by Cynthia Sax
My shoes rub against my heels. I grimace and lean against a wall, reach down to adjust my no longer adorable footwear.
“You’re impossible, kitten.” Henley scoops me into his arms as though I weigh nothing.
“Let me go.” I slap his chest, struggling to free myself. Henley continues to walk, easily confining me, his arms strapped around my body.
A wave of exhaustion sweeps over me and my shoulders sag. “Then carry me if you want,” I concede defeat, realizing my efforts are futile.
He taps the button and the elevator doors open immediately. Lines are etched around Henley’s flattened lips. “I do want to carry you.” He waves his passcard and presses P1. “And I won’t ever let you go.”
“You should let me go.” I cling to Henley’s neck, my body cradled comfortably against his, my tote perched on my lap. “You’re breaking your own rules,” I remind him. “We’re in public.”
“It’s after working hours.” Henley’s gaze meets mine. “And no one is around.”
“I like that your rules have so many loopholes.” I kick my legs, and the movement reflects in the mirrored elevator walls, distracting me from my sorrow. “Have you ever had sex in here?” I deliberately change the subject.
“I’ve never had sex at the office,” Henley replies. “I take my responsibilities seriously.” He meets my gaze. “That’s not a challenge.”
“That sounds like a challenge to me.” I grin, the remaining tension easing from my shoulders. “I can return the favor in here tomorrow. I’ll kneel before you, unzip your pants, take out your cock, and wrap my lips around you. You can watch me suck you from all angles.”
“Give me the details later.” His lips twitch. “Sound is monitored in the elevators.”
“I’ll make you bellow when you come.” I laugh, ignoring his request. Henley doesn’t know what he wants, what he truly needs. “That will give your employees a show.”
“There’s no need to give my employees a show,” Henley states. “We’re running a business, not hosting a reality TV show.”
“If this was a reality TV show, we would form a secret alliance, you and I.” I allow my head to fall back, shaking my curls and kicking my legs, trusting Henley not to drop me. “We’d communicate through your hidden cameras, scheming against the others.”
“My job is to protect the others, not to scheme against them.” The door opens and Henley exits, carrying me into the underground parking garage. The floors, walls, and ceilings are also gray, matching the rest of the building. The yellow lines marking the spots and the red fire extinguishers hanging on the walls are the only splashes of color.
A big black sedan is parked in the spot nearest the elevators. The rest of the spaces are empty. “You’re the first to arrive,” I remark, “and the last to leave.” He lowers me to my feet and I wince, my heels paining me. “I’ll be glad to be wearing my slingbacks tomorrow.”
“I assume slingbacks are shoes.” A red light skims along the car’s tinted windows. Henley presses a button on his key fob and the light disappears. “I won’t ask what color those shoes are.”
“They’re not black.” I grin. “Your car is high security.” I nod, impressed.
“I try.” He opens the passenger door for me. I hobble into the seat. He shuts the door and strides to the driver’s side. The interior is plush leather and smells of lemon and cedar, his scent. I breathe deeply, savoring the combination as Henley settles behind the wheel. His seat is tilted backward and pushed so far away from the dashboard, it is almost in the backseat.
“You must have trouble renting cars,” I observe cheerily as he drives. “You’re huge.” Henley drives similarly to how he walks: smoothly, gracefully, his movements controlled. “My uncle has a driver. He works in the limousine as he commutes. He claims it saves him a lot of time.”
“I like driving,” Henley states. We exit the parking garage, moving into the daylight, the sun’s rays dimmed by the tinted windshield. He lowers the window behind mine and fresh air fills the interior.
“I like watching you drive,” I admit, slipping my feet out of my shoes. The car is immaculately clean, every inch polished. I place my bare feet on the dashboard. Henley’s gaze flicks to my toes and I brace for his reaction, expecting him to tell me to move my feet. He says nothing, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I look out of the window, recognizing nothing. “Are we going to your place?”
“No.”
