by Kelly Myers
My mind wanders back to the elevator and I feel a wave of heat warm my cheeks. I can’t believe how good he looked. All sweaty and still breathing heavy. And, the way his chest strained against the thin, cotton t-shirt with every breath he took, outlining his muscles. I bite my lip. He has great legs, too. Tanned, toned and long with a dusting of dark hair.
I take a drink of water then look down at the plastic bottle in my hand. I instantly picture when he drank the rest of his water, how his dark head tilted back, the way his throat worked. Then, he crushed it in his big hand.
But, most of all, I keep thinking about his magnetic blue stare. What had he been thinking? His gaze held mine so intensely that I couldn’t look away. It was like gravitational pull.
I don’t think I’ll ever know what goes on in that head of his. He’s bullheaded and difficult and-
Before I even realize what’s happening, a stylishly-dressed, dark-haired woman walks past my desk, throws Drew’s door open and heads into his office. He’s on the phone, talking to a client, and looks up in surprise.
The woman is about 5’6’’ with shoulder-length, sleek ebony hair and stands tall and straight, shoulders pinned back. She places hands on her hips, tilts her head and taps a small foot. She reeks of expensive perfume and impatiently shifts her designer handbag from one arm to the other.
I hear Drew apologize to whomever he’s speaking with and end the call. Then, he slouches down in his chair and crosses his arms. Even from here, I can see his body language shift and defenses go up. “What are you doing here, Tabitha?”
The ex-wife, I realize, and sit up a little straighter. This is about to get interesting and I have a front row seat. I wish I had some popcorn.
“Since you can’t seem to call or send an email updating me on the items for the auction, I had no choice but to stop by. This is an important event, Drew, and I need you to give it some of your precious attention.”
Drew’s gaze slides to mine and it looks black as the Devil’s. “Ashley, come in here.”
Oh, crap. I stand up, smooth my skirt down and walk into his office where the tension is palpable.
“Tabitha, this is my new assistant, Ashley Monroe. Why don’t the two of you go to the conference room and continue this discussion. She’s more than capable of finalizing the details with you.” He swings his attention back to his laptop, dismissing us both.
Or, so I think, until Tabitha marches up to the edge of his desk and shuts the laptop with a perfectly-manicured hand. “I don’t think so, dear,” she says, her lashes fluttering over silver-gray eyes.
Then, she gives me a side look. “No offense. Ashley, is it? But, Drew needs to call these potential donors right now or we’re going to miss out on some important items. I know you want to raise as much money as possible for this wonderful philanthropy, Drew.” Her voice lowers a notch, but she still keeps it loud enough so I can hear her next comment. “After all the terrible things you went through with your stepfather, I know how much it means to you. Helping those poor, abused children.”
Drew’s face goes white and I shift, beyond uncomfortable at this personal piece of information. I know how much Drew values his privacy and this low-blow cuts him to the quick. It takes him a moment to regroup, but he does and clasps his hands together.
“Ashley and I will finish everything tonight and then send you all the details. Now, I suggest you leave so we can get to it.” His words are crisp, colder than ice.
“Wonderful,” she says. She turns to go, then pauses and glances at Drew over a shoulder. “I hope you’re keeping everything professional, darling.”
I look down at Drew’s laced fingers and notice his knuckles are white from squeezing so hard. He probably wants to wring Tabitha’s neck even though I’m not quite sure what she’s talking about.
His lips pull back in a sneer. “You know how I prefer blondes.”
With a humph, Tabitha glides past me and out of the office.
“I need you to stay late tonight. Can you do that?” he asks me. His voice is tight, and strained.
I want to say no and tell him he has a lot of nerve asking for my help on a personal project. Instead, I let out a low breath and say, “Sure.”
I see a wave of relief flood his features and he unclasps his hands and flexes his fingers.
I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long night.
Chapter Eighteen
Drew
When Ashley leans over the conference table to reach for a pen, her pert ass calling my name, I know it’s going to be a very long night.
I pull my attention away from the tempting sight and walk over to the large window and look out over the San Francisco lights. “So, where do we stand?” I ask
“Well, I called everyone on the list three times, left messages and sent emails, and I don’t know if they’re avoiding me or what, but…”
I turn around and she looks up at me with those sea-blue eyes, and a part of me melts a little.
“Give me the phone,” I say. “Dial Jake Malloy.”
She does as I direct and I cradle the handset between my head and shoulder, and prop my hip on the table. “This is Drew Carson for Jake Malloy.” In less than five seconds, Jake picks up. I get right to the point, tell him I want a meet and greet with the rock band he represents to auction off at the benefit next week and then introduce Ashley, my new assistant, who will take care of the details.
I hand the phone over to her and I’m not sure if it’s awe or respect or what I see on her face. But, I like it. She talks to Jake a few minutes, jots some information down in a notebook, then thanks him and says goodbye.
“Well, that was easy,” she says.
“Only ten more to go,” I say, and slide out of my suit jacket. I toss it over the back of a chair and loosen my tie. “Why don’t you order some dinner and have it delivered. I’m still hungry from lunch.”
