Читать книгу Out of Hours...Office Affairs: Can't Get Enough / Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss / Bound to the Greek - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 11

“COME ON, I’m not Atlas, for Pete’s sake,” Jack grumbled, his words muffled by her breasts.

Oh, boy. A thousand and one sensations skittered along her nerve ends and she closed her eyes against the assault. His stub-bled cheeks rasped faintly against her skin, and she could feel his breath, hot and moist, with each impatient word. His arms were two strong bands around her body, his chest against her belly, her legs hanging a foot or two off the ground.

He made an exasperated noise, and she belatedly looked toward the ceiling, but it was miles away.

“This isn’t going to work,” she told him, and the tension in his arms relaxed abruptly and she dropped back down to earth, sliding along his body all the way.

Her heart was beating out of control, and somewhere deep inside, something long-ignored awoke and lifted its head to look around drowsily. Desire. His skin had been hot and smooth and hard, and it had been way, way too long since she’d been held by a man. She didn’t need to look down at herself to know that through the mere act of talking into her cleavage, Jack had managed to turn her nipples into two embarrassing declarations of arousal.

And for my next act, I shall implode with humiliation, she thought as she hurriedly crossed her arms to hide her traitorous nipples.

How on earth could her body react to Jack like that? It was as though she was suddenly being held captive by some strange alien force. Come on, she told her body, the guy’s a poster boy for everything I dislike in a man. We’re complete opposites. We have nothing in common. He doesn’t even like me. How can you do this to me?

But her body wasn’t taking any calls. Instead, it was resolutely hanging on to the memory of his flesh against hers, his hands splayed firmly across her back, the prickle of his whiskers on her breasts.

“Okay, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of smart ideas,” Jack said, his own arms crossed over his chest now.

Ideas? Boy, did she have ideas. Instantly, her out-of-control body imagined a dozen X-rated scenarios, all of them involving Jack naked, ready and willing. She fought the urge to cross her legs and squirm.

“Um. Sure. You could…you could go down on all fours and I could stand on your back,” she finally managed to say past the lump of misguided lust in her throat.

He uncrossed his arms, and she watched, almost hypnotized, as the muscles along his chest and stomach rippled in reaction. Cool. Make him do it again, her body urged.

“I know it would probably satisfy some deep inner need for you, but you are not standing on my back to reach for the sky,” Jack countered.

“Okay, okay.” Desperately she searched around for another idea, anything, before he realized she was acting like a crazy woman, her eyes practically falling out of her head ogling him.

“What about a shoulder ride?” she suggested.

He gave it a moment’s thought, then shrugged his lack of objection to the idea. She tried not to get too absorbed in following the ripple of muscle this caused down his body. But she must have been staring, because the next thing she noticed he was giving her a really weird look. The kind of look you give a dog when you think it might have rabies. She almost lifted a hand to check she wasn’t foaming at the mouth.

“You want to do this now?” he asked warily.

“Sure.”

Concentrate, she warned herself. Concentrate, and we’ll write off the last five minutes as some extremely strange reaction to oxygen deprivation.

He squatted in front of her, and she froze a moment, staring at his well-muscled back. He really was in fine shape. Most guys who had desk jobs as he did would have let themselves go soft and run to fat, but he either had a truly stunning metabolism, or a natural affection for exercise. For the first time, she understood how Fiona from Legal, and Katherine and all those other women were unable to resist him. He was just plain sexy. Tall, and strong, and handsome, and…

“What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” he asked.

She blinked. What is wrong with me?

“Let’s just get this over with,” he suggested, impatience oozing from every pore as he swiveled his head around to look at her.

Slapping every inappropriate thought to one side, she hitched her skirt around her waist, stepped toward him, and slung her left leg over his shoulder. She almost jumped when he immediately enclosed her ankle in a warm, firm grip.

“Other leg, come on,” he ordered, leaning forward a little so she could find her balance.

She obediently slid her other leg over his shoulder, and before she could brace herself he’d locked her other ankle in place and was surging to his feet. For a scary moment she teetered on his shoulders, and instinctively she grasped at his head for balance.

His hair was thick and wavy, and she ploughed her fingers into it as she searched for a grip.

“Yow!” he howled, and she immediately loosened her death grip.

“Sorry.”

“Can you reach it?” he asked, and she tried not to register the rasp of his stubbly cheek against the tender skin of her inner thighs.

Jack Brook with his face against her thighs? She had trouble even processing the thought, let alone the sensation. Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, she studied the catch on the cover a moment, then flicked it open. Tentative, she pushed the cover upward, but it gave way readily, flopping open to clang loudly on the elevator car’s roof.

