Huge Deal (21 Wall Street Book 3)

by Lauren Layne

  “All right,” she said after a moment. “Hit me.”

  His gaze never wavered from hers. “Ian told me I missed my window with you. That you had feelings for me early on, but then they stopped. I want to know why.”

  She laughed. “No, you don’t.”

  He frowned. “I do.”

  Kate hesitated only a moment longer before deciding to come clean. He wasn’t her boss anymore. She was no longer in love with him. So why not clear the air?

  “Fine,” she said, folding her hands in her lap and looking at him. “You know that night when you and the guys made that dumb pact to not date me?”

  He visibly flinched. “You knew?”

  “That you guys were childish morons? Definitely. But it wasn’t the pact that bothered me. It was what you said to convince them to agree to it.”

  He shook his head, indicating he didn’t follow.

  Kate took a deep breath. “You said, ‘The little thing’s hardly irresistible, but better safe than sorry in case any of us gets drunk and stupid.’”

  His head snapped back. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did,” she said simply. “Trust me, a woman doesn’t forget hearing the man she loves say something like that.”

  His eyes closed. “Loves.”

  “Yeah, well.” She kept her voice light. “What can I say, I was young and stupid. But on the plus side, hearing your thoughts helped me get over it real fast.”

  He rubbed his hands over his face. “I sure as hell don’t remember saying that.”

  “It’s fine,” Kate said with a smile. “I’m well aware that I’m no femme fatale, especially not back then.”

  “It doesn’t excuse me being cruel.”

  “Well, you didn’t know I was there, so—”

  “Would you shut up and let me apologize properly?” he said in exasperation.

  She held up her hands. “Fine. I’m listening.”

  He eased closer but didn’t touch her, his eyes intense on hers. “I don’t know what the hell that idiotic version of me was thinking. But I do know what the version of me now is thinking. Has been thinking for weeks.”

  Kate swallowed nervously. “What’s that?”

  His hand lifted as though to touch her face, then dropped again, his fist clenching. “That I can’t stop thinking about you. About putting my hands on you. About how we can’t seem to get our damn timing right, because you’re telling me that night on the yacht was the end of something, when for me, it felt like just the beginning.”

  She tried to calm her racing heart and couldn’t. She’d waited so long to hear these words from him, and yet she couldn’t forget just how much that initial rejection had stung.

  “I’m sorry, Kate—more sorry than I possibly have words for. Back then, the man you heard didn’t have the right understanding of the word irresistible, but the man sitting beside you right now does. And you should know—you must know—you are the most irresistible woman I’ve ever known.” His hand tentatively touched her cheek. “Do you trust me?”

  Kate studied him, studied his every feature, determined to read the truth.

  She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been a little distrustful of Kennedy in the past. Or rather, maybe not distrustful of him as much as of herself when she was around him. That much was still true. He, of all people, had the power to hurt her. Not because he’d want to or ever intend to, but simply because she’d given him such a big part of her heart and hadn’t gotten all of it back yet.

  But . . .

  This was the guy who’d never let her down. Who’d driven her an hour to her family’s house, then handled the aftermath of her father’s death, all without expecting so much as a thank-you in response. He was the type of person who took care of other people. Who cared for his own. So yeah, she trusted him.

  Which was why Kate gave in to an urge she’d been trying to stifle for years. She leaned forward and kissed Kennedy Dawson.

  24

  Sunday, May 19

  Had he really gone years without kissing Kate Henley? Because right now, Kennedy couldn’t remember how he’d survived the past month since he last had his lips on hers.

  Kate sighed, her breath warm and sweet as it mingled with his.

  Kennedy’s hand went to the back of her head, and he lowered her slightly back to the picnic blanket. He followed her down, settling his body against hers. Everything had changed that night on the boat and in the weeks leading up to it. He’d realized that he didn’t just want Kate, he needed her. She’d been all he could think about, the only important thing. He’d seen it happen with Ian when he met Lara, watched it brewing for years with Matt and Sabrina.

