Breaking All the Rules (11 page)

“Relax.” I smile at my stern somber man. “This
is
a kissing break.” I touch his handsome face, stroking my fingers along his jaw, over his square chin. He follows my hand, nuzzling against my fingertips, seeking more contact.

“And you’re enough for any woman, Nathan Lawford.” I cover his lips with mine, kissing him with all of the passion in my wild soul. He hesitates for five long seconds, and then he opens to me. Our tongues dance, teasing, twisting. He tastes of breakfast and mint, always mint. I will forever associate this taste, this smell with Nate.

I smooth his eyebrows, caress his cheeks, pet his neck, giving him the touch I know he craves yet will never ask for. Nate draws me closer to his hard hot body and he sucks, tugs, nips on my lips, his exploration unhurried and thorough. Time slows, the world stopping for this, for us.

Nate releases my lips and leans his forehead against mine, his breath blowing softly on my skin. “You’re not any woman.” He isn’t looking at my green hair or my piercings as he says this. He’s looking at me.

My heart warms.

I
TAKE ADVANTAGE
of our commute to ask Nate’s opinion on the zillions of decisions I have left to make. He wears his usual icy expression as he drives his black sedan, only his eyes reflecting his joy. I open all of the windows and his happiness increases, his lips lifting into that small smile I’ve grown to love.

To love. I nibble on my bottom lip. I seem to be using this word a lot around him. A cautious girl would try for some distance, attempt to cool down our relationship, protect her heart.

I’m not a cautious girl. “I’m thinking about buying tandoori chicken for lunch.” This is a meal I can’t make for myself, as I lack the oven. “Will you be fed in your mysterious noon meeting?”

“I should be fed.” Nate’s lips flatten, his countenance darkening.

“That sucky of a meeting, huh?” I rest my palm on his thigh. “Can’t you blow it off?”

He drives the car into Blaine Technologies’ underground parking lot, the overhead lights casting interesting shadows over his face. “Blowing off appointments with my mother has a price.”

He’s meeting his mom. This explains why I’m not invited to lunch. I’m not the type of woman any man introduces to his parents.

“What do you mean by ‘it has a price’?” I force a laugh. “Does she send you an invoice?”

“Yes.” Nate’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles whitening.

I stare at him. He’s serious. His mom sends him an invoice. “If you ever ditched a meeting with my mom, she’d tell you off, and you do
not
want to experience that. Trust me.”

“You told me off and I survived.” Nate’s gaze flicks to my face and then returns to the road.

“My mom is
much
louder.” I widen my eyes dramatically. “And she wraps her arms around you, giving you a hug that’s not really a hug but more like an attempted strangulation.” I grin, having survived many such hugs in the past.

“My mother doesn’t yell and she certainly doesn’t hug.” Nate slows the car, coasting the vehicle into a parking spot. A limousine dominates one corner of the floor. Two black sedans and a silver Jaguar are also parked in the predominantly gray space. “She chooses not to speak to me . . . for months.”

And this bothers him. I place my left palm on my lonely executive’s upper thigh. “She might not speak to you, but she can’t stop you from speaking to her. Eventually you’ll wear her down.”

“As you wear me down.” He covers my hand with his.

“Exactly.” I beam, squeezing his leg. “I’ll carry my phone. If you need any more tips call me.” I flounce out of his car. He won’t call me during his lunch with his mom, but he’ll be thinking of me. I stalk toward the bank of elevators.

“What should I talk about?” Nate matches my shorter stride.

My fiercely independent man is asking me for advice. I glance up at him, warmed by his trust. “Is there a topic that drives your mom crazy? That she has a strong opinion about?”

“My father.” Nate frowns. “But that topic will have a price tag associated with it.” He bumps his body against my arm.

I slide my hand into Nate’s larger palm. He folds his fingers over mine, gripping me tightly. “No, you shouldn’t talk about your dad,” I agree. “The topic should be general, like politics or fashion or celebrity marriages.” I pause, rethinking this suggestion. “Well, maybe not marriages.”

“That topic will cost me money also.” Nate’s lips twitch.

Everything costs Nate money. We stand in front of the elevator doors, holding hands, our images reflected in the mirrored surface. Neither of us pushes the button.

Nate shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “If you attend this lunch with me I’ll double your fees for this week.”

I gaze at him, stunned by his offer. “You want me to meet your mom?”