“Done!” she said with satisfaction.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, she shoved a hand up into the opening.

“Much cooler out there. Hopefully it’ll make a difference in here,” she reported.

She was about to suggest he put her down when he slid his hands up her shins and over her knees to grasp her firmly just above each knee. And then he began jiggling from side to side, causing her to renew her death grip on his hair.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.

She’d instinctively clamped her thighs tighter around his neck as soon as her balance was in jeopardy, and she could actually feel him grin.

“Victory dance,” he said, and she held her breath as he twirled them both around in a little circle.

What a goof. But she couldn’t help smiling: ridiculous as it seemed, opening a stupid utility hatch felt like an achievement. She smiled as she felt the shifting of his strong shoulders beneath her as he danced a few more steps, and even managed a little bongo-drum accompaniment on his head.

She was still smiling when he announced he was going to let her down. He crouched low, and she maneuvered first one then the other leg off his shoulders, hastily pulling her skirt back down where it belonged before he turned around to face her, a jubilant smile on his face.

He’s beautiful. She tried to squelch the thought, to pretend it had never entered her mind.

“Feels better already. Way to go, team,” he said, holding his hand up in the classic high-five position.

She slapped his open palm, all the while trying to forget the feel of his hands on her thighs. And his hands sliding up her legs. And his face against her breasts.

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

This had to be caused by some weird combination of claustrophobia and lack of oxygen. That’s all this hyperawareness of him was. Hell, they probably did laboratory experiments like this all the time. At NASA or something. The Effects of Enforced Intimacy on Hardworking Female Executives. Or something like that.

Find something else to think about. Her frazzled brain sought desperately for a diversion as they both returned to their opposite sides of the elevator. She found her eyes tracking to the scar that slashed across his abdomen, and before she knew it the words had popped out. “That’s a pretty decent scar you’ve got there.”

She wished the words back the moment they were uttered. How rude! How invasive and nosy and rude! Wondering what sort of a kisser he was was better than being nosy. She could tell by the way his eyes dropped to the floor that he was thinking of some way to palm her off—which she deserved—and she rushed into speech again.

“Ignore me. I didn’t mean to say that. I think I’m oxygen deprived,” she blathered.

She could feel him watching her, assessing her, and then he shook his head minutely as though shaking something off.

“It’s okay. It’s pretty noticeable. Someone once told me it looked like a shark had attacked me.”

She made a disbelieving noise.

“Hardly. Unless sharks are getting medical training these days.”

He smiled a little, just a quirk of one side of his mouth. Then he said, “I donated a kidney to someone. My brother.”

She could tell it had cost him a lot to say it. And she could feel the weight of a long and sad story dragging the words down. This was not a story with a happy ending, she sensed.

“That’s pretty incredible. And scary. Your brother was lucky you were a match,” she offered, deeply uncertain about what to say.

He’d crossed his arms across his chest, the classic “locked off” signal in body language. She didn’t need it to know she was deep in territory he normally kept very private.

“Yeah. Well, not really. We were twins. Perfect match.”

His face was so carefully blank, but she could tell. There was a lot of anger and pain pent up in this man, and she guessed why.

“He died?” There was no other explanation for Jack referring to his brother in the past tense.

“Yeah.”

“What was his name?”

“Robbie. Or Robert, according to Mom.”

She was totally at sea. And she just knew she was going to say the wrong thing any second now. But she also knew she was being given a very privileged insight into Jack’s life. No one at work had ever gossiped about this stuff, and she knew absolutely that he didn’t talk about it. Normally.

But this wasn’t a normal situation, as she was beginning to appreciate more and more with each passing moment.

“I don’t have any brothers or sisters,” she volunteered. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone so close you. Especially a twin. Was he a writer like you?”

He barked out a bitter little laugh, and she could see so clearly the anger inside him.

I bet you blame the world for Robbie being gone. I bet you blame God, Buddha, modern medicine and anyone else who comes to mind. But most of all, I bet you blame yourself.

“He was a doctor. A pediatrician. He just loved kids, and even though it cut him up when he couldn’t help someone, he always stayed in there, fighting away. But them’s the breaks, right? Fate, luck, destiny. Whatever. The doctor dies, the writer lives.”

The words could have peeled paint. She just let the anger wash over her. It wasn’t for her, anyway.

He ran a hand over his face, almost as though he was removing a mask or wiping something away.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Of course, it did. In fact, it was probably what shaped his life. She cocked her head to one side, considering. All her preconceptions, and observations, and judgments reorganized themselves and settled into a new pattern to accommodate this information, and she suddenly understood why Jack shied away from commitment, and drove a sports car, and skated by on the surface of things: he already had a world of pain to deal with, and he just didn’t have the room, or the time, or the inclination to handle any more.