I think she rolls her eyes at my last comment, but I can’t be sure since she turns away. I unbutton my cuffs and roll up my sleeves, gaze dropping to wander down her curves. God, what a delicious view. Better than the city lights outside the window.
And, completely off-limits.
My mood darkens and suddenly I want to see that sassy side of her again. I know we have work to do, but I don’t care. After she orders the food and hangs up, I pull out a leather chair and sit. “Did I screw up your Friday night?”
She sits down in the chair beside me and her skirt hikes up. My throat goes dry as I watch her pull it down and cross those long legs. “I was invited out on a date,” she says.
My stomach drops and I feel this overwhelming sense of inexplicable anger fill me. A date? A muscle jumps in my cheek and I grab my pen and begin tapping it on the tabletop in an aggravated, staccato rhythm.
“You have a boyfriend?” I knew it. I hate the possessive, jealous tone in my voice, but I can’t help it. I want to know more about the asshole who Ashley lets in her bed.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just someone I’m…”
Fucking? I think and raise a dark brow. When she doesn’t finish the sentence, my jaw hardens. “Oh, I get it.” The words come out more censorious than I plan and her face reddens.
“Just someone I’m seeing,” she clarifies.
Sure, I think. So, not only is she screwing this guy, but he’s not even her boyfriend. Just some casual affair.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she adds tartly.
That pisses me off. She’s my assistant so that kind of makes it my business. “I disagree.”
Her gaze clashes with mine and those ocean-colored eyes turn a deeper, flashing green. “I’m sorry, what?”
“As an employee of Carson Industries, specifically my assistant, your actions reflect on the company. So, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t flaunt your loose ways. It’s unprofessional.”
From the outraged look on her face, you would think I just slapped her. She jumps out of the chair and if looks could kill, I’d
be dead twice over. “How dare you,” she hisses. “How I conduct my private life is none of your concern.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t care for the idea of my assistant whoring around.”
The blood drains from her face. “You arrogant, self-righteous hypocrite!”
I know I’m being a dick, but I don’t care. My lip curls up in a cruel smirk and the last thing I expect is for her to take a step forward and slap it off my face. But, that’s exactly what she does.
I leap up out of my seat and grab her wrist. She stumbles back, caught between my hard frame and the conference table. I tighten my grip on her wrist when she looks up and meets my eyes, completely incensed.
Her outrage turns me on. Her flashing emerald eyes turn me on. And, Jesus Christ, her hot, little body pressing against mine turns me on so much that I forget everything except the desire pounding through me.
I yank her up against me, hard, and slam my mouth down against hers. I kiss her like a starving man who just found a piece of bread. I devour her. My lips press and mold and, my God, I can hardly believe it when she opens her mouth in response. My tongue slides inside, touches hers, and it’s like I’ve lost my mind. Temporary insanity consumes me as I grab her hips, lift her up onto the table and push her back.
Her skirt hikes up and I press between her legs, my cock hard as steel. When she grabs my tie, pulls me down and arches up, I think a little piece of me dies and goes to heaven. I feel her hands glide up my back, wrap around my neck and her fingers slide through the hair that curls above my collar.
Suddenly, the kiss changes. What began as fast and hard turns liquid, sultry and so very slow. My mouth dips, leaving a trail of hot, damp kisses along her jaw and down her neck while one of my hands cups the nape of her neck and the other slips beneath her skirt and runs up a creamy thigh. I lift her leg, pulling it up against my side, allowing me to push in even closer. When I grind my lower body against the wisp of satin covering her core, she whimpers.
An onslaught on dirty words and phrases flow through my head, but I don’t dare say a word. I’m scared if I open my mouth, she’ll get spooked and then the moment will come to an abrupt end. It’s bad enough that I’m about to smash through my zipper, but I don’t want to be stuck with the worst case of blue balls known in the history of mankind.
My hazy mind knows I need to get to my nearest condom which is tucked away in a drawer in my private bathroom. But, again, I don’t want her to bolt. I’m going to have to move us smoothly and quickly out of the conference room and down the hall. Back to the privacy of my office.
My mind starts to imagine all sorts of wicked scenarios including the shower in my bathroom and feeling the water pour down on us. Letting my hands and mouth run over every inch of her wet, naked body.
“Hello?” a voice calls from the hallway.
Goddammit. I lift my head, just as I’m about to lower my lips to the tops of her full breasts, and spot the delivery guy carrying our dinner.
Talk about shitty timing.
Ashley scrambles out from underneath me, trying to fix her skirt and blouse into some semblance of order and I drop down into a chair to hide the gigantic bulge threatening to tear through the front of my pants.
The guy appears in the doorway. “You order Chinese?” he asks.
We are both breathing hard and neither of us has a voice yet to speak. It’s pretty clear what we were doing. The kid smirks and sets the food on the table. “Have a good one,” he says with an amused look. Luckily, we have an account on file with the restaurant because I could not get up to pay if my life depended on it.
I look over at Ashley, steam pouring off me in heated waves, but she refuses to make eye contact. Instead, she runs a shaky hand through her long, blonde hair and edges around the table. Her eyes dart to the exit.
