from her tongue. Her skin remained that dusky rose and her nipples puckered, calling his attention to them. He dropped his head and feasted on her. She moved under him, arching her body, her hands on his hips urging him to move with her. He did, with a long, slow withdrawal that left her whimpering.
“More,” she demanded.
He surged inside her and she gasped, but her hands clenched him, her nails scored his skin, telling him he was doing it right. He tortured them with another slow retreat. Her muscles clamped around him and he was completely lost. He pounded into her now, rougher than he’d intended, all in a desperate search for more. More of her. More for him. More of them.
His lungs screamed for air and his heart hammered against his ribs. Her skin radiated heat so intense it rivaled the sparks of fire in her hair. He made an effort to gentle his hands but he was ravenous. He’d never get enough of this woman, of Roxanne. He demanded everything from her, he wanted her—all of her—now. Right this moment. With a hand cupping the sweet curve of her butt, he changed the angle of his entry. Driving into her, he listened to her gasps, felt the shudders gathering as she arched and opened for him. She cried out, her eyes clouded with passion, topaz replaced by something closer to burnt amber.
Roxanne reached for him blindly, her palms cupping his face before her fingers traced its lines and hollows. Again her nails rasped across his shadow beard and his skin twitched as his muscles tightened in response. She breathed his name, dropping her hands to clutch his shoulders as she drove herself against him, grinding until her inner muscles fisted him, throbbed around him, milked him. He gritted his teeth, continued to pump inside her. “Now, Roxie. Now!”
“Cash!” she rasped. And when she fell apart in his arms, shudders racking her body, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and followed her over the edge.
“Shh, baby. Shhh,” he said around his own ragged breathing.
Little aftershocks rocked them both and they clung to each other. Her breath hitched each time one hit and Cash was egotistic enough to enjoy the hell out of the fact that he’d brou
ght her to this state. He raised his head enough to kiss her cheek. When he moved, his sweat-drenched skin glided over hers. She inhaled deeply and sighed.
“Wow,” she managed to say after wetting her lips.
“Definitely wow.”
She struggled to open her eyes and when she managed to do so, Cash looked into deep pools of sated pleasure. “You certainly are. I think I need the phone now.”
“The phone?”
“So I can call 911.”
Ten
Cash was laughing—probably at her, but she was too happy and too comfortable to care. His weight on her, the sensation of him still inside her felt...right. She shouldn’t go there—shouldn’t even stick a toe over that line. His affairs might not make the entertainment news or social pages, but he was a Barron. If his little black book were a digital file, it would probably take up a terabyte of space. He was that darn sexy. He’d melted her bones and they hadn’t done anything but the basics. What would he be like—Nope. She was not going down that rabbit hole.
“How you doin’ down there?”
“Just peachy.” His brows quirked and he looked disgruntled. She hurried to add, “I mean that in a very good way. My brain hasn’t switched off auxiliary power yet.”
That startled another laugh out of him and oh man did that do funny things to her insides. She tightened her thighs and contingent muscles and Cash cut the laugh short. She squeezed again. Did his eyes roll back in his head, and was he getting hard again? How was that even possible? Roxie pressed her head back into the pillows so she could see his face without crossing her eyes. She was about to say something when the bedroom door burst open. She managed a shouted, “Oh, no!” before Harley bounded onto the bed.
The Newf barked happily, licking both of them with abandon. Roxie was trying to fend him off with little success. She was laughing too hard to tell him no. Cash didn’t have that problem. He put a muscled arm around the dog’s neck and wrestled him to the mattress. They uncoupled in the process and Cash managed to shove the dog onto the floor. He followed with a graceful roll that put him on his feet. Roxie caught a glimpse of his tight butt before he disappeared into the adjoining bath.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Harley was back on the bed, all four feet in the air, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. She rubbed his belly and choked back her laughter.
“I swear I locked him out in the back.”
She hadn’t heard Cash leave the bathroom and as she glanced at him, Roxie was disappointed that he’d pulled on a pair of low-riding gym shorts.
“Yeah...about that. I probably should have named him Houdini. If I’d known about his tendency to escape, I probably would have.”
“Why did you name him Harley?”
Feeling a bit sheepish, Roxie tucked her chin against her chest and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck. “Because he’s big enough to ride and when he snores, he sounds like a motorcycle.”
“He snores.” Cash’s voice was flat. He closed his eyes. “Great. Just...great.”
* * *
Sunday had been spent lounging—watching movies, lots of kissing, more than a few sessions of steamy sex followed by steamy showers and an evening topped off with wine, pasta and a bubble bath. But now it was Monday. Normally, she’d be in her office digitizing files, moving boxes, searching for this piece of advertising art or that archived article. Today?
Today, she would be stuck in Cash’s office. With Harley. Why Cash insisted the dog come to work was a question she had no answer for. The dog was perfectly happy staying home alone all day snoozing. No one in the building looked a bit surprised when she, Cash and Harley boarded the elevator in the parking garage. They got off on the thirty-fourth floor.
A somber receptionist looked up at the ding of the elevator, acknowledged that the big boss was in the house, arched a brow at Roxie and Harley, then answered a phone that might or might not have rung, since Roxie didn’t hear a thing. The reception area was backed by a wall of polished black granite. Brass letters, lit from behind, spelled out BARRON SECURITY SERVICES. Cash didn’t say a word as she followed him down a hallway covered with carpet so thick she could see Harley’s footprints. At least it wasn’t white. She couldn’t afford to replace it, either. The thought made her smile. Cash hadn’t mentioned her debt lately.
