Briar could forgive herself and learn from that mistake. “I don’t know myself enough to figure out what I want. All my decisions were weighed against expectation.”
Gigi crossed the room, the dress in her hands forgotten as she sat on Briar’s other side, sandwiching her in. “Look at the source. No one can blame you for trusting your mother, but after what she did to you, can you really still think that any man she would find good enough is the right kind of man?” Gigi hooked an arm around Brair’s shoulders. “You should follow your own desire. Beat your own path, but if you need a guide, we’ll be here. Listen to me or better yet—listen to Ann. I didn’t and almost missed out on the best man that ever happened to me. She’s like the dating whisperer. She used reverse psychology to get me right where I needed to be.”
“He pisses me off, and it gets me excited.” Heat flooded Briar’s cheeks as the admission slipped out. “It’s that feeling like I’m about to run a race—the drive to win. When he baits me using my clothes—the one thing I do that has always just been about what I want—it makes me want to push back harder.”
Gigi passed her the dress. “So let’s do it. Let’s plan out some outfits and see just how big of an asshole he is. With enough encouragement, I bet he breaks and seals the deal. This color brings out your eyes.”
“Not this one.” Briar put one arm around each of her friends, pulling them in for a side hug as the smile started to tug at her lips. “I’ve got a new lavender dress that makes me feel like a goddess. I guess you get to play Barbie, after all.”
Who would have thought that hump day of all days could usher in an attitude change? Certainly not Briar. Nevertheless, the evidence was sitting beside her on a Chesterfield sofa with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie pulled loose. Not sloppy loose, just enough to be on the right side of sexy. Hell, he’d even gotten her coffee right. Apparently, he’d been paying attention, because today there’d been no creamers or sugar to fix it, but the first sip was perfect. Yet another sign there might be more to Ciaran.
If you had asked her yesterday, she might have said this level of charming wasn’t possible. She’d taken the advice of her girlfriends and dressed to provoke him. Silly and maybe ridiculously flirty, but she walked a razor-thin line with the rules.
He noticed. She could see it in his eyes. Even if he was holding his tongue.
She’d already had enough of his silence. “Are you about ready for a break? I know I’m at a good stopping point with the list of items we discussed.”
They’d been good little worker bees sticking faithfully to Jack’s master schedule—two very long, very quiet hours.
Ciaran lifted his wrist to look at the time. “Yeah, I suppose we could. The day’s almost over though. Do you want to put in some extra time and keep grinding on this after our break?”
She’d like to grind something alright. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” She could be late for her scheduled interrogation by the girls at their favorite watering hole.
He leaned forward, set his laptop on the coffee table, and then stretched his arms over his head before leaning back, arms spread wide along the rear of the sofa. He crossed his feet at the ankle and propped them up beside the forgotten laptop. “You wanted a break. Go ahead. Relax. You aren’t going to offend me.”
So agreeable today, was this the real Ciaran or was the foot-in-mouth asshole she’d been dealing with the real deal? After last night’s too brief chat on the trail, she wanted to know the real answer. She could rile him up and find out. It could be so easy.
“Thanks. You know it is a little hot in here.” Briar kept her tone light—very don’t look at the man behind the curtain—buying herself some shock value at least she hoped.
Standing or walking through the office for the casual employee she had to deal with; there was nothing wrong with her outfit. For most of the day, she’d even worn a very business appropriate sweater. She kept it buttoned through their morning briefing, and Ciaran hadn’t said a thing. She had a scandalous amount of cleavage, but he’d be sending home half the women in this building if he commented on that. Didn’t mean she couldn’t tempt him.
Briar set her laptop to the side and unbuttoned the sweater. Up to this point all of their interactions had been accident, or without any premeditation. Now she was making a choice there would be no going back from. As she leaned forward and pulled the sleeves down her arms, she revealed the low cut violet neckline of her dress underneath. Ciaran took a sharp breath in but otherwise held back any commentary. She turned her face away to hide her smile as she set the sweater beside her own computer—but she wasn’t finished yet.
She leaned back, mirroring him and crossed her legs at the knee, leaving her feet down. This allowed her skirt to ride up her leg. The not so office appropriate slit in the front gapped open, exposing precious extra inches of her thigh that set her face, and no doubt her very on display cleavage, on fire. Both were likely flushed red if she looked in the mirror instead of holding his heated gaze with one of her own.
“Ms. Goodall?” It was a question, but the way his voice grew deep came across more smolder than censure.
“Mr. Rand.” This behavior, such a un-Briar-like thing to do—overtly flirt and with someone as inappropriate as her boss.
Should she feel dirty? Maybe. It never seemed to bother Gigi or apparently Ann. If they were right, he might be just what she needed. Neither she nor Ciaran would cross a line, not with their careers at stake. There couldn’t be any real harm. The small thrill she got from pushing just this little bit would be enough for her. After spending so much of her life in pursuit of perfect—this, whatever it was that drove her to push him and goad him into a response, tasted like liberation.