“Oh.” I tap the window with my fingernails. “That’s too bad. I’d like to see your place.” I glance at him, hope filling my chest. The thought of returning to my empty hotel room doesn’t appeal to me. Henley says nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’d really like to see your place.” I place my hand on his upper thigh and his muscles flex under the fabric of his pants. “Tomorrow starts at midnight. We could start the new day with several rounds of hot, passionate animal sex.”
Henley grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening. Silence stretches, the dreaded silence. I chew the inside of my cheek. Did I sound too desperate, too needy?
“This isn’t about sex, is it?” he finally asks, his voice soft. I shake my head, unable to think about why I need to stay with him, to not be alone. He places his hand over mine, his skin warm and coarse. “You might not trust tomorrow but you can trust me, kitten. Nothing bad will happen to me.”
“You don’t know that.” I’ve heard that statement before. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” I squeeze Henley’s leg, the contact reassuring me. “Promise me you won’t drag race or run with the bulls or smoke an entire carton of cigarettes in one night.”
“I don’t take unnecessary risks and I have regular medical checkups.” Henley steers the car into a driveway. “Today I even ate broccoli. I plan to have vegetables for dinner also.”
“Good.” I force a smile. “Choose vegetables like brussels sprouts, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, or kale, lightly cooked. Those are the best foods for you.” I gaze at him. “I can make you dinner. I cook for my father and he claims I’m great at it.”
“I’m sure you’re a great cook and we’ll have dinner soon, but not tonight.” Henley stops the car, parking the vehicle in front of my hotel’s entrance, the historic building casting a long shadow over us.
“You know where I’m staying,” I murmur. Of course he know where I’m staying. Henley isn’t a man to trust blindly. He knows everything about me. I suck in my breath. “You know who I am.”
Henley unfastens my seat belt. His fingertips skim along my breasts, leaving a trail of delectable sensation. “And who are you, Katalina Volkov?” He brushes a curl away from my face, his eyes glowing. “I don’t know yet. All I know is who you are to me.”
John, the smartly dressed doorman, opens my door. I act as though I don’t see him, stubbornly keeping my gaze fixed on Henley’s arresting face.
“Who am I to you?” I ask, not knowing if I want to hear the answer. Am I a fast fling, an employee to watch, a possible threat to Blaine Technologies?
“You’re my tomorrow.” Henley captures my face between his big hands and I smile, his words warming me. “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock in the morning. Be ready.”
“I’m ready right now.” I turn my head and press my lips against his ravaged right palm. “Don’t die on me, Henley.” I reluctantly pull away from him. “You’re my tomorrow also.” I allow John to help me out of the car and I enter the hotel, resigned to braving another night alone.
Chapter Five
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING I stand outside of the front doors of the hotel and wait for Henley. I hope he arrives soon. The cup of coffee I clutch in my gloved hands is growing colder with each passing minute, the brisk morning breeze sweeping over my bare legs.
I’m not waiting alone. Orlando, a good-looking Italian multimillionaire, keeps me company. He describes his stable of beloved Ferraris, his words flowing and poetic, his hands shooting out
dramatically in all directions, an unlit cigarette trapped between two of his long fingers.
I suspect once I leave, he’ll light this cigarette, Orlando having no regard for the no-smoking sign prominently displayed by the double doors. The daytime doorman, also named John, isn’t around to uphold the law; the young man is helping a cheek-pinching grandmother from Chicago squeeze three huge pieces of designer luggage into a little red Porsche.
“This half man, your lover, is a fool.” Orlando waves his unlit cigarette in the air, his fingers slender and graceful. “To allow a woman so . . . so . . .” He struggles to find the word. English isn’t his first language.
“Breasty?” I supply cheerfully.
“Bellissimo.” He chooses a more acceptable term. “To eat alone, sleep alone, stand on the corner alone. It is disgraceful. When you are mine I will treat you like a queen.”
I admire his optimism and wonder once again why I’m not attracted to him. He’s tall, fit, has thick wavy black hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, and that charm European men have perfected, yet when I look at him, my body yawns. It seems I only lust after behemoths or foolish half men, as Orlando calls them.