  He’d thought he’d understood it on a rational level. Thought that even if that sort of all-consuming obsession with another person didn’t happen for him, he’d known what they were going through.

  He hadn’t. Not until it had happened to him with Kate.

  Kennedy now realized that he’d do anything just to be near her. Even if it meant making out in Central Park.

  Especially then.

  She was shy at first, her kiss chaste, her body tense, and he let her set the tone of the kiss. Eventually, when her hand lifted to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair with a touch of frustrated urgency, he rewarded her by tangling his tongue with hers. Her small body arched up, her mouth opening to his.

  Kennedy was right there with her. He lost himself in the kiss, forgetting they were in a public place, on the fucking grass. He hadn’t even opened the wine, but he felt drunk on the moment.

  Drunk on her.

  His thigh moved farther over her, pinning her legs to the blanket, and Kate folded her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in. Kennedy’s hand drifted over her waist, over the shirt, because they were in a public place, for God’s sake. He’d never hated clothes as much as right now, and before he could think through the wisdom of it, his fingers inched beneath the hem of her T-shirt, finding the bare skin of her smooth stomach.

  As far as touches went, it was a chaste one, but they both moaned.

  His hand stilled, and his eyes flew open as he lifted slightly, breathing hard as he looked down at her.

  Kate’s eyes fluttered open a moment later, her gaze as dazed as he felt.

  “I don’t know if I can keep this PG,” he admitted, brushing a brief kiss over her mouth. As though proving his point, her lips moved against his, warm and clinging and passionate, and the kiss went from chaste to hot in the span of a heartbeat.

  “So don’t,” she whispered, then bit his lip.

  His fingers clenched against her waist once more before he groaned and tore himself away, rolling onto his back with a rueful laugh. “Jesus. I feel like a horny teenager.”

  Kate lifted her head. “Why’d you stop?”

  The vulnerability in her voice clawed at him, and he knew she was thinking about his careless words from years earlier. Words he didn’t remember saying, hadn’t even meant. Hardly irresistible.

  Fucking moron. She was beyond irresistible.

  And he was beyond hard.

  He rolled toward her. “I stopped because I was about five seconds away from screwing you in the middle of Central Park.”

  Her wide smile surprised him. Delighted him.

  “Screwing?” Kate said, her tone amused. “There’s a word I never imagined hearing from Kennedy Dawson’s mouth.”

  “What?”

  “The word screw to describe sex. It’s just so delightfully improper.”

  He frowned, not particularly enjoying how amused she looked at the thought of him and sex in the same sentence. “What word did you think I used?”

  She pursed her lips and considered. “Coitus?”

  “Christ.” He turned his head back to stare up at the sky.

  “Copulation?” she guessed again.

  “Stop.” His eyes closed in bemused dismay.

  “Fornication? I don’t know. I just picture you being ve
ry polite and proper and tidy about the whole process.”

  His eyes opened. Screw the picnic.

  Kennedy sat up and picked up the thermos and cups, shoving them back into the bag, along with everything else he’d already unpacked.

  “Hey!” She sat up in confusion. “What are you doing?”

  Kennedy stood, then reached a hand down to her. “Up.”

  She ignored the hand and scowled at him. “I thought we were having a picnic in the park.”

  “I’ve got something better in mind.”

  25

  Sunday, May 19

  They barely made it inside his apartment before six years of wanting this man took over.

  The second his door closed, Kate’s fingers found the front of his shirt, his perfectly pressed, never ever wrinkled shirt, and she bunched it between her fingers. Her eyes locked on his, seeing the same heat she felt mirrored in his dark gaze as she slowly, purposefully pulled his mouth down to hers.

  Kennedy bent his head, closing the distance of their considerable height difference, and the second his mouth touched hers, he took control. One hand pressed the center of her back, the other cupped the back of her head as he spun her around and pressed her back against the front door, his mouth never leaving hers.