That’s when it dawned on her—exactly what this behavior was. As children when a boy liked a girl, he wasn’t nice, not at first. Boys panicked at the new strange feeling. Little boys told little girls they had cooties. They called the girl names and gave themselves “cootie shots” in the arm. If she was right, Ciaran was little more than a ten-year-old boy in a grown man’s body, but instead of passing notes through a friend, he had Jack send calendar meeting invites.
Briar couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that snuck out as she visualized the comparison. Her cheeks ached with the muscle strain of keeping her smile suppressed, even if the giggle had gotten loose.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking. We’ve been acting like a couple of kids in grade school at their first dance. I was picturing us at ten-year-olds, playing office in our Sunday best.”
His eyebrows went up along with the corners of his mouth in a matching smile. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh come on.” She leaned forward, her arms braced on her knees forcing her small breasts together. Bonus points for him—his eyes never left hers. “From the moment we met you’ve been after me about dress code for every accidental infraction I’ve made in the last two days. Today I do it on purpose just to see what you’ll do and not a word.”
“On purpose?”
“Ciaran, a woman doesn’t leave the house with a neckline this low unless she wants someone to notice.”
“And why do you want me to notice?”
Briar had been asking herself that same question since the moment she left her borrowed apartment. Really, since her discussion with the girls, it sat simmering in the back of her mind. That question required a lot more honesty than she cared to give him. You didn’t exactly tell a man that your ex-husband made you feel like half a woman and that in two days, he’d somehow given that back to her.
A sharp knock on the door saved her. It also reminded her she was in the office and not a living room free to do as she pleased. Maybe her fishbowl office was more of a blessing than she thought.
“Sorry to interrupt guys.” Jack marched through the door, still looking down at his tablet—the damn thing was glued to the man’s hand. When he looked up, his eyes bounced between them, his eyebrows raising a lit
tle higher with each pass. “This is obviously not a good time. I’ll come back.”
“No, you won’t. Out with it now.” Ciaran flung out the command before Jack took two steps back to the door.
He grimaced but faced them. “I had a last minute appointment notification show up on your schedule for this evening.” Clearing his throat, Jack kept his attention cast down on his tablet.
In the short time, Briar had known him, Jack proved to be the least judgmental person she’d met in the office and easily the most kind. The man didn’t seem to have a malicious bone in his body. Yet regardless of what Jack meant by not looking at her as he spoke, her skin crawled with an intense need to cover herself—as if she had done something wrong. Only her pride held her still. By putting her sweater back on, she’d be agreeing that she should be ashamed. Instead, she reached for her laptop to shut it down and subtly tug the hem of her skirt down.
Ciaran’s hand covered hers, his fingers warm over hers and rough against her thigh. Her gaze met Ciaran’s intense stare, as he spoke low, directly to her—just to her. “This discussion isn’t over. Don’t move.” He looked back at Jack. “Go on. Where am I supposed to be and when?”
“Dinner reservation for two in thirty minutes at Sauce. I’m afraid it’s too late to cancel. Ms. Fitch is already on her way. I tried.”
“Fuck.” Ciaran’s hand tightened over hers as his curse echoed the tension radiating through his touch. And that word—from his commanding and otherwise proper lips echoed her desire instead of the curse she supposed he intended. “Call the restaurant and have them add a third seat to the reservation. If I can’t avoid it, I’m making sure it stays business. Thanks, Jack.”
Dismissed, Jack scurried out the door.
Ciaran’s thumb stroked her thigh in tiny circles with unearned familiarity as he kept her hand pinned. Waves of heat rushed through her in time to each gentle stroke. It burned through her reserves of self restraint to keep from pressing her legs together to relieve the pressure building at the end of that path. If only that thumb were a little further north—what magic could that man work with just his hands?
“Come to dinner with me. We’ll have a third wheel to deal with, but all things considered, we could probably use a chaperone.” The flame of his eyes blazed with intense drive, even if his smile had a slightly rogue tilt to it.
“And after?”
“Let’s get through dinner.”
Briar swallowed hard and blindly reached over with her free hand, refusing to break eye contact as she patted the spot on the sofa beside her where her phone had last been. Girl’s night was going to have to wait—Gigi would understand.
“I’ll cancel my plans.” She had never worked harder to say four words in her life.
* * *
The heat building between them escalated fast and the hormonal cocktail left in its wake had Ciaran feeling drunk despite being stone sober. In his office, he wondered for a moment if she was up to something. Her behavior seemed like such an about face from the day before—more brazen. Her subtle retreat over Jack’s interruption convinced him her words and attempt to flirt with him came from a place of genuine interest that he could trust—interest that matched his own even if the timing was off. It appeared as if she forgot for those fleeting moments where she sat and Jack’s entrance reminded her.
Over lunch this afternoon, he’d met his brother and found the perfect building to invest in their development plan. He should be focusing on that, not taking his HR Director to dinner. But here they were, side by side in his leather seats, driving to a restaurant under the explainable guise of work.
Ciaran glanced her direction. The sweater made a return and Briar buttoned it back up, although she did leave one undone at the top, giving him a tantalizing peak at the swell underneath. The hint of skin, either raised in gooseflesh from his air conditioning or from her nerves, made it difficult to concentrate on the road. All he wanted was to watch her. But what made him smile was the unconscious way she chewed her bottom lip as she texted, mussing her red painted lips. The woman was adorably sexy and she had no idea.
