Читать книгу Shattered by the CEO / The Boss's Demand - Emilie Rose, Jennifer Lewis - Страница 10

Three

The hair on the back of Tara’s neck rose. She didn’t have to turn to know Rand stood behind her. Close behind her.

She’d been so engrossed in her reading she hadn’t heard him return from Tuesday morning’s round of interviews. He must have slipped in through the back door of his office.

He planted a big hand on either side of her blotter, trapping her against the desk between charcoal-colored suit-clad arms. Even with the back of her chair separating their bodies she could feel the heat radiating from him and smell his delicious scent.

She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her mouth. “Can I do something for you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you breathing down my neck?”

“I’m reading over your shoulder.” His breath stirred her hair and something inside her fluttered to life like a butterfly wiggling to get free of its cocoon.

“I’ll send you the link to the company newspaper archives, and then you can read at your computer between interviews. Better yet, you can wait for my notes—the ones you asked me to make.” She pushed her chair back, forcing him to move or have his wing-tipped toes run over.

“But reading over your shoulder is more fun.” Rand stepped aside, leaned against the corner of her U-shaped workstation and smiled.

That familiar slow, seductive smile made her stomach flip. She studied the fit form beneath his tailored suit, his crisp white shirt and his neatly knotted black-and-gray striped silk tie. There was a difference in his body language today, one she couldn’t decipher. It made her uneasy.

He was up to something. She could see the cool assessment in his eyes and behind that false smile. She’d sensed that same calculation in his kiss last night—a kiss that had been all technique and no emotion. If there had been even a trace of genuine passion in his embrace, she would have made love with him. She needed to be held that badly.

God, she was pitiful.

But the thought of having Rand “do her,” as he’d said, repulsed her. She wanted him to make love with her because he desired her. Not because he had to perform.

If it weren’t for the fire sometimes making the gold flecks glimmer among the green in his hazel eyes, she’d wonder if he found the prospect of making love with her as abhorrent as she had the idea of intimacy with his father.

If only she hadn’t…

Live your life without regrets, Tara. Promise me.

She stiffened her spine. “If you need something to do, Rand, then go write my recommendation letter.”

“It’s written.”

“I’d like a copy.”

He eased upright and leisurely strolled into his office as if they didn’t have a packed schedule for the day. She’d never known Rand to leisurely do anything…except explore her body. Heat prickled beneath her skin at the rush of memories and desire.

She narrowed her gaze on his broad shoulders and shifted in her chair to relieve the tension seeping through her.

Getting rid of him had been far too easy. His behavior confused her. Five years ago she’d loved Rand’s focus and intensity. When he’d been at work he’d been all business, but when they were together and away from the office he’d been equally single-minded in his attention to her and his dedication to having fun.

Today he was muddying the waters, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

She checked his appointment book. He had ten minutes before his next interview. With Nadia out of the office for twelve months fulfilling her part of Everett’s will, Rand and Mitch had to hire her replacement soon. None of the pre-screened candidates human resources had sent up yesterday had seemed a good fit.

Tara turned back to her monitor and tried to concentrate on the words without much luck. Rand had asked her to list any pertinent happenings at KCL during their absence. She’d thought the company newsletters would be a good place to start. Instead, what she’d found—or rather what she hadn’t found—disturbed her.

Rand returned, once more blocking her escape from her desk. “What’s the problem?”

“Our departures from KCL are never mentioned in the first year’s worth of company newsletters after we left. That’s unusual. When someone leaves there’s always a brief note stating years of service, company awards and such—unless the employee was fired. I don’t like the idea of my co-workers believing I was fired. You shouldn’t, either. It will make it difficult to gain their trust.”

“My father was never one to offer excuses, explanations or apologies.” Rand bent over her desk and scrawled his signature on a piece of KCL letterhead. He slid it across the glossy surface.

Tara took it, but didn’t read past the header. “This is postdated.”

“You think I’d hand you the ammunition to waltz out of here prematurely? If you quit early, we lose everything.”

