Blind Date (12 page)

“I deliberately stayed away from you yesterday. Do you know that?” When I shake my head, he continues. “After we had lunch, I knew I couldn’t be around you. You made the right choice in getting a taxi here. There’s no way, had you have gotten into that car with me, that I wouldn’t have smudged the fuck out of your lipstick, Bee.”

I run my tongue across the inside of my teeth as I consider what to say. What am I supposed to say? “Have you considered it’s perhaps best to coordinate with my mother and have her oversee this project instead of me?”

“A thousand times. But then I wouldn’t get to watch you while you walk and imagine you bent in front of me and your ass with my still-red palm print on it.”

Holy. What?

“It’s definitely best if you coordinate with my mother,” I breathe. His words have made every one of my nerves tingle, and right now, all my nerves seem to be in between my legs. “Three days.” I swallow. “This is destined for disaster.”

Like it always was.

“I agree,” Carter agrees huskily. “So if it’s destined, why not help it along its way?”

I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with one swift movement that has his lips covering mine. The hotness of his mouth on mine shocks me, and I fall victim to his powerful and commanding movements. He pushes me back until my butt bumps my desk and I’m falling backward onto it.

He steadies me with his forceful grip. His other arm pushes stuff away until I’m properly perched on the edge, my legs open with him standing in between them. His hard cock pushes against my stomach as he leans into me and I curl my fingers around his neck.

I’m on fire. Everywhere.

He kisses me deeply, his tongue stroking mine, and there’s nothing but him and the raging pound of desire as it flows through my body. He eases his fingers inside the hem of my dress and up the inside of my thigh toward my aching pussy, and I know I should stop him, but oh Jesus. I can’t. My skin is tingling and my clit is throbbing in sweet anticipation of what’s coming.

He grazes his teeth across my lower lip as his thumb brushes my lace panties. My muscles clench at the gentle touch, and I tighten my grip on the back of his neck. His fingers slide my thong to the side.

I drop my head back, breaking the kiss, right as he rubs his thumb over my clit and pushes one finger inside me.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
He kisses his way down my neck, each lingering touch only adding to the fire that is my want for him right now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is wrong. This is so. Fucking. Wrong.

He’s my client. It still doesn’t matter that we met before.
He should not be finger-fucking me on my desk right now.

“See?” he rasps in my ear. “You can’t control this. You can’t control how fucking wet you are right now—for me. But you don’t want to, do you?” He pushes another finger inside me. “You might be a control freak, but only one of us has control over your body. And it sure as fuck isn’t you, is it?”

I want to tell him to fuck himself, but I can’t. “There’s a better use for your smart mouth,” I gasp as a jolt of pleasure sets my body alight.

“Better use for yours, too,” he retorts, nipping the side of my neck. “Look at you, Bee. Look at the way you’re riding my hand right now. What is it, baby? You want another?”

A third fingertip nudges the opening of my pussy, and my hips buck against his hand. I don’t, but I do. A whimper escapes me as he pushes a third inside me. The stretching of my pussy is far more pleasurable than painful, but I still drop my head back with a gasp.

“Hush.” Carter captures my mouth with his, biting my lower lip. “Your assistant out there doesn’t seem too bright, but it probably wouldn’t take him long to figure out what I’m doing to you.”

Carlos. Oh, fuck.
“We shouldn’t—”

“Too late,” he responds without missing a beat. He kisses me again, even deeper than before, successfully making me forget whatever argument I was about to present to him.

He plays my body. My mouth with his tongue and my pussy with his hand. I’m like clay and he’s the master sculpture, each movement calculated for a perfect result—only this result is my orgasm.

And so it goes on. His fingers pumping inside me while his thumb circles my clit over and over, until my body goes taut and he forces my quiet cry into his mouth.

His fingers are still inside me as I drop my own to his hips and cup his rock hard cock with one hand. It’s straining against his pants, and I’m dying to slide inside them and work his pleasure from him as easily as he just stole mine from me.

Three knocks at my door cut through the room, effectively killing any plan for continuation either of us had.

They also bring me to my senses.

“Jesus fuck!” I hiss, pushing him away from me. My pussy immediately mourns the loss of his fingers, greedy little whore, and I jump up off my desk. I have to reach under my desk to put my panties back in place. “Two seconds. I’m just with a client,” I tell whoever is behind the door.

“Carlos told me it’s Carter Hughes. I only need a moment,” my mom’s voice responds.

Oh. Fuck. No. Fuck a doodle fucking doo, hell no!

Carter does his belt up as I turn and grab a fabric swatch book from my windowsill and put it on the desk, opening it to the drapes fabric section. I jab a finger at the chair for him to sit in.

He has the biggest shit eating grin on his face, far more appropriate for a teenage boy than for a thirty-two year old man. I want to rip off my panties and hit him across the face with them in the hope it’ll wipe that smile off of it.

I drop into my chair, and Carter scratches the corner of his mouth, looking at mine. I snatch up my phone and look at the screen. Shit. Lipstick smudged!

Damn it all! I knew I should have put the twelve-hour stuff on this morning.

I lick my thumb and scrub at the mark until it’s disappeared. He smirks, leaning forward and grabbing a page of the book.

“Bee!” Mom knocks again.

“Jesus, this is a meeting!” I call back, snatching a pencil. “Come in if you really have to.”

She does, apparently. With the same old look on her face as she always has… That disdainful downturn of her lips as she realizes my office hasn’t been tidied overnight. “What took so long?”

“Comparing curtain fabric swatches.” I tap my pencil against a page of the book. “Carlos said you were with Louis.”