She blinked, and it was as if she was seeing him with new eyes. The lines around his mouth weren’t all from smiling and laughing. The spark in those bright blue eyes of his was as much about covering as it was about charming. She felt an enormous desire to cross the space between them and take him in her arms. She actually swallowed at the intensity of it. She wanted to cradle his head on her breast, and soothe him, and tell him that one day he would be reconciled to his brother’s death, but first he had to let himself feel it.

It was a bone-deep longing, and it was so powerful she actually sat on her hands, in case they reached out toward him of their own accord. Jack would be horrified if she offered him comfort. In fact, she knew with a crystal-clear prescience that he was going to regret ever having said a word once they were out of this elevator.

And what could she offer him, anyway? They weren’t even friends. They didn’t even like each other.

But despite all that, she found herself talking. Perhaps because she couldn’t offer him comfort, she instead offered him something of herself so he wouldn’t feel so exposed.

“I’m the biggest regret of my father’s life. He wanted a boy so badly, but my mom died just after I was born. I was his one chance. So Harry tried to turn me into a boy for a while, but I hated the mountains, and I was too scared of falling when he took me climbing. And then one time he had to turn back from an expedition he’d taken me on because I got sick. And that was it. He just kind of…wrote me off.”

They were the most honest and painful words she’d ever spoken. In fact, she wondered if she’d even thought any of this through so clearly before. Even as the words tumbled out, she understood why she never acknowledged this stuff: it was like taking her skin off and letting the world see all her fears and ugly places.

Her mind swung around to that damned unanswered invitation for her father to watch her compete at the finals in just over two weeks’ time. Why had she put herself in a position where he could write her off yet again?

Jack was looking at her strangely. “Your dad’s not Harry Marsden, the explorer?” he asked, amazed.

She simply nodded.

“I never knew,” he said.

“I don’t exactly have T-shirts made up.”

He studied her face appraisingly. “You look like him.”

“Not enough, apparently.”

A silence, then Jack said, “Thanks.”

He held her eyes, and it was the most open and honest contact they’d ever shared. It felt like a fresh start. She smiled, and he smiled back, and all of a sudden all of her lust rolled over her, but this time it was tinged with a desire to ease his unhappiness, to do something without considering the merits and worrying about the consequences.

Could he read her thoughts? It seemed he could, because his eyes dropped to her breasts. She liked that, liked that he’d noticed her that way. She felt her heart skip into overdrive. Had his eyes darkened? Was she getting the message from him that she thought she was? She wasn’t sure. Doubt assailed her. He was so much more experienced than her. For Pete’s sake, he’d slept with half the building. What would he want with her?

“Claire.”

It was an invitation. Wasn’t it? She wanted it to be. Very badly. Because she hadn’t been this hot for someone for a long time. But he was just sitting there, opposite her. What was he thinking? Should she…should she make the first move? Tentative, she leaned forward, placing a hand in front of herself so she could lean even farther across the space that separated her from him.

His eyes were locked on hers, and she could see something come to life in them. He looked hungry and sexy and very intent. He leaned forward. There was an excruciating moment, a moment between breaths, where she waited for his lips to touch hers. And then they were kissing, tentatively at first, no other part of their bodies touching. His lips were warm, and he tasted of mints and she felt a shimmering something unfolding inside her. By some unspoken agreement, they both broke the kiss to stop and stare at each other for a moment. His eyes were very close to hers, and she felt as though she was drowning in the myriad blues of his irises. And then, as if drawn by gravity or magnetism or some force outside of themselves, they came together again. This time she felt a twist of excitement spiral through her as his tongue darted into her mouth for the first time, and then, all of a sudden, it was as though something had exploded inside her. She couldn’t get a enough of him, and she sensed the same greedy hunger in him as he reached for her.

His hands swept up her arms, and a shower of heat followed. She clutched at him, off balance, drunk with lust. His skin was smooth and firm, perfectly sculpted over planes and rounds of muscle. She explored him feverishly, measuring the breadth of his shoulders, racing her fingers through the silky hair on his chest. His hands were tracing her face, running down her neck, brushing across the sensitive skin of her upper chest. She sucked in her breath as his hands slid smoothly down and onto her breasts, his thumbs finding her already-erect nipples through the satin of her bra. He plucked at her breasts with a firm, sure touch, and an answering note sounded deep in her belly and she felt herself tighten. As amazing as it seemed, she wanted him. She wanted him right now.