  He slipped a hand beneath her shirt, his thumb flicking teasingly over the clasp of her bra before moving to her waist, his fingers pressing hot into her skin.

  Kate’s nails dug into his shoulders, and his fingers tightened in response before sliding to her hips and holding her still. For several delicious minutes, he did nothing but kiss her—long, drugging kisses that left her helpless with want.

  When she thought she couldn’t take any more, she broke the kiss on a gasp. “I need to catch my breath.”

  “Later,” he said, his mouth moving to her throat as he maneuvered her shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside.

  He bit her bare shoulder, and she gasped.

  “Still think I’m proper?” he ground out.

  Before Kate could register what was happening, she was over his shoulder and being hauled out of the entryway. Not carried, Gone with the Wind style. Hauled, Neanderthal style. It was single-handedly the most erotic moment of her life.

  Or maybe not.

  Because then she was on her back in the center of his bed. Kennedy Dawson’s bed. Something she’d fantasized about more times than she cared to admit, even to herself.

  But before she had time to register that it was finally happening, that his bedding was as pristine and wrinkle-free as she’d thought, though crisp hotel white and not the dark gray she’d imagined, he was pulling his shirt over his head, kicking off his shoes, and watching her like a man about to devour his prey.

  That was the most erotic moment of her life.

  Kate started to scoot higher on the bed, but Kennedy caught her ankle and dragged her toward him. She let out a little laugh, which quickly descended to a moan as he leaned over her, his lips skimming along the slight swell of her breast above her bra.

  Hooking a single finger into the fabric, he tugged it down just enough to expose her nipple to the cool air of the bedroom, followed immediately by the wet warmth of his tongue. His mouth fastened around her and sucked, his hands ripping away her bra and repeating the whole process with her other breast, until she was writhing and begging for more.

  Kennedy lifted his head, his gaze finding hers as his hand went slowly to the waistband of her shorts. His eyes held her perfectly still as his fingers undid the button. Then he stilled.

  Last chance.

  Kate’s thighs moved apart ever so slightly in invitation, and his breathing quickened. She heard the rasp of a zipper. His. Then hers. Heard him groan her name as her underwear joined their shorts somewhere on the floor of his bedroom.

  Heard her shout his name as his hand slid between her legs, finding her wet. Her eyes slammed shut as pleasure rolled through her, but Kennedy didn’t let her take the coward’s way out. His hand stilled, waiting until she met his gaze before he resumed moving his fingers again, exploring slowly at first, then surer as he watched her every expression, lingering longer when she cried out. He circled in the exact right spot, and her eyes closed again. His hand stilled. Waited.

  Her eyes popped open, and she glared at him. “Damn you, Kennedy—”

  He slid two fingers inside her without warning, and she bucked upward. This time when her eyes closed, he let her, his fingers sliding in and out of her body with perfect rhythm, his thumb finding the perfect spot once more . . .

  She was so close, so ready—

  Kate was just seconds away from release when he pulled his hand away. She was mollified slightly—only slightly—to see the way his hand fumbled at the drawer of the nightstand, the way his hands didn’t just open the condom wrapper but tore it.

  This time when she scooted up the bed, he joined her there, levering his body over hers, settling his hips between her thighs, his cock nudging against her aching center.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her eyes started to close, but she caught herself. She was learning his ways.

  He rewarded her by sliding his hand over her hip, hooking his arm beneath her thigh, until she was all of the way open to him.

  He entered her with a thrust so hard she moved upward on the bed, her hand coming up to brace against the headboard as she cried out.

  “Okay?” he growled, withdrawing slowly and holding still.

  Kate couldn’t manage words, so she nodded. Okay? She was so much better than okay.

  He thrust forward again, and Kate’s nails dug into his back.

  More.

  He gave her more. He gave her everything.