“He double-booked,” she responds, disinterested.

Read: they got done early. I wonder if she knows that I know her meetings with Louis are less of the interior design kind and more of the interior exploration kind.

“Oh, okay. What do you need? We’re busy.”

“Can you find these vases? Stacy Vince wants six of them for her dining room but they seem to be absolutely nowhere. I think they’re commissioned pieces. I’ve tried to look but I can’t, and she’s left Carlos with three messages in as many days.”

“No problem.” I take the photos from her. They’re held together by a paper clip. “That all?”

“Yes.”

“And that had to be done right now because…”

“I’m hungry.” She smiles at me and then turns to Carter, her smile becoming even more dazzling. “Carter! How are you?” She holds her hand out to him.

Inwardly, I wince. Please don’t shake hands.

My mother does not need to clasp the fingers that, five minutes ago, were inside of me.

He stands and touches his left hand to her waist, then kisses her cheek. “I’m fine, Mrs. Donnelly, thank you. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful.” Mom fans herself as she steps back.

Crisis averted.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry. I have a busy afternoon and wanted to get a bite to eat while I can. I’ll leave you to it.” She takes a few steps back, but Carter shakes his head.

“Please, Mrs. Donnelly. It’s fine. I was just about to leave. I think we found what we were looking for, right, Bee?” He pins me with his gaze.

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “If you’re certain that’s the one you want. It’s hard to find sometimes.”

“Oh, absolutely.” The inflection in his word makes my heart clench with its implication. “Let me know if we get lucky.” He winks, then with one final smile at my mom, he turns and walks out of the door.

I don’t think he was talking about the pretend fabric.

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, and Carter’s penetrating gaze is replaced by hers. “Now who are you trying to convince, you, that young man, or me?”

“Convince of what?” I look away from the door and focus on her.

“That you’re ridiculously attracted to him.”

“Please.” I shut the fabric book and get up to put it back where it belongs. “He’s very handsome, Mom, but he’s also a bit of an arrogant pig.”

“I see you’re trying to convince me.”

“I would have a response if I had any idea what in the hell you’re talking about.”

Mom walks up to me and pats my cheek. “I know you two met before, dear. Remember when he was here a few days ago?”

I have chills. I nod anyway.

“It was to inform me that your prior… relationship… Had no impact on his decision about the designer for the restaurant. He picked you for your credentials and not… otherwise.” For the first time ever, she looks slightly uncomfortable. “I’m a little put out you didn’t tell me, but I understand why.”

I frown. “Why aren’t you kicking my ass right now?”

She shrugs one shoulder and leaves that as her response.

“Mom. I fucked a client. Before he was a client. But still. And you’re not even mad?”

She waves a hand and walks to the door. She pauses, her fingers wrapped around the handle. Her dark, curled hair bounces as she looks over her shoulder at me. “Bee, I’m not happy. I’d like to think you can remain professional and not cross the line while you’re working together, but you’re a grown woman and able to make your own choices.”

Hello, guilt trip. I’ll just go and pack my suitcase for you.

“That said…” Her ruby red lips quirk into a half smile, and one of her perfectly shaped brows arches up. “If you’re do it with a client, you damn well picked a good one to do it with.”

“Uh… Are you drunk, Mom?”

She shakes her head, and with that, she opens my door and disappears through it.

I swear she laughs.

She
must
be drunk.

***

My mother knows I had sex with Carter.

My life is officially over.

I’m twenty-six and I don’t mind saying that she terrifies me. Hell yeah she does. She’s usually like a viper waiting to strike, which is why, two days after our conversation, I’m shocked that she didn’t uncoil herself and bite me in the ass for my actions.

If I were her, I think that’s what I’d have done. I’d have gone crazy… I think. The thing about it though is that she is right. I am a grown woman and I should be able to make the right choices.

Note the usage of the word ‘should.’ Clearly I’m incapable of doing such a thing… as evidenced by the situation I was in right before she came back.

I just…
God.
The way he makes me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever known before. Every touch is the instant heat of a freshly lit match, and each pound of desire is the gentle burning of a candlewick. His touch makes me feel alive, but more than that, it makes me feel wanted.

And in the end, that’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To feel wanted.

I’ve been wanted a lot. I’ve been lusted after and seduced and played with. I’ve allowed that to happen, but I’ve never really believed any of the guys I’ve been with, whether they were random one night stands or maybe casual fuck buddies. I’ve never sat back the next morning and thought to myself, ‘Gee, they really, really wanted me, didn’t they?’

I never experienced the rush of shattering self-control until I met Carter Hughes. I never knew what it was like to see resistance snap like an elastic band under too much pressure. I never thought I would… Not now.

He changed that. He’s like a magnet with his own intimidating pull, and no matter what, I’m finding myself more and more drawn to him.

I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be drawn to him. I don’t want to be the fly he catches in his web or the debris he pulls into his orbit with his gravitational pull.

Because that’s what it is… Carter Hughes has his own universe. One I know nothing about except for the fact he’s at the very center of it.

He just… commands everything. That’s perhaps the best way to say it. He commands anything and everything around him, and it seems that simple. I’m sure it isn’t. Nothing is ever simple once you scratch beneath the surface.

More and more, I’m feeling like I want to do that. I want to tear apart the layers that make him, him, and I want to scratch away the seemingly perfectness of his life.

No one’s life is that great. Or maybe he’s just one of the lucky ones. I don’t know.

I do know that I’m pretty mad at him for talking to my mother. Seriously—I don’t care how damn rich he is. I don’t care how many restaurants he owns or who the hell he thinks he is. He shouldn’t have done that.