Tires crunch on stone. I try to look around Orlando, but every time I move, he moves also, staying in my line of vision. “This might be my ride.”
“This?” Orlando turns around and scowls. It is Henley’s car and my heart skips a beat. “This car is not worthy of you, cara. It is . . . how do you say it?” He outlines a box with his fingers and scowls.
Henley exits his boxy car, straightens to his full height, and Orlando’s mouth drops open. I beam at my behemoth, his size thrilling me, and Henley strides toward me, his eyes as black as his outfit. Today his suit is French, a hint of a pinstripe softening the black fabric, the lapels finely crafted. He’s paired it with a black shirt and very expensive black leather shoes.
Henley’s gaze lowers and his lips curl upward. I’m wearing a pale yellow skirt suit with scallop details, a white belt, white slingback heels, and the prettiest white lace wrist-length gloves I’ve ever had the good fortune to own. The suit is one of my father’s favorites. He always smiles when he sees me wearing it, calling me his sunshine. Today I also carry a white clutch purse and the cup of coffee I ordered for Henley.
“Am I acceptable?” I turn, allowing him to view the ensemble from all angles.
“No.” Henley’s low voice rolls over me.
I laugh, delighted with his honesty. I’m well aware my outfit doesn’t meet the dress code at Blaine Technologies.
Orlando, my self-appointed defender, bristles with indignation. “You Americans know nothing about beauty. She is perfection, a ray of sun shining upon us. With her hair, her . . .” He waves at my chest.
“Big breasts?” I tease.
“She’s mine,” Henley growls, his possessiveness exciting me. “Don’t look at her big breasts.” He opens the passenger door. “Kitten.” He holds out his hand.
I pass him the cup of coffee. “I brought you coffee, black, no milk, no sugar, no whipped cream, and hell no to the chocolate sprinkles.”
“You remembered.” He sets the cup on top of his car and helps me into the vehicle, his grip strong and sure.
“I’d never forget.” I smile at Henley.
“See how she takes cares of you.” Orlando swirls his hands in the air. “You, big American dog, are unworthy of her.”
Henley turns his head and levels a hard gaze on Orlando. The passionate Italian immediately stops talking and his face grows pale.
I smother my laughter. My behemoth is an intimidating sight. “Ciao, Orlando.” I wave at my new friend. “I might see you—”
Henley slams the door, cutting off my words. I watch him with amusement as he moves to the driver’s side, fills the seat, places the cup in the cup holder. The aroma of freshly brewed java mixes with his cedar and citrus cologne, the combination intoxicating.
“Are you jealous of Orlando?” I ask. Henley says nothing, driving quickly, his focus on the road. He weaves the car adeptly through the already bustling traffic. “Orlando saw me eating alone last night . . . and this morning. He kept me company.” The aggressive Italian distracted me from my thoughts, from my sadness.
“Did he touch you?” Henley’s tone is surly.
He is jealous. “Nope.” I tap my feet against the carpeted floor. Bandages protect my heels. “For some reason I only want my big American dog to touch me.” The lines around Henley’s mouth smooth. “I thought about you this morning while I stood naked under the showerhead, the water running over my breasts, between my legs.” I play with the collar of my blazer.
His gaze darts to my fingers and returns to the road.
“Did you think of me?” I place my hand on his thigh and he stiffens. “I hope so. It’s tomorrow and I’m eager to return the favor, very eager.” I knead his tensed leg muscles.
“I’ve haven’t had sex for five years,” I continue. “I’ve been tested a zillion times since then, and I’m on birth control.” This sounds foolish and I laugh. “I’m a paranoid optimist.” I move my hand higher on his thigh. “Is there a reason we should use condoms?” I want to feel everything, not to have anything between us.
“No.” He covers my hand with his, stilling my stroking, his palms rough and warm. “We’ll have sex, but not today.”
I frown. “You promised me I could return the favor today.”