“Ashley,” I say, my voice far huskier than I intend, but she shakes her head and takes another step back, slightly wobbly in those sky-high heels.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” she says, her voice wavering, and looks down at the table where she was just spread beneath me a minute ago.
This is not where I want the conversation to go, so I pull myself up and move closer. Her eyes drop to the huge bulge still straining behind my zipper and she covers her face in a splay of fingers.
“It’s okay,” I say, and reach out a hand, but she jerks away.
“No, it’s not! You’re my boss. And, no matter what you think, I’m not that kind of girl.”
Before I can say another word, she races out. My eyes slip shut and I drop down into the nearest seat. I prop my elbows on the table and slide my face into my hands.
What a fucking disaster.
Chapter Nineteen
Ashley
This is beyond a disaster, I think. There’s no way in hell I can recover from this. I grab my purse so fast, hurry to the elevator and jump inside before Drew appears. As it takes me down to the lobby, I lean my head against the wall and want to cry.
Omigod, what did I just do?
What happened in that conference room is so unlike me. I have never crossed that professional line much less even dated a coworker. Never give honey where you make your money, Laurel always says. She couldn’t be more right.
Things are going to be so exponentially awkward now at work that I have no choice except to quit. There’s just no way I can act like nothing happened tonight. Absolutely no way I can forget the way his body feels against mine, so hard with muscles that flex and ripple beneath my hands.
My breath hitches in my throat as I remember him grinding against my most intimate place, only a wisp of satin and his pants separating us. It felt so good, I think, and shift from one foot to another, aware that my satin underwear is now completely soaking wet.
I don’t know what would have happened if the delivery boy hadn’t interrupted us.
I’m such a fool. I compromised everything by acting like the loose, easy woman he coldly accused me of being. But, the moment he pulled me close and ravaged my mouth in that wild, demanding kiss, I lost my senses and any rational thought flew out the window.
The elevator door opens and I walk out. I head through the lobby, spin through the revolving door and hit the sidewalk. I breathe deeply, suck in the crisp night air, and it helps steady my feet and cool off my burning body.
I turn the corner and, safely hidden away in the shadows, lean against the building. As I wait for my head to clear, my traitorous body can’t seem to forget Drew’s hot, demanding mouth. My cheeks still burn, my heart still pounds and I feel all riled up. So hot and bothered that I physically ache for Drew.
But, it’s impossible. Tonight was a huge mistake, but it’s over and done. It won’t ever happen again because I never plan to see Drew Carson again. My employment with Carson Industries is officially over.
My lust for the owner, however, is not.
I need to forget about him. I reach into my purse and pull out my cell phone. In less than a minute, I write Andy.
“How about that drink tonight?” I hit send.
The chic hotel rooftop bar where Andy tells me to meet him isn’t far. I stop in the bathroom and put myself back together before taking the elevator up. I still have a glow on my face and my heart speeds up when I think about Drew’s hand sliding up under my skirt.
I shake my head, trying to shake Drew Carson out of my thoughts.
Andy said he’s not far away and will meet me at the bar with my favorite drink. I can drink about ten espresso martinis at this point. I hope to God that Andy can make me forget about Drew. I honestly doubt it, though.
No man has ever made me feel that kind of reckless abandon. Something about Drew makes me want to rip all his clothes off and kiss him all over. He ignites a fire in me and I want to explore it, but it’s impossible.
Maybe it’s because I feel such an extreme array of emotions for him and it confuses the hell out of me. I hate his cruel arrogance. I admire his work ethic. I empathize with his relations
hip with Tabitha. I’m curious about his childhood and stepfather. I appreciate the small kindnesses he’s shown.
Most of all, I love his hot, hard body pressing into mine. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. It’s like I’m on a rollercoaster, tilting over the edge of the biggest hill, on the verge of careening down at 100 miles an hour, and I look down and see the seat belt is broken.
And, that scares me.
I finish touching up my makeup and give my hair a shake. It looks like that perfectly-mussed bedhead and my blue eyes look smokey, my lips full and shiny with gloss. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I think, and head out of the bathroom.
I like Andy. I really do and I hope he makes me forget all about Drew Carson. With that thought in my head, I step into the swanky bar. The rooftop is huge with at least three full-length bars, and the area opens up and leads to a large pool surrounded by various places to sit. From what I can see, the view is spectacular.
It’s a Friday night so the place is packed. I walk through the crowd, bumping elbows with many of the Financial District’s most rich and successful. I bring up a mental picture of Andy and wander along the nearest bar. No one looks familiar.
Until I catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man at the middle bar dressed in a suit. His midnight hair curls up at the collar of his starched white shirt and I remember the texture because my fingers just ran through it half an hour ago. Just as I get ready to make a beeline back into the crowd, Drew Carson turns around, an espresso martini in his hand.
No way. My heart and jaw both drop.
He lifts a glass of amber liquid to his lips, takes a sip and then his dark blue gaze lands on me. He chokes mid-sip and abruptly sets the Scotch down on the bar with a clunk.
It’s not possible, I think. Why is he holding my favorite drink? Andy looks 25 and happy. Not 45 and grumpy.
My eyes slide shut and I hear Laurel’s voice in my head. No one looks like their picture.