Which went back to their main problem. He didn’t trust her. Had he ever? Tara sat back in her seat with a sigh. “I gave you my word I wouldn’t leave, and I signed an employment contract. Don’t you trust anyone, Rand? Anyone at all?”

“I know when to protect my own interests. Or in this case, Mitch’s and Nadia’s.” He hitched a hip on her desk, invading her space with a long, lean knife-creased trouser-encased thigh. “Arrange a cocktail party for the executives of each of the brands by the end of the week. Plan to attend as my date.”

“Is that wise? Us dating openly, I mean.”

“I need a hostess, and you’re the one who insisted on exclusivity.”

So she had. And she’d occasionally provided the same service for Everett. Was that why her former boss had believed she’d be open to a more intimate relationship? “At Kincaid Manor?”

“Anywhere but there.”

“Your father always—”

“I’m not my father. I don’t need to flaunt my wealth or have a woman half my age on my arm to make me feel like a man. And I won’t be taken in by a pretty face or a good lay. You’ll do well to remember that.”

She gasped at his rude comment. Was he trying to rattle her? If so, it was working. “Are you deliberately being obnoxious so I’ll release you from your part of our agreement?”

He reached out and traced her jaw. Her pulse stumbled erratically beneath the slow drag of his fingertip.

“Why would I do that, Tara, when as you said, the sex between us was always good?”

Her mouth dried and her palms moistened. Arousal streamed through her. But suspicion dammed her response. She scooted her chair out of his reach. What was he trying to pull? First he’d flat-out refused to be her lover and then he’d accepted reluctantly. And now he was trying to seduce her?

His about-face didn’t ring true, then she realized why. There wasn’t any passion in his eyes despite his comment on their sex life. Rand was cold and distant—the way he’d been the day he’d climbed from her bed and broken her heart, and the day he’d caught her leaving his father’s bedroom.

He wasn’t at all someone she wanted to be intimate with.

Not like this.

She didn’t doubt he could make her ache for him even with this emotionless seduction. He’d always been a skilled lover. But perfect technique wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted the unbridled passion they’d shared in the past, and it looked like she’d have to fight for it.

He glanced at his watch and stood. “We’re going out to dinner tonight. Wear something sexy and low-cut if you want to get me in the mood.”

He pivoted on his heel and stalked into his office.

Aghast, Tara stared after him. And then anger blasted through her. He’d just thrown down the gauntlet.

If she wanted to get him in the mood?

Oh, she’d get him in the mood all right. In fact, she wasn’t going to be happy until she’d shattered Rand Kincaid’s icy control and won back the man who’d given her the happiest days of her life.

Tara knew the minute her eyes met Rand’s that her decision to fight dirty was the right one.

Tiny bubbles of excitement effervesced in her veins as she descended the stairs to where Rand waited by the front door. She could feel the heat from his unblinking appraisal warming her skin and her core. She forced her fingers from the newel post and indicated her dress with what she hoped looked more like a casual flip than a nervous flail. “Look familiar?”

“You expect me to remember your clothing?”

Oh, he remembered all right. His tight voice, flaring nostrils and the color slashed across his cheekbones gave it away. Those telltale signs made the hour she’d spent taking in the cocktail dress two sizes worth every second. Thank God for her grandmother’s sewing lessons and her ancient sewing machine because Tara hadn’t had the time, money or necessity to shop for evening wear since Rand had dumped her.

“I wore this dress the night we first made love,” she told him anyway.

His lips flattened and his shoulders stiffened, but he remained silent.

“I fixed the tear. You know, from when you ripped the dress off of me in your foyer.” His gaze dropped to her bodice as if seeking the mend, and hunger hardened his face. Her nipples tightened in response. Did he remember she hadn’t worn a bra that night? Could he tell she wasn’t now?

“Are you ready to go?” he asked tightly.