Henley squeezes my hand. “And I’ll keep my promise. I’ll always keep my promises to you.” I open my mouth. “We’ll do other things,” he explains as he pulls the car into the underground parking lot.
“Ohhh . . . I’ll suck your cock.” I beam at him. “In the elevator.”
“Not in the elevator.” Henley parks his car. Our vehicle isn’t the first to be parked on the executive parking level. A limousine stretches across one corner. Three black sedans are slotted in the spots near the entrance. A gray-haired lady exits from a silver Jaguar.
Henley opens my door for me, his expression serious. I slip my hand into his, savoring the connection. “I’ve made you late for work.”
“I can work from anywhere.” He folds his fingers around mine. “I’ve already checked the stats from last night, answered some e-mails, dealt with some administrative issues.” Henley cradles the cup of coffee in his free hand as we walk to the elevators.
The gray-haired lady gazes at Henley, down at our linked hands, and then up at me. A small smile curls her lips. “I considered buying that exact suit in black,” she says.
I beam at the lady, immediately connecting with her through our mutual love of fashion. “The black suit was darling. I was tempted to purchase it, but my father prefers I wear brighter colors.” We move into the elevator. I extract my passcard from my purse and hook it to my white belt.
“And what do you prefer?” The older lady’s suit is classic Chanel, the design beautiful in its simplicity.
“I prefer to please my father.” I glance up at Henley. “I made him a promise and I always keep my promises.” He brushes his thumb over my palm and I return my gaze to the lady. “I’m Kat. I’m a new intern.” I pin my clutch purse between my arm and my side and hold out my gloved hand.
“You’re a new intern. That’s interesting.” The lady clasps my fingers. “I’m Fran and I’m pleased to meet you.” She releases my hand. “Very pleased.” She looks up at Henley. “Expect a lunch invitation.”
Henley nods, his expression grim. Is he in trouble? I step in front of him, prepared to defend him.
Fran chuckles. “Beauty protecting the beast.”
He’s not a beast. I hide my sudden flash of anger under a serene smile. “Henley is beautiful and adorably protective.” I lean back and he hooks his arm around my waist, holding me to him, his body heat soothing me. “He’d put himself in harm’s way to safeguard the people, the company he cares for.” I rest my free hand on top of his, his scars proof of his dedication. “Blaine Technologies is fortunate to have a big stron
g man like him.”
“I agree,” Fran says softly.
The door opens. Henley bumps me into the fourth-floor reception area, stalks across the small lobby, and unlocks the doors, his movements jerky and his expression dark. Grant, the receptionist is missing from his post.
“Are we going to have angry sex?” I whisper as I traipse along the glass-lined hallway, Henley following me closely. A bleary-eyed man with disheveled hair turns his head and gazes at us as we pass. “I hear angry sex is the best, all of that emotion and passion.” I shudder.
“We’re not having sex today and I’m not angry with you,” Henley grumbles. “I’m angry with myself. Mr. Blaine expects me to keep him informed. Now he’ll be hearing about our relationship from his executive assistant.”
“She’s that Fran?” I ask, and Henley nods. We’ve been busted by the CEO’s executive assistant. I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Will he fire you?”
“No, he won’t fire me, but I should have told him about us.” Henley steers me into a large office. The space has floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, the panels of glass similar to those in the boardroom. Every inch of the interior walls are covered with screens and black cables and imbedded speakers. The screens display images of the building, stairwells, entry doors, hallways, interiors of offices.
A massive black desk dominates one side of the room. A black leather captain’s chair is positioned by the wall, and two less-comfortable-looking guest chairs are arranged in front of the desk. There are more screens and two keyboards on the surface, but no personal items anywhere.
“This must be headquarters.” I spin around. “What is this? You don’t have glass walls?”
“I’m the head of cybersecurity.” Henley closes the door and sets his cup of coffee on his desk. “Sometimes I have the need for privacy.” He pulls me into his arms, his hard muscles flattening my curves, his hips bumping against mine.
“Do you need privacy now?” I clutch his lapels, holding onto him.
