by Naima Simone
He shifted his gaze from their clasped hands to her eyes, expecting to see the same shock. Instead he glimpsed resignation. And shadows. His gut clenched. Experience had taught him that secrets lurked in the shadows. Lies lived there.
Slowly, he released her, returning his hand to his knee. Resisting the urge to fist his fingers and ease the residual tingling.
Or capture it.
Turning away from her, he stared straight ahead into the enveloping dark. “Why don’t you want me to know your name?” he finally asked, casting aside the socially acceptable tact that had been drilled into him since birth. “Do we know each other?”
Her sharp but low intake of breath glanced off his ears, and he faced her again, openly scrutinizing her face for any telltale signs of deception. But she was good. Aside from that gasp, her expression remained shuttered. Either she had nothing to hide or she was damn good at lying.
He couldn’t decide which one to believe.
“No,” she whispered. “We don’t know each other.”
Truth rang in her voice, and the vise squeezing his chest loosened a fraction of an inch.
“And I guess, I didn’t see the point of exchanging names. If not for this blackout or you being in this hallway instead of the ballroom, our paths wouldn’t have crossed. And when the power is restored, we’ll become strangers again. Getting to know each other will pass the time but it’s not because we truly want to. It’s not...honest.”
Her explanation struck him like a punch. It echoed throughout his body, vibrating through skin and bone. Honest. What did he know about that?
In the world he moved in, deception was everywhere—from the social niceties of “It’s so good to see you” to the cagey plans to land a business deal. He wasn’t used to her brand of frankness, and so he didn’t give her platitudes. Her honesty deserved more than that.
“You’re right,” he said. “And you’re wrong.” Deliberately, he straightened his legs until they sprawled out in front him, using that moment to force himself to give her the truth. “If not for me needing to get out of that ballroom and bumping into you here, we wouldn’t have met. You would be outside, unprotected in the parking lot or on the road. And I would be trapped in the dark with people I wish I didn’t know, most likely going out of my mind. So for that alone, I’m glad we did connect. Because Nadia...” He surrendered to the need that had been riding him since looking down into her upturned face, and clasped a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “Nadia, I would rather be out here with you, a complete stranger I’ve met by serendipity, than surrounded by the familiar strangers I’ve known for years in that ballroom.”
She stared at him, her pretty lips slightly parted, espresso eyes widened in surprise.
“Another thing you’re correct and incorrect about. True, when the lights come back on and we leave here, we probably won’t see each other again. But in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than to discover more about Nadia with the gorgeous mouth, the unholy curves and the underwhelming fairy godmother.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it with the comments about her mouth and body, but if they were being truthful, then he refused to hide how attractive he found her. Attractive, hell. Such an anemic description for his hunger to explore every inch of her and be able to write a road map later.
Her lashes fluttered before lowering, hiding her eyes. In her lap, her elegant fingers twisted. He released the strands of her hair and checked the impulse to tip her chin up and order her to look at him.
“Why did you need to escape the ballroom?” she asked softly.
He didn’t immediately reply, instead waiting until her gaze rose to meet his.
Only then did he whisper, “To find you.”
Four
Nadia struggled to compose her features. To not let the yearning tangling in her to reflect on her face. Especially with Grayson’s piercing scrutiny attempting to peel away her carefully constructed protective layers. She’d spent years erecting them and couldn’t afford to let him see the insecure woman who raised her brother the best way she could, constantly afraid she would screw him up in some way as their mother had with her.
But oh God, did he tempt her to lower her guard. To surrender to the quiet invitation in those amazing eyes.
Still, Grayson Chandler, president of KayCee Corp, one of the most successful tech start-ups to explode onto the financial scene in years, the golden son of the revered Chandler family, couldn’t want her. Not Nadia Jordan, formerly of Tatumville, Georgia, daughter to Marion Jordan, the town’s notorious man-eater and drunk.
It had nothing to do with her self-esteem—or lack of it—regarding her body. If her mother had bequeathed anything to her, it was a confidence in her curves. Because Nadia had inherited her build from Marion.
From the time Nadia had been old enough to understand what was happening, she’d witnessed the lust and appreciation men possessed for Marion’s large breasts, wide hips, thick thighs and not-so-small behind. Those rich pillars of the community might ignore her in public when standing next to their wives and daughters, but in the dark, in secret, they couldn’t get enough of Marion’s brash laugh, her flamboyance, her casual sensuality, and of course, her body.
And when Nadia hit puberty and started to fill out, their dirty leers had transferred to her. Almost everyone in her hometown had expected her to follow in Marion’s footsteps. Like mother, like daughter. Earlier than she should’ve, she’d learned to dodge grasping, searching fingers, to avoid deserted hallways and dark corners where teen boys and older men could trap her.
It was why she’d escaped Tatumville as soon as she could. To move to a place where she wasn’t seen as her mother’s daughter. To give her brother a chance to grow up out from under that censure.
So no, she didn’t have body issues. Still, she’d seen the pictures in society and gossip magazines and blogs capturing Grayson with women who were the anti-her.
And then there was the matter of his wealth.