Jack was nibbling his way down her neck now, and she let out a small, excited moan as he brushed her bra straps down her arms and took one of her taut, aching nipples into his mouth. She bucked instinctively, unable to control the urge to push up into something as a storm of sensation raced through her body. His mouth was so hot, and his tongue so quick and firm…

“Jack, Jack—” she whimpered, unable to tell him exactly what it was she was feeling, or what she wanted.

He simply lifted his head to grin wolfishly at her, his eyes shining with desire, and she found herself grinning back at him, glorying in the absolute need that gripped them both. Bold, she reached for the closure on his pants, even as he pushed her skirt up and pressed a palm against the moist heat between her thighs. She could feel how ready she was, was almost embarrassed by how ready she was, but it only seemed to increase his desire as he helped her push his cargo pants down over his hips. His erection was hard and proud against his belly and she reached for it with sure hands. He was big and beautiful and she wanted him inside her as soon as was humanly possible.

He must have been a mind reader, because no sooner had she wrapped her fingers around his shaft than he was dragging her panties off impatiently. She got lost in space and time for a beat as he swept a knowing hand across her mound, his thumb finding the sensitive nub of her clitoris unerringly. A shaft of pure desire rippled through her, and while she was still recovering, he slid his fingers down to the slippery folds of her inner lips. She clenched in anticipation of his penetration, but he held back as his thumb continued to work her clitoris.

“You want me inside you?” he whispered huskily at her ear, his finger circling her slickness now, teasing.

In answer she raised her hand to her mouth and licked her palm, her eyes holding his as she slid it back between their bodies and slicked her wet hand up and down his shaft, her thumb gliding across the delicate velvet of the head of his penis before sliding down again. As she had before him, he shuddered in response, and she felt a surge of feminine satisfaction as a muscle clenched in his jaw.

“You want to be inside me?” she whispered back, increasing the tempo of her movements, loving the feel of him in her hand.

Suddenly he twisted away from her, grabbing his wallet, finding a condom and putting it on, all before she could protest his leaving. Then she was on her back and he was positioned between her legs, his body weight supported by his formidable arms as he hung above her. There was a split second of thrilling anticipation and then he was plunging inside her, filling her completely, so much so that the base of his shaft ground satisfyingly into her swollen clitoris as he buried his length in her.

She gasped her surprise—it was never, ever this good for her. It was as though he’d been made for her, as though she’d been waiting for this moment for so long that she was on a hair trigger, ready to explode. And then Jack was stroking in and out of her, each sweep driving her crazy. She clutched at his back, his butt, his shoulders, pushed her hips up to him, rocked away, gasped out his name. Straining, wanting all of him, she chased the growing tension inside herself, loving the harsh sound of his breathing as he rode her. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, he reached a hand between them and found her clitoris again, swollen with need, ready for him. One, two, three passes of his deft thumb and the tension inside her broke in a cascading wave and she was falling apart in his arms, her muscles clenching around him, her hips bucking, his name on her lips.

It was as though he’d been waiting for her, because no sooner had she dissolved around him than he’d stiffened with his own orgasm, shuddering into her, his face pressed against her neck.

For a long time afterward there was nothing but the sound of their harsh breathing. Jack lay on top of her, still inside her, and she tried to pull the fragmented parts of herself back together.

She felt…consumed. There was no other word for it. Utterly, completely consumed by the magic they’d just created together. The best sex she’d ever had. Ever. Hands down. The most amazing sensual experience of her life.

At last Jack raised his head, and their eyes met. He looked as blown away as she felt, his blue eyes incredulous as he looked deeply into hers. A smile softened the curve of his mouth, and he opened his mouth to speak—

The phone rang. They both stiffened. The phone sounded again, and Jack shrugged ruefully.

“I have to get that.”

“I know.”

He withdrew and rolled away from her in one smooth move, and the sudden loss of skin contact made her feel inexplicably cold and alone. Flushed, she watched as Jack reached for the phone.

“Yeah?” he said, one hand coming up to push the hair back from his forehead. The action hid his face from her momentarily, just when it was very important that she be able to see his face, his reaction. His body seemed tight, defensive. What was he thinking? His hand dropped down at last, and she studied him closely.

He glanced across at her, his eyes flicking down from her face to her still-sprawling body. Suddenly she felt exposed, spread out in front of him with her skirt rucked up, her bra pulled down. With trembling hands she tugged her bra into place and slid her panties on before pushing her skirt down, listening all the while to the cryptic, monosyllabic conversation Jack was having with whomever was on the other end of the phone.

“Great, thanks,” Jack said, at last placing the receiver back on the hook.

He reached for his boxers before he spoke.

“Ted estimates about five minutes,” he reported, and she nodded her understanding.