For the first time in years she felt alive and eager instead of numb. When he looked at her that way—as if he wanted to strip her and take her where she stood—she believed her plan to make him fall in love with her could actually work.

“Oh, I’m ready.” She added a quick, mischievous smile to the words even though her stomach had twisted into a corkscrew of nerves. “Are you?”

She didn’t mean for dinner. The desire burning in those hazel eyes told her the ashes of Rand’s desire were far from cold.

And she had every intention of fanning the flames.

Even at the risk of getting burned.

He’d underestimated his opponent.

And that was exactly how he had to classify Tara from now on, Rand decided as he followed her out of the humid Miami air and into the cool, darkened house. She wanted something from him, and as with any business deal, he’d concede some points but not all. That way everyone left the bartering table satisfied.

Grace in victory wasn’t a concept he’d learned from his father. Everett Kincaid had relished crushing and humiliating his adversaries. Rand preferred to allow his competitors to walk away beaten but not broken. Defeated, but not destroyed. In the tight-knit, almost incestuous cruise industry no one knew when they’d have to work for or with a previous foe again. Burning bridges wasn’t smart business.

Time to seal this deal.

Moonlight shone through the living room windows, glinting off Tara’s loose curls like moonbeams on rippling water split by a ship’s bow. Before she could turn on the lamp he intercepted her hand and carried it to his chest. Her breath caught audibly.

She’d been leading him around by his libido for most of the evening, starting with a dress that brought back memories hot enough to cauterize his veins, followed by brushing up against him on the restaurant’s dance floor until he was so hard he could barely walk back to their table.

She was good, very good, at luring a man into her trap.

It was time to regain control of the situation. He relaxed his clenched jaw and slowly reeled her in. His heart pounded out a hard-driving rock tempo beneath her palm. Snaking an arm around her waist, he brought her body flush against his. Hot, urgent desire pulsed through him.

Sex. Physical hunger. That’s all this is.

And he could control that.

“Ran—”

He smothered her words with his mouth, stole them from her tongue with his. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be distracted from the job ahead.

She tasted of the tiramisu she’d had for dessert mixed with a hint of the sweet wine she’d sipped throughout dinner.

And Tara. She tasted like Tara.

Damn the memories he couldn’t erase.

Her fingers fisted on his chest, but her resistance lasted only seconds before her body relaxed and curved into his, molding her soft breasts against a rib cage that felt so tight he could barely inhale.

He still wanted her even after she’d betrayed him, and the knowledge burned like sea water in a fresh gash.

Rand shut down his emotions and focused on his actions—actions guaranteed to seduce the woman in his arms. He swept a hand down her back, splayed his fingers over her butt and pressed her against his raging hard-on. Her quickly snatched breath dragged the air from his lungs.

Skimming his hands from Tara’s hips to her waist to her shoulders and then finally her breasts, he mapped her new shape while he devoured her mouth. Hardened nipples teased his palms as he cupped and caressed her.

She broke the kiss to gasp for breath, and he dipped to sample the warm spot beneath her ear. Her skin was fragrant and satiny beneath his lips, tender and tempting against his tongue. Memories battered him. He bulldozed them back.

She shivered and drove her hands beneath his suit coat. Short nails raked parallel to his spine, inciting his own involuntary shudder.

Tara leaned away and stared up at him with her lips damp and swollen, and her breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her low, rounded neckline. She pushed off his jacket.

He searched her face looking for signs of the conniving woman he knew her to be, but the shadows obscured his view. He grasped her waist and swung her into the moonlight. Dense lashes curtained her eyes.

She reached for the side zip of her dress, the one he hadn’t been able to find five years ago. The sound ripped the silence, then she dipped her shoulders, first one and then the other. The black fabric floated to the floor with a swish, leaving her bare except for a tiny pair of black panties and her stiletto heels.

He gritted his teeth to hold back a groan. He even remembered her shoes. Or more accurately, he remembered doing her in those shoes. And nothing else. More than once.

Damn.