They had yet to return to the conversation they’d been having. Understandable while they were still in the office, but now in his car, with no one to hear or interrupt, her retreat was deafening. She may have started the dance but she was leaving the next move squarely in his court to lead or let drop.
“I’m sorry that we’ll have a third wheel at dinner. I’d rather it were just us, and that I could take you out properly. At least having her there, no one will ask questions.”
Briar turned the full intensity of her silver blue eyes toward him, her head cocked slightly to one side. “You talk as if someone is watching other than Jack. We don’t even know what we’re doing.” She hesitated, chewing her lip again. One of her hands held her phone face down on her lap and the other played with the black beads around her neck. “I’m not imagining this am I? Us? I’m not one of those desperate women you read about. I don’t flirt with my boss.”
Ciaran reached over, taking the hand in her lap. “I’m out on the limb with you.”
It had been the right thing to say because her shoulders slumped in apparent relief, if the soft smile curling the corners of her perfect lips were any kind of guide. Whether she realized it or not, she had the power to ruin him. More so the further they took this thing between them. They seemed to be running into it headlong.
“What are we doing?” Briar leaned forward, eyes wide, open and trusting.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to stop.” He turned his attention back to the street, just in time to make the turn into the parking lot.
Ciaran took his hand back from hers to pull the Audi into the first available space and shut it off. He turned to face Briar and give her his full attention, but she was already climbing from the vehicle.
By the time he got out she was two cars down, walking backwards, grinning at him. “Come on, the sooner we meet Ms. Fitch, the sooner we get to after.”
He couldn’t help but smile back at that. She wasn’t running from him, she was racing to whatever came next. With every passing second, each time her teeth bit into her lip, the need to taste her kiss grew. “Briar, wait.” She turned, the wind blowing her hair into her face as he approached. “Before we go in…”
Ciaran framed her face with his hands, running his thumbs over the deepening blush in her cheeks. He walked her backwards like that, staring into each other’s eyes until her back rested against the partial obscurity of the building. Ten more feet and anyone could have watched them. As they stood, anyone could walk around the corner of the brick building and catch them.
“Is this okay?” his words were hushed, as if he’d scare her away like a frightened deer, something she’d given him no reason to believe. Hell—she’d been the brave one to start this, until now he only antagonized her. Yet here they stood anyway.
In answer, she went up on her toes, brushing her lips against his, too small against his six-foot frame to give it any kind of intensity. It spoke more than words. He bent to meet her, crushing his lips against hers as he pressed her small, soft body into the brick wall. Her dainty hands closed over his, still framing her face. If he moved them, touched her anywhere other than her face, they might never make it inside. It kept him anchored to reality, when nothing else seemed to—especially not the cinnamon candy sweetness of her mouth as she opened to him.
Much as he hated to do it, he pulled back. “I don’t want to go in.”
“Then why are we? Who is this person?” Briar swiped at his lips with her thumb. “Hold still and let me fix this.”
He let her fuss as he worked out an answer. How do you tell the woman that you want, that she’s walking into a date setup? He settled on giving her the straight forward truth. “My grandfather has been trying to marry me off. I cancelled this date twice and he reschedules it every time. She’s a business associate and no matter how many times I tell him, he doesn’t get that I’m not
interested.”
The dreamy soft smile that played across Briar’s kiss swollen lips faltered. “Is this the same woman who you cancelled on Monday?”
“Yes.” Briar looked away but Ciaran turned her face back to his, tracing her jawline with the edge of his fingers. “I’m making it clear that I came with you.”
Briar stepped to the side, out of the circle of his arms, her fingers toying with her beads, which seemed to be her nervous habit. “Maybe until we’re on firm ground we should keep this to ourselves. It’s easy for me to start over somewhere else, but this is your family business. I’m expendable.”
He pressed his lips together, holding onto the warm feeling of their kiss from the moment before as he closed the distance she created. “Let’s not tear down what we’ve started before we even build it. From what I can see, you’re a lot of things but expendable isn’t one of them.” He gripped her elbow, gentle but firm, walking her towards the milling group of people around the restaurant entrance. “The only way out is through it.”
* * *
Expectations. Briar had been up against them her whole life. This was different, knowing she would be the one judged as fit or unfit rather than held to their destructive flame. It gave her a measure of sympathy for the boyfriends she hadn’t wanted but more for the ones that didn’t measure up—a category she was certain she would find herself in with Ciaran’s grandfather even if he wasn’t going to say it.
Ciaran didn’t have to. The brunette on the other side of the table was all the evidence Briar needed. Monica Fitch smiled with daggers in her eyes. It reminded Briar vaguely of Todd, sending a chill down her spine that cooled her hormones from a rapid boil to a low simmering heat. The only thing keeping it lit at all was Ciaran’s hand on her knee under the table. Those questing fingers stroking her thigh could thaw the coldest ice queen with the way they stoked her inner fire.
BUSINESS CASUAL: AN INK & BRAZEN WOMEN NOVELLA Page 6