It was over. They were about to be rescued, and their enforced encounter was at an end. Neither of them said anything as they shuffled into the rest of their clothes. Claire didn’t know what to think or feel. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she was shocked at what had just happened. She felt as though she was swimming in treacle as she tried to analyze her feelings. It had been so good…so intense. She’d never felt anything close to the kind of passion she’d just experienced.

But now it was over, and it was back to the real world, to office politics and maneuvering and executive meetings ad infinitum.

She shot a glance across at Jack, trying to work out what he was thinking. They’d just had the wildest, most uninhibited sex in all the world. Was he feeling as shell-shocked and shaky and amazed as she was?

He glanced across at her, his expression unreadable, and her spirits sagged. Of course he wasn’t. She was kidding herself. He was probably thrilled to be getting out of here. As she should be. What had just happened had been an aberration, an insane one-off that would never have happened outside of this very particular set of circumstances. Hell, it probably happened to him every second day—this was the office stud they were talking about, after all.

“They’re winching us to the nearest floor,” Jack explained belatedly.

They’d pry the doors open there, and then they would go their separate ways. This moment, this incredible, challenging time-out from the normal world, would be gone forever.

Claire found herself reaching into her bag, grabbing one of her business cards and a pen. Urgent, she scribbled her home number on it, not thinking, just feeling. She’d just shared the most extraordinary physical connection with this man. It had been more than great sex—surely she hadn’t imagined it? Surely, he, too, must think that there was something undiscovered here—something with so much potential that it would be crazy to walk away from it?

“Here,” she said softly, and when he met her eyes she saw Jack’s confusion and amazement and she felt a surge of confidence as she slid the card into his hand.

“My home number,” she said huskily.

Before he could respond, the elevator lurched up several feet, and the sound of screeching metal filled the car. Slowly the doors slid open to reveal a crowd of onlookers and rescue workers.

She and Jack were swept up by their various assistants and colleagues, and before she knew it, Jack was heading one way down the hall, and she was being ushered another. She glanced over her shoulder once, but he was listening to something his assistant was saying and he didn’t see her.

It was almost as though it all had never happened. But she remembered the look in his eyes as she slid the card into his hand.

He’ll call, she assured herself fiercely. He has to after what just happened between us….

JACK PROPPED Claire’s business card on his hall bureau as soon as he got home, liking the invitation and potential contained in that small piece of card. It was a no-brainer, really. He’d just had the best sex of his life, and she’d told him to call her. What man wouldn’t want more of what he’d just tasted?

Still, there was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn’t until he was shucking his clothes in the bathroom and stepping into the shower that he realized he couldn’t possibly call. Because there’d been that moment afterward, when he’d still been inside her. He’d looked down into her eyes and seen so much vulnerability and surprise and amazement in her face. And he’d felt a weird surge of protectiveness and tenderness that had nothing to do with hot sex or physical chemistry….

Every survival instinct he possessed screamed “Run.” And he was used to following those instincts—not for nothing had he remained single all these years.

The bottom line was that Claire Marsden intrigued him and attracted him in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, and every instinct told him that that was very dangerous to his status quo, hot sex or no hot sex.

Even as he acknowledged this and accepted it, his body protested. How could he walk away from something so hot and intense? His hands curved reflexively as he remembered the weight of her breasts, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment and groaned with frustration as he remembered the taste of her and the smell of her and the feel of her. She’d been pure desire, uninhibited, wild. Tight and wet and so responsive, her body seemingly attuned to his naturally.

He made a disgusted noise as he registered that he was now fully erect and aching for round two with Claire Marsden. Brutal, he switched the shower to cold and stood with gritted teeth under the punishing spray for a full five minutes, trying to purge the memory of her silky skin.

Because it wasn’t just about animal attraction. There was more—that wasn’t the only thing that drew him. He admired her bravery in holding up under the ridiculous conditions Morgan Beck had imposed on her. He thought she was funny and clever. And for some reason, he’d told her about his brother when he hadn’t spoken about Robbie with anyone—family included—for more than a year.

And that was the scary part. Because even now he was wondering if she was okay, wondering what she was thinking. Perhaps she was in the shower, too….

He stepped from the shower and swiped at the water on his chest and arms with a towel. He couldn’t call her, it was as simple as that. Claire had to be off-limits. He liked her, and he couldn’t raise her expectations. He wasn’t a forever kind of guy, and she was a forever kind of woman. It was never a good combination, and he didn’t want to hurt her.

And she scares the crap out of you, an honest little voice chimed deep inside him.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted, however, when he passed that taunting white rectangle an hour later. Fortuitously, he had his portable phone in hand, and he almost dialed her number. Almost.