He might not know all of her background, but from her clothes and the conversation they’d shared, he had to know she was not only from the other side of the tracks, but that those tracks were miles away.
She didn’t trust rich men. Too many times had she witnessed her mother not only using those kinds of men for money, favors or gifts, but also allowing them to use her, too. Nothing they gave Marion had been free, and in Nadia’s experience, rich men did nothing without expecting something back.
Staring at Grayson with his “To find you” ringing in her ears, she forced herself to remember those lessons. She tried to resist the small but insistent whisper in her mind asking what would be the harm in letting go just once in her life? Who would it hurt if she took something for herself?
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man to believe in that fated nonsense,” she finally said, resenting the rasp in her voice.
“I’m not,” he agreed. “I don’t believe in ideas like destiny, blind faith or unconditional love. I forge my own path, make my own choices and live by them. And there are always conditions, strings attached to everything. Nothing in this life is free,” he said, echoing her own thoughts. “You know what I do believe in, Nadia?” She shook her head, and the intensity in his gaze seemed to deepen. “What I can touch, see...taste. If I can’t, then I don’t trust it.”
“And yet...” She trailed off.
“And yet,” he continued. “It might not have been you who dragged me out of that ballroom. But I’m here. And I’m not alone.”
Alone.
That one word resonated inside her, expanding until it rang like a struck gong. A man like him shouldn’t be alone. It struck her as...wrong.
“It seems to me that someone who attends a gala that even peons like me know about isn’t often alone.” She cocked her head. “Unless he wants to be.”
“You know wh
at they say about assuming, Nadia.” He tsked, but she didn’t miss the thread of steel in the teasing. As if he were warning her to back off the topic. Which perversely only heightened her desire to pursue it.
“Well then don’t let me assume, Grayson. Enlighten me. Tell me something about yourself. Something nobody knows. Something that will stay here in this hallway. Between you and me.”
He studied her for a long moment, and Nadia met that blue-and-green gaze, no matter how much she might want to duck her head and avoid it. And, she didn’t rescind her request. She waited, her chest tight, hoping he would answer. Even if it was some bullshit that every gossip outlet knew. For this moment, she could pretend it was only for her.
“I hate this pretentious, fake, incestuous fishbowl,” he finally murmured, drawing his legs back up and propping his arms on his knees again. Turning from her, he stared straight ahead, but a small muscle ticked along his jaw. “No, not a fishbowl. A shark tank. A tank full of predators waiting for the slightest sign of weakness so they can tear you to pieces. Do you know how exhausting it is to be constantly on guard?”
“Yes,” she whispered. God, did she. “But, you know, the thing about sharks? We see them as ruthless, single-minded killers, when they’re not. They’re important to the ocean’s ecosystem. In a way, they’re protectors. Smaller fish depend on them for survival. I could make the argument that if they didn’t exist, neither would the weaker, more vulnerable species.”
He shifted his gaze back to her, and a faint smile played with his lips. Heat rushed into her face. Thank goodness for the dark so he couldn’t see the evidence of her mortification. Unfortunately, her mouth wouldn’t stop running.
“I watch a lot of Animal Planet,” she mumbled. “But maybe, you’re in that tank to protect the defenseless so they can thrive.”
The smile disappeared. And she regretted whatever she’d said that had caused it to vanish.
“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but protector has never been one of them. You make me sound noble, and I’m not,” he said, that vein of harshness entering his voice again. This time, it might’ve induced her to back away from the subject—if not for the presence of something else there, too, something that tasted of desperation, of...pain.
It drew her to him.
The press painted Gideon Knight and Grayson Chandler as light and dark, the yin and yang of KayCee Corp. Gideon was the intimidating, merciless owner, while Grayson was the golden, charming half. But the glimpses of him she’d received tonight...
Who was Grayson?
Those glimpses promised that more lurked beneath that affable mask. It was the more that had her reaching out to him. Had her settling her hand over his.
“In my experience, people who warn you that they aren’t noble are the ones with good hearts. It’s the ones who brag about being righteous and moral that you need to watch out for.”
Grayson’s gaze dipped to her hand, then slowly lifted until it met her eyes. A shiver rippled through her, and he didn’t miss it.
“My heart isn’t good, Nadia. I’m selfish. Greedy. Spoiled. And if you knew the thoughts in my head right now, about you, you would remove your hand from mine,” he warned.
She didn’t. Even though her heart thudded against her sternum, she didn’t heed his warning.
“Go on and ask me,” he murmured, and her breath caught in her lungs at the sin in his voice. “You’re thinking it. I can see that in those pretty brown eyes. Ask me what thoughts are in my head.”
Here in the dark, the caution that ruled her life started to unravel. That small, low whisper encouraging her to take grew in volume, in strength. In this hallway, cut off from the real world, with only the man she’d fantasized about for company, she was Eve reaching for the apple even knowing she shouldn’t.
Knowing that traveling down this path with her employer would be one of the biggest mistakes of her life...
She bit the apple.