Heat and pressure built inside him until he felt like a Molotov cocktail—ready to blow with the slightest spark. He inhaled so deeply, so quickly, his lungs nearly exploded. Releasing the air in a slow, controlled hiss, he fisted his hands and fought the need to take her hard and fast where they stood.

Tara had been curvy and beautiful before, but now… Now she looked incredible. The curves were still there, only tighter, sexier. The moonlight caressed her breasts, the indentation of her waist, her hips, her legs. Oh, yeah, she’d definitely come well-armed for this mission.

He reached for his tie.

“Let me.” She nudged his hands aside. Her fingers teased his neck with butterfly-light brushes as she loosened the knot, then she pulled the tie free like a slithering silk snake. She dropped it and started on his buttons. The roar of his pulse nearly deafened him.

Once she had his shirt opened, she closed the gap between them and strung a line of feather-light kisses along his collarbone. Rockets of fire shot to his groin. He ground his teeth together. She eased the cloth from his shoulders and licked the skin covering the pulse jackhammering in his neck. And then she nipped him and he nearly lost it. His fingers convulsed at her waist.

For godsakes, pull it together. It hasn’t been that long since you’ve gotten laid.

Sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. He was hanging onto his control by his fingertips, and if he didn’t take this upstairs, he was going to make an unforgivable mistake. Sex without protection.

He would never tie himself permanently to a woman. Or a child. He couldn’t risk failing, either.

He tossed his shirt aside, swept her into his arms and headed for the stairs. But even within his grasp she didn’t abandon her assault on his senses. She smelled good. Spicy. Sultry. Like sex.

Her arms looped around his neck, crushing her bare breasts to his chest, and the tip of her tongue traced his ear. Hot. Wet. She blew on the damp flesh. The effect was anything but cooling. A groan he couldn’t contain barreled up from his lungs.

Tara had learned some new tricks since their breakup. Wondering who’d taught her made Rand’s stomach churn like a concrete mixer.

In her room he stood her beside the bed. A small table lamp with a Tiffany shade cast a dappled puddle of Technicolor lights on the spread. One yank sent the covers flying to the foot of the mattress.

“Condoms.” His voice sounded strangled.

She folded her hands demurely in front of her waist as if she were self-conscious. But he knew better. She’d demanded this charade. And that took balls. “In the drawer.”

He pulled the knob she indicated with a glance, located the box and ripped it open. Extracting a ribbon of protection, he tore one packet free and tossed it onto the bed.

“Lose the panties. Keep the shoes.”

A quiet laugh bubbled from her and a sexy smile tilted her lips. She looked up at him through her thick lashes and desire bolted through him, as jagged and searing as lightning.

He cursed silently. He’d said the same words to her in the past. Back when he was foolish enough to believe she was his every fantasy come to life. Back when he’d believed he could play with fire and not get burned.

Before she’d screwed—

Don’t go there.

But the chilling thought brought him a measure of restraint. He wasn’t going to think about…her other partners. Not here. Not now. It didn’t matter whether she’d had one other lover or a dozen. He’d dumped her. Not his concern.

So why did the idea ride his back like a cheap wool shirt?

Get on with it. Give her what she wants until she begs for mercy.

She wiggled the lacy triangle over her hips and ankles then reclined on the bed with one knee bent. His gaze raked over her. Damp red lips, slightly parted. Taupe nipples tightly puckered on full, round breasts. The slight curve of her belly. An untamed tangle of golden curls. And legs…Tara had always had the most amazing legs. Long. Sleek. Toned. Her best weapon.

Her shoes—definitely do me shoes—were a reminder why he was here and what she’d demanded of him.

He reached for his belt with surprisingly unsteady hands. What was his problem? This wasn’t his first trip to the sheets.

She watched his every move through slumberous eyes. His zipper rasped. He shoved his pants and boxers to the floor then had to sit down to remove the shoes and socks he’d forgotten.

She rattled him. He took a sobering gulp of air.