It was exactly because he wanted to call her so much that he didn’t. There was something different about Claire, about the way she made him think and feel. And it was distinctly unsettling.

No, she was best set to one side and avoided. Too much at stake, too hard. Too daunting and demanding. Repressing a small pang, he tossed out her card.

He decided to organize some assignments that would take him out of the office, but then the memory of his recent meeting with Morgan rang in his mind. Damn it, he was expected to be on hand to play macho man for old man Hillcrest. How was he supposed to resist having his way with Claire when he was supposed to be her associate editor?

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he paced. He paused, leaned in to look himself in the eye. Could he trust himself to work side by side with Claire and not give in to the impulse to touch her?

Not a chance. Unless certain parts of his body came with an off switch he hadn’t been aware of previously, the only way to stop himself from making a fatal mistake was to pull back as far as he could go.

It wasn’t as if it was a tough decision, anyway. In many respects, getting to see Claire a lot was the only attractive aspect of the whole arrangement Morgan had proposed.

Who in their right mind would want to be the token anything on a project? Not Jack Brook, that was for sure. He’d been too taken by surprise to put up a good fight when Morgan had sprung the idea on him and Claire today, but he wasn’t hot to put his hand up for credit on a project he’d had no involvement with. It was unethical, and unfair to Claire.

He padded into the bedroom, his decision made. First thing tomorrow he’d call Beck and make his position clear.

CLAIRE FORCED HERSELF to go for a run, despite the burning urge to sit by the phone and will it to ring. She had an answering machine, and it would take a message if Jack called while she was out. She only had to repeat this to herself five times before she could force herself out the front door of her apartment. All other considerations aside, she had only two more weeks of training until the finals and she hadn’t done all this hard work to blow it off because she and Jack Brook had had wild animal sex in the elevator at work. Every time she thought about it she battled a wash of embarrassment, closely followed by a rush of desire. She was going crazy pacing around her apartment, second-guessing herself, staring at the phone.

So now she was ignoring the burning muscles in her thighs and pushing herself harder up the hill. She forced herself to go past the car dealership where she usually turned for home, then stopped in her tracks for a beat as she caught sight of a red Mustang convertible holding a place of pride in the center of the yard. Well, hello, old friend, she thought, remembering the ad that had kept her entertained for a full fifteen minutes that afternoon. The car looked much better in real life—shiny and red and fun. Pity she wasn’t a convertible kind of girl, she mused a little wistfully as she pushed on up another hill, her mind almost immediately reverting to its default position of wondering what Jack was doing right now, if he’d called, and what would happen next.

For a second she allowed her mind to flash back to the elevator. A surge of heat swept through her. She could almost feel his mouth on her skin again, feel the wet thrill of his tongue on her breasts. Her body tightened at the memory, and she realized that in a split second she’d undone all the good work her nice, mind-numbing run had done. She briefly considered pushing herself to do another few miles in an attempt to regain some control over her wayward body, but she suspected it would be futile. She’d tasted Jack Brook, and she wanted more—it was as simple as that.

How could a few hours change the way she felt about someone so much? How could she go from thinking someone was incredibly egotistical, cocky and overly confident to wondering if he lay awake at night thinking about his brother?

She had no answers, but she knew that something had shifted forever in that elevator car, and even though in her more rational moments she regretted having given in to the crazy urge to make love to him, and then giving him her home number, she was also glad.

When she got home and saw that no one had called she had to quell a wash of disappointment.

Maybe he had something on this evening.

Like a date.

With another woman.

She pushed the thought away all through her quick post-run shower. There was no way he could turn his back on what had happened between them in the lift. It had been so hot, so intense—surely he was aching to explore what they’d discovered in the same way that she was? Or even, on a more basic level, come back for seconds?

Determined to believe, Claire dumped the entire contents of her underwear drawer onto her bed and searched through the tangle of silk, satin and cotton until she found her best set of underwear—a deep aubergine lace bra with matching panties, very elegant but understatedly sexy at the same time.

She pulled them on, sprayed her wrists and cleavage with her favorite perfume, and spent some time creating a smoky, seductive look with eyeliner and mascara. Surveying herself in her bathroom mirror, she felt a surge of confidence. She was ready for him, ready to pick up where they left off, ready to explore the animal attraction that had sprung to life between them.

The sound of her doorbell buzzing jolted her out of her lust-filled musings, and she dragged on a pair of jeans and a handy T-shirt before padding her way to the door.

“I’m coming,” she called out as she approached the door, then felt a little kick of adrenaline in her belly as she wondered if it possibly could be Jack on the other side of the door.