“What are your thoughts about me?” she asked, the question barely there.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. When she nodded, he did, as well. “You bumped into me earlier, but only because I’d already stopped. I couldn’t move. Watching you walk is pure sex. The confident stride of those legs that mesmerize a man. Give him thoughts of how they would clasp him in their strong embrace. The sensual sway of hips I want to dig my fingers into while I press you close and take your mouth that was created to be claimed, corrupted. That’s what you are, baby. Corruption. Sin. Desire in flesh. And I want to kneel in front of you and beg you to consign me to your hell. Because I want to burn in you. With you.”
Oh God.
Desire, scorching hot and out of control, blazed a path from her belly, up her chest and to every limb of her body. Consuming her. With just words, he caused her nipples to tighten, her sex to spasm in need. Thank God she was sitting, because her trembling legs wouldn’t have supported her. Not when the blood in her veins had become liquid lust. Not when the breath in her lungs had evaporated into smoke.
I want to kneel in front of you... Because I want to burn in you. With you.
Now, she could do nothing but picture him on his knees in front of her, that proud head tilted back, his amazing eyes fixed on her. His fingers clasping the tab of her zipper and steadily lowering...
She closed her eyes, not to block out the image but to dwell on it.
“Nadia.” Gentle but firm fingers pinched her chin and lifted her head. “Look at me,” Grayson ordered, and she did. When she stared into his amazing eyes, he nodded. “Your turn. Tell me something nobody knows. Something that will stay here in this hallway,” he said, lobbing her words back at her.
Brave. She’d always prided herself on not backing down from any challenge. Especially because it’d almost always meant going without something—food, rent, money. But here, brave meant being selfish. It meant grabbing ahold and taking for herself...for once.
And God, did she want to take.
Could she do it only for tonight? Slap the time-out button and live brashly, without a thought for the consequences? Who would she hurt?
Maybe just herself once morning dawned or the lights came back on. But she was prepared to walk out of here accepting that when she returned to work on Monday, she would go back to being the nameless, faceless employee on the twentieth floor.
If she could have this slice of time with Grayson, then she’d deal with the hurt of becoming invisible again.
“I like tequila shots,” she whispered. “What no one knows is you’re like that hit of tequila. Potent as hell, hot and strong like the first punch of alcohol to the stomach—and I’ll gladly get drunk on it, on you, even knowing I’ll be hungover and remorseful in the morning.”
The silence between them thickened and heated. His grip on her chin tightened, and the slight pressure drew a gasp from her. His eyes. They seemed to glow with the same need that snapped inside of her. His skin tautened across his cheekbones, his sensual, full mouth flattening into a firm line.
“Do you understand what you do to a man like me when you say that?” he growled.
“A man like you?” she rasped.
“I told you,” he said, voice rough, harsh. His hand shifted from her face and up into her hair, gripping the strands. “I’m greedy. Selfish. And will take without conscience what you’re offering me.” He tugged on her hair, and pinpricks of pleasure danced across her scalp. She sank her teeth in her bottom lip to trap a moan. “What are you offering me, Nadia?”
“Me,” she breathed. “For tonight. All of me.”
As if those words snapped a fraying leash on his control, Grayson swooped down and crushed his mouth to hers. Oh God. She hadn’t been prepared. Maybe she’d believed she was. But foolish, foolish her—she wasn’t.
Not prepared for the intensity, the hunger, the ravishing. She felt silly even thinking that antiq
uated word, but no other could describe how he consumed her. Dragged her under with the thrust of his tongue, the hard but sensual molding of his lips to hers.
His holds in her hair and on her chin tightened. He tugged her head back farther, and his thumb pressed firmer just under her bottom lip. Both helplessly and willingly, she opened wider for him, for the plunging and tangling of his tongue. For his possession. A possession she not only welcomed but craved like her next breath.
He had become that vital.
His mouth abandoned hers, and with a disappointed whimper, she followed him. But he shifted his grip to her jaw and held her still. He trailed a sizzling path from her lips, down her throat and to the crook between neck and shoulder. There, he nuzzled her, and she gasped as a jolt leaped from that spot to her taut nipples, through her knotted belly and down to the already damp and spasming flesh between her thighs.
Reaching for steady purchase to cling to in the erotic maelstrom, she dug her fingernails into his shoulder. And held on.
“Come here,” he murmured, his hands dropping to her hips and drawing her toward him. Over him. In breathless seconds, she straddled his rock-hard thighs. Slowly lowered herself until the long, thick length of his erection pressed against her denim-covered sex. A low, shaky gust pushed out of her lungs. Damn. He was... Screw it. He was big. And for a woman who hadn’t had sex in well over a year? Intimidating.
But for a woman who’d never indulged in sex where she didn’t need to worry if the man would gossip about her afterward?
Exhilarating.
Liberating.
Rolling her hips, she stroked her sex over him. A full-body shiver worked its way through her, and she groaned at the stunning pleasure. Layers of clothes separated them, but they didn’t prevent her from feeling him. His width, his hardness, his strength.
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she ground against him, rubbing, rocking over his flesh, getting lost in the swells of desire that threatened to quickly drown her in the release that already loomed wonderfully close. Jesus. She was going to embarrass herself by coming quickly just from some fully clothed dry humping, and she couldn’t bring herself to care.