  She’d been so wrong. There was nothing clinical or restrained about the way Kennedy Dawson took a woman to bed. It was raw, intense, and mind-blowing, and yet it wasn’t careless. Even as he drove into her again and again, he watched her face, cupped her head in one hand to keep from driving her too far up into the headboard.

  He cares.

  And though she didn’t want it to, it was the caring that unraveled her.

  It was the way he held back his own pleasure until she found hers, his hand sliding between them, circling slowly, tauntingly, knowing somehow that she needed to be coaxed, just a little more—

  She came with a cry, her face lifting instinctively to the crook of his shoulder. His hand came to the back of her neck, holding her as she shuddered against him, then laying her back slowly as her body started to relax.

  His mouth crushed over hers, kissing her as he thrust home once more, gasping against her lips as he found his release.

  Kate felt a flicker of alarm at the realization that his release brought her almost as much pleasure as her own, alarm turning to panic as he pressed a kiss to her temple that felt entirely too tender for her heart to handle.

  He pulled away slowly and unabashedly rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom. She heard the flush of the toilet, the running water of the faucet, and sat up, sheet clutched to her nakedness as she looked desperately at the door, wondering, What now?

  She didn’t do this. She didn’t have afternoon sex with a guy. And definitely not with a guy she worked with.

  Did she run off and deal with the aftermath later? Did she play it cool, like it was no big deal? Did she—

  The bathroom door opened, and Kennedy walked to the dresser, pulling on a pair of black boxer briefs, then pulling out a T-shirt.

  Kate said nothing as she watched him, then realized he wasn’t putting the T-shirt on. Instead, he tossed it her way.

  She looked down at it lying across her lap. “What—”

  He shrugged. “Or stay naked. No complaints.”

  Well, when he put it that way . . .

  Kate pulled on the shirt. It was gray, soft, probably expensive, and shock of all shocks . . . not even remotely wrinkled.

  She took a deep breath and realized the benefit of sleeping with someone she’d known for years was that she
didn’t have to figure out next steps in her own head. Instead, she handled it Kate style. No games.

  “So now what?” she asked, looking him right in the eye.

  He looked unperturbed by the directness. Hell, he’d probably been expecting it. The whole knowing each other thing went both ways.

  “I usually want two things after sex: a nap and food. It just depends which comes first.”

  “Depends on what?”

  He looked at her. “You.”

  “You want me to . . . nap with you?”

  He shrugged. “Or eat. Your choice.”

  Kate felt her heart squeeze, and she wasn’t sure if it was with hope or panic. But there’d be plenty of time to sort all of that out later. For now . . .

  She smiled and flopped back on the bed. “Are you kidding? Nap. I mean, how much are these sheets? Be honest, are they more than my annual salary? They are, aren’t they? Did you know I got mine at Target? Thirty bucks.”

  “You don’t say,” he said, coming around the side of the bed and lifting the covers to join her.

  “They’re pretty nice,” she said, rolling toward him. “Not as nice as these. But good for the price.”

  “Hmm.” His eyes were already drifting closed. “I’ll have to try them sometime.”

  “Will you?”

  His eyes opened. “Hmm?”

  Kate swallowed. “It’s just that you sounded sort of certain that you’d be trying my sheets, and I was sort of thinking this was a onetime thing.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep, Kate.”

  She couldn’t. Not after she’d just done the unthinkable and had no-strings afternoon nooky with Kennedy.

  And yet she did.

  And damn if it wasn’t the best sleep she’d had in weeks.

  26

  Saturday, May 25

  “What am I looking at here?” Sabrina asked, picking up the wooden skewer of grapes and inspecting it.

  “Anal beads,” Kate said around a stuffed mushroom. “Duh.”

  “Nice,” Sabrina declared, dropping said “beads” into the glass of champagne she’d just poured.

  “Here, dear,” she said, handing the flute to an approaching Lara.