Her breath caught in her throat as she reached for the door handle. Maybe he’d looked up her address, and hadn’t bothered with phoning because he just hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind, the way she hadn’t been able to put him out of hers…. Between her legs, her muscles tightened and she clenched her thighs together, reveling in the thrill of desire that raced through her. If Jack was here, in a few minutes she’d have him inside her again, the firm, delicious pressure of his erection satisfying the ache that had already started at the centre of her.

“Hey there! I’ve brought champagne and chocolate, and I want to hear all the details,” Katherine said as she breezed past Claire.

Claire tried to ignore the leaden disappointment that had replaced the buzz in her blood. Forcing a smile, she went to fetch champagne glasses.

“So, three hours in a lift with Jack Brook. I want a blow-by-blow account of every minute,” Katherine said, rubbing her hands together in mock anticipation.

Claire stared at her friend for a horrified second, praying that she wouldn’t blush. The last thing she wanted was to dissect what had happened with Katherine—or anyone, for that matter. This was between Claire and Jack, and she wanted to find out exactly what it was before letting the world know anything at all.

Painfully aware that she probably looked as though she’d just sat on a cactus, Claire attempted to shrug nonchalantly. “Nothing happened. We argued, then we talked, then we got rescued. It was an exercise in boredom more than anything.”

Katherine sipped her champagne, her pale blue eyes sharp as they quizzed Claire over the rim of the glass. Claire fought the urge to squirm guiltily.

“You realize that half the building was on fire with jealousy? Stuck in the elevator with Jack—my God, it’s a whole new genre of erotic fantasy.”

Claire took a huge gulp of champagne and wrenched her eyes away from the damned phone.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it was hot and airless and dull. Very dull.”

Unbidden, an image of Jack sliding his pants down his hips popped into her mind, the length of him proud and hard and ready for action. She felt a blush stealing into her cheeks, and she shot a look at her friend. Fortunately, Katherine was studying the lid of the chocolate box, trying to make a selection.

“I like the hard-centered ones—something to chew on,” she muttered as she plucked her selection from the box.

Claire took advantage of Katherine’s distraction to broaden the conversation.

“Do you know who else was trapped? Anyone we know?” she asked, sitting back in her chair and pretending she had all the time in the world.

All the while her mind was working overtime—what if Jack called while Katherine was here? What if he wanted to come over, and she couldn’t get rid of Katherine?

“One of the lifts had ten women in it. Can you imagine? Apparently they took turns hyperventilating and freaking out.”

Claire forced a smile.

“Wow.”

Her eyes strayed to the wall clock over Katherine’s shoulder. Eight o’clock. When was Jack going to call?

Two and a half hours later, and she knew the answer to that question: never. Katherine was full of champagne and chocolate, and Claire had sore cheek muscles from forcing smiles she didn’t believe in.

Moaning about having eaten too much, Katherine finally rubbed her stomach one last time and called it a night. Claire closed the door on her and turned to contemplate her empty apartment.

It was 10:30. So much for her hot night. The empty champagne bottle and almost-empty chocolate box mocked her.

She felt heavy, a bit dazed. Vaguely she realized she felt humiliated. She dragged off her clothes, and moved into her en suite to prepare for bed. The sight of herself decked out in her very best underwear was a slap in the face.

What had she been thinking, for Pete’s sake?

And what on earth had she been thinking when she tore her clothes off and climbed Jack Brook like a cat on a curtain? Had she lost all semblance of self-respect in that tiny, airless space? Suddenly she groaned as she recalled pressing her business card into his hand. She never did stuff like that, ever. All of her life she’d been careful, modest, demure. And now she’d just blotted her copybook spectacularly.

Worst of all, while she’d been sitting here all night, wrapped up in some fantasy world where hot sex equaled spiritual meaning, he’d probably been thinking of the hot blonde he was no doubt taking to dinner.

She stared at her reflection for a beat, forcing herself to face the brutal facts. A sophisticated guy like Jack—he knew the rules. He knew that what had happened in the elevator was a one-off, never to be repeated. He must have been amazed when she gave him her number. She closed her eyes against the wash of humiliation that threatened.

Why, oh, why had she been so stupid?

By the time she’d cleansed and brushed and flossed and crawled into bed, she’d convinced herself it was good riddance to bad rubbish. The man had disaster written all over him. He was a self-confessed commitaphobe with a very short attention span. He was so closed off and protected, she doubted he’d ever let an emotion stronger than pleasure or satisfaction breach his defenses.

Yes, the physical attraction between them had been hot, but that wasn’t the only thing in life, right? It certainly wasn’t worth humiliating herself over, that was for sure.