They passed office doors—some closed, some not. Curious faces appeared in the open offices and she could bet that the office grapevine would be humming the moment Cash stepped into his inner sanctum. The rumor mill in her office would definitely be on overtime if she’d walked in first thing on a Monday morning with Cash Barron in tow. The difference was that these people had no clue who she was. At RCM? They all knew the Barrons on sight.
At the end of the hall, they entered an open space. A woman of about forty, with stylish dark hair and dressed in a dark pin-striped suit, occupied a huge circular desk that was flanked by matching file cabinets. A space-age-design computer with the largest monitor Roxie had ever seen sat on one end, a telephone system and files cluttered the other. Three doors opened into private offices. One said Bridger Tate, Vice President of Operations. She remembered talking to him on the phone—before Cash had jumped into the conversation. One had no nameplate. The other simply said, Cash Barron. Yeah, no need for titles where the Barrons were concerned.
The woman’s expression didn’t change as she handed a stack of message slips to Cash. Roxie glanced at her nameplate. Cheryl Carter.
“No fires, Cash. You can work your way through as time allows.”
“Thanks, Cheri.”
Only then did the woman’s gaze flicker to Roxie. “Want me to hold your calls?”
He looked up from reading the top slip and frowned at his administrative assistant. “Why would you do that?”
Cheri raised both eyebrows and tilted her head in Roxie’s direction.
Cash glanced from one woman to the other. “Oh. No. Beep me if I need to handle something.”
“Of course.”
Still riffling through the messages, Cash headed into his office, Harley and Roxie dogging him. At one point, Roxie slipped out to inquire about coffee. Five minutes later, a young man wearing jeans with knife-edge creases and a starched Western shirt appeared with a drink carrier holding two large Styrofoam cups. “Two creams, two sugars,” he said as he passed one to her. He set the second cup on Cash’s desk.
“Coffeemaker will be installed after lunch, Mr. Barron.”
Cash looked up at that and nodded. “Thanks, Nick.”
Roxie was about to say something when her phone pinged. She stared at the text on the screen and blanched. Her eyes rose to meet Cash’s gaze. She didn’t like the way her voice quavered when she announced, “It’s Dexter.”
Cash was beside her an instant later. She angled her phone so he could see the message, sent all in caps.
WHY AREN’T YOU AT WORK?
She steadied her breathing and willed her thudding heart to slow down to a normal rhythm. “What do I say to him?”
He studied the text before glancing at her. “Tell him the truth. You’re working on a special assignment.”
She typed out the reply in normal syntax and it had barely been sent when Dex’s reply popped up on the screen.
YOU AREN’T IN YOUR OFFICE.
Conscious of Cash’s perusal, she typed out, No, I’m on site.
YOU’RE A LIBRARIAN.
Roxie could all but hear the hostility and dismissive tone of her brother’s voice in that text. The corner of her mouth curled up in snarl and she narrowed her eyes at her phone. WRONG. I am NOT a librarian. I’m an archivist. There IS a difference. I’m on site curating a client’s collection.
I WAITED HOURS FOR YOU IN THE GARAGE.
She eyed Cash as she typed but he already had his phone out and was punching in numbers. Moments later, his door swung open and a man looking very similar to Cash walked in, his own phone glued to his ear. His hair had more russet and his eyes were a clear
blue, but the bone structure of their faces was similar.
You’re here? Why are you in Oklahoma City?
NOT FOR LONG. CHECKING UP ON YOU BECAUSE YOU NEED TO BE WHERE WE CAN FIND YOU.
Her temper spiked and she typed furiously. Seriously? I have a job, Dexter. A real job. Get lost.
Cash growled at her so she held up a finger. “Just wait. I know my brother.”
Thirty seconds later, her phone rang. She tossed a smug I-told-you-so smile in Cash’s direction and made sure the man standing next to him saw it, too. She pressed the speakerphone button. “I don’t have time to talk to you. Go away.”
“Now you listen to me, little girl. This is about family. You ran out on us in Vegas—”
“I ran out on you? Ha! That’s rich. You left me to take the fall, Dexter. Did you tell Max that? I bet you didn’t. I bet you told him I got caught and you barely escaped trying to save me.”
“That’s over and done, Roxanne. You know Max has something big working.”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
“Well, he does—”
“What, Dex? What does he have working? What are you all dragging me into?”
“It doesn’t matter, Rox. We’re family. You do as we say, when we say it.”
“Oh? Family, are we? So family is all about leaving me hanging like when I was sixteen? I had a blast sitting there in an interrogation room. Just awesome.”
“If you hadn’t opened the boxes—”
“Whatever, Dexter. I’m not doing this. Tell Max I’m done.”
“Doesn’t work that way, sister mine. Your last name is Rowland. That puts you in the crosshairs just like the rest of us.”
She couldn’t breathe for a moment and turned her back on Cash and the other man. “What does that mean, Dex?” She didn’t quite manage to keep the quiver out of her voice.
“That means next time you won’t have a lawyer show up to bail you out.” His voice was muffled by some background noises—or maybe it was the buzzing in her ears. Her hands trembled. “I gotta go. You be where we can find you. One of us will call when you’re needed. You come, Roxanne. Or else.”