The mattress shifted beneath him. A whisper of warm, moist breath was his only warning before her lips brushed his nape. He snapped to rigid attention. Above and below the waist.

She cupped his shoulders then stroked downward as if she were reacquainting herself with the feel of his back, hips and buttocks. She hugged him from behind, aligning her hot naked curves against him. Her breasts burned his skin and her hands splayed over his lower abdomen. His muscles contracted, bunching with need beneath the soft scrape of her nails. Her thumb swept across his engorged tip, catching a slick droplet and rubbing it in.

A sharp stab of hunger had him sucking a swift breath. He bent to tackle his socks and shoes. Finally, he kicked both aside, then he turned and tumbled Tara back onto the pillows. He couldn’t let her set the pace. Couldn’t let her push his buttons. Couldn’t let her make him lose control. Couldn’t let her make him forget why he was here.

Do the job.

He kissed her on the lips. Hard. Fast. And then he worked his way lower. His tongue found and circled one nipple while his hand found the other. He plucked, sucked, rolled and licked until she squirmed beneath him and panted his name. Navigating south, he drew a damp line to her navel and then lower. Her fragrance went straight to his head. Both of them.

Every muscle in his body tensed. It took him a full ten seconds before he could think again. He found her swollen flesh. Smelled her. Tasted her. Laved her. Sucked her.

Too good. Too familiar. Too much.

He traced her slick entrance with his fingers and then plunged deep. Her hips arched. She dug her fingers into his hair and whispered his name. Using knowledge he thought he’d lost, knowledge he should have lost, dammit, he drove her relentlessly toward a climax with his mouth and hands.

Moments later orgasm broke over her, convulsing her body, contracting her internal muscles around his fingers. Her low, shuddery moan had him grasping himself with his free hand and damming the eruption about to happen.

He clenched his teeth until the white-hot haze ebbed.

What in the hell? He’d almost lost it. And he wasn’t even inside her. He hadn’t come prematurely since his teens. His early teens. And he’d almost—

He shook off the unsettling thought. Tara had always had that effect on him. She’d always made him want to rush. Going slow with her had been a challenge every time.

He grabbed the condom and shoved it on. And then he grasped Tara’s buttocks, lifted her hips and drove deep into the wet, tight glove of her body. Buried to the hilt, he froze, locked his muscles and fought for control as sensation scorched a lava trail up his spine.

She’s a job, dammit. Do her. Screw her. Forget her.

But she didn’t feel like a job. She felt hot and slick and soft and so damned good. The fingers she dragged down his back sent sparks skipping down his vertebrae.

“Rand, don’t stop. Please.” She wiggled impatiently and clutched his waist. His brain short-circuited and his nerves crackled like downed power lines. He withdrew and surged in harder, faster.

Do her, screw her, forget her, he silently chanted with each thrust.

He tried to focus on the mechanics. His arms and legs trembled with the effort to hold back. His lungs burned. And then he made a mistake. He looked into her deep blue, passion-darkened eyes, and the hunger on her flushed face sucked him into a black hole of need. She cried out and her body quaked as another climax rippled through her.

Did she come like that with him?

The rogue thought slammed his libido like a submerged iceberg, stilling his movements, sinking his desire. Struggling to fill his deflated lungs and ban the repulsive image from his mind, Rand pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head clasped between his hands.

Damn. Damn. Damn. He couldn’t do this.

When he had a measure of control he turned and looked at Tara, at her flushed face and her heavy-lidded eyes.

“Good for you?” He bit out the words.

“Yes,” she said on an exhalation. Her brow furrowed. She rolled to her side and reached for him. “But—”

He shot to his feet before she could touch him and gathered his discarded clothing. “Then good night.”

“But, Rand, you didn’t—”

He slammed the bedroom door, cutting off her words.

No. He hadn’t. But he’d come close.

Too damned close to forgetting why he was here.

Blackmail. His father’s. Tara’s.

And he’d almost forgotten who he was, what was at stake and that she’d lied to him before.

And that was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make.