Nope, she was very, very lucky he’d never taken her up on her stupid, ill-informed, ill-considered, impulsive, deranged invitation. She thumped her pillow decisively, determined to put the whole experience behind her.

But then she started thinking about work tomorrow. About seeing Jack for the first time. About looking at him, and remembering, and knowing. Her eyes popped open and she stared at the ceiling.

What if he told someone else at work what had happened? What if she walked into the building tomorrow and people stopped talking as she approached? She had a vivid picture of her business card taped up in the men’s restroom—For a good time, call Claire Marsden.

For a moment she felt sick to her stomach, but then reason returned. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew—absolutely—that Jack wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened between them while they were trapped. The realization calmed her. No matter what else she’d managed to misinterpret between them, she knew that she had this right—what happened in the elevator, stayed in the elevator.

And long might it stay that way. Relieved, she rolled onto her side and willed herself to sleep. She was just drifting off when she remembered that she was supposed to work with Jack for the next few weeks or however long Beck deemed it was necessary to salve old man Hillcrest’s ego.

That was something of a stumbling block. An Everest-size stumbling block. She sat bolt-upright in bed. If she was honest, she wanted very badly to tell Morgan Beck to shove his stupid arrangement. But that wasn’t the way she worked. What Beck had asked from her was wrong, and unfair, and she was still deeply ashamed about sitting through that initial meeting with Jack and Beck without making her feelings clear.

But innate self-honesty forced her to admit that even if she’d had prior warning about the agenda of the meeting, she wouldn’t have kicked up a fuss. Her philosophy in her working life had always been to give her bosses what they asked for. While there were limits to this philosophy—both moral and legal—it had held her in good stead until now.

But did her ethos stretch to swallowing this blatant vote of no confidence without voicing an objection?

She shook her head in her silent apartment.

“No. I don’t have to just lie down and take it,” she told her darkened bedroom.

Tomorrow she’d let him know in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t accept Jack on her project.

She tried to imagine herself stalking into her boss’s office and laying her cards confidently on the table. And failed. Miserably.

Perhaps if she really talked it through with Beck, they could come up with another solution. As grown adults, seeing eye to eye. Discussing the issues rationally.

This felt much more her style. It still made her feel nervous, but it was doable.

Of course, sticking up for herself would mean that she didn’t have to work with Jack anymore, too. How convenient. She could simply ignore him for a few weeks in the car park and editorial meetings and the elevator, just like old times, and pretty soon he’d forget that Claire Marsden had ever torn his clothes off and had sex with him.

And that was absolutely what she wanted.

So, she was decided. First thing tomorrow, she’d make an appointment with Morgan and see if she could regain control of her life. It should have been the last thing she thought of before she drifted off to sleep. But instead, just as she gave herself up to sleep, memories from the elevator came back to haunt her. The firm, knowing pressure of his clever fingers as he circled her swollen wetness; the sweet, addictive tug of desire between her thighs as he suckled on her breasts; the deep satisfaction of having all of him inside her, and his strongly muscled body tense and passionate above hers.

She moaned frustratedly into the pillow and rolled over. But the memories kept on coming: the wet velvet sweep of his tongue on her neck. That first thrill as he pressed the palm of his hand against her damp mound. The rising excitement as they taunted each other with what they really wanted….

Claire thumped a pillow with her fist. “Get out of my head, Jack Brook,” she muttered.

But it was no good. She was too turned on to sleep. Despite every rational reason for disliking the man, her body had other ideas.

She rolled over again, her nipples brushing against the cotton of her sheets. They wanted Jack’s touch, the heat of his tongue and mouth, and they sat tight and proud, waiting for something that was never going to happen. Claire slid a hand over each breast and pressed them into her chest.

Stop it, she urged her body. Forget him.

But instead of calming her overheated body, the pressure triggered a pulse of desire between her legs. Claire’s eyes flickered open, and she glared at the ceiling.

“Damn you,” she told an absent Jack Brook.

Then she gave in to her desire and slid a hand down the length of her body and between her legs. Closing her eyes as she slicked a finger over her own wetness, she imagined it was Jack touching her, and that any moment now she would feel the warm, velvet nudge of his erection against her outer folds. As her body thrummed tighter and tighter with tension, she remembered the taste of Jack, and the strength of Jack, and the feeling of being filled by him. The way he’d tugged so tightly on her nipples. The way he’d run his hands over her body as though he couldn’t get enough. The feel of him beneath her hands, the hard, smooth power of his body.

She gasped out her release, her orgasm an echo of the one she’d shared with him earlier. It should have been the end of it, but she lay awake for a long time afterward, angry with herself for wanting a man who clearly didn’t want her.