Nate winces. “I know dealing with my parents isn’t in our agreement, but . . .”

But he wants me to attend. Being the rebel I am, I need to hear the words he won’t say. “You don’t have to pay me. Finish your sentence and I’ll say yes.”

My stubborn man remains silent, his jaw jutted.

“If you don’t say the words I’ll make other plans for lunch.” I push him as I always do, wanting more, wanting everything.

Nate widens his stance, as though bracing for a physical attack. “I need you by my side.” He lifts his chin, daring me to judge him.

He needs me. “I’d love to have lunch with you and your mom.” I pat his chest, savoring his solidness. “It’ll be fun.”

“Appointments with my mother are never fun.”

“They will be now.” I swing our arms and we gaze at the closed doors, waiting for an elevator that will never come, the button remaining unpushed.

Moments pass, our connection deepening, tightening, the air around us thick and heavy with emotion. I don’t move, don’t speak, content to be with him, the man I suspect I love.

“Thank you.” Nate finally presses the button. His expression is grim.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I promise. I won’t mess this up.

His eyebrows lift. “Have I ever seen this best behavior of yours?”

I roll my eyes. “At the last quarterly meeting I was well behaved.” The doors open and we step inside, our fingers remaining linked.

“That’s because you were ill.” He selects our floors.

I had been ill. I smile, thrilled he’d noticed. The red digital numbers change. Our images reflect on the mirrored walls. My green hair is loose, framing my face, and the black leather suit hugs my body, accentuating my pale skin. The overhead lights shine on Nate’s blond hair, his tan golden, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes dark with emotion.

I slide in front of him, take his wrists, and draw his arms over my chest, wrapping them around me. “Hold me, lover.”

Nate obeys my command, pulling me into his physique and clutching me tightly, resting his chin on my shoulder. He’s no longer the unapproachable Iceman, and I’m not the defiant rebel child. We’re a couple: real, imperfect, right.

“I have an important meeting.” His chest rubs against my shoulder blades.

“I know.” I suspect I know Nate’s schedule better than he does. “I have coding on the data-sharing project to complete.” I wiggle my ass and he groans. “We’ll find the time to touch later.”

“We
do
have a month.” His voice is quiet.

“We have a month.” The elevator doors open and I don’t move, not wanting to leave him, to spend one second of our remaining time apart.

Nate releases me. “This is your floor.” He places one of his palms on my back and pushes gently, propelling me into motion.

I walk away from him, not looking back, knowing if I do I’ll run to him, cling to him, forgo the independence I’ve always valued. The office buzzes with quiet conversations.

I pass the low-talking brunette assistant from four rows down. She gazes expectantly at me, her lips parted and her brown eyes bright. Determined to behave, to fit in for once in my life, I skip my usual morning greeting and say the expected nothing. Her eyes dim and her mouth closes.

She acts as though I’ve disappointed her by conforming, by following the department’s unspoken rules. Confused, I march toward my desk, slamming my heels against the floor.

“Green,” Miss Yen hollers.

I change direction, enter my boss’ office, and claim the nearest guest chair. “Intern Green reporting for duty.” I salute her.

“Can the sarcasm.” Miss Yen stands behind her desk, clad in a black suit, her hair twisted into a knot at the base of her neck.

“As you know there is a strict rule about working on personal projects during company time.” She doesn’t look at me. “If an employee is caught working on a personal project, she can be dismissed immediately.” Her lips flatten.

Freakin’ hell. I tense. Someone ratted me out. “I can explain.”

“Don’t explain anything.” Miss Yen holds up one of her hands. “Let me finish.” I close my mouth. “We also have a mountain of files to shred.”

I groan. She’s locking me in the shredding room, taking away my Internet access. This is worse than being fired. I won’t be able to answer e-mail questions about my project or add any lines of code.

“In order to use the full capabilities of the new high-tech shredding machine we’ve ordered, Mr. Henley has boosted the connectivity in the room.” Miss Yen lowers her size-zero ass into her black captain’s chair.

I frown, confused. My tight-lipped boss doesn’t share unnecessary information. Why is she talking about the room’s connectivity?

Does she want me to use that connectivity? I stare at her.

“The machine will arrive next month,” Miss Yen adds. “And you are to spend all of your time until then in the shredding room. This is your sole project, do you understand?”

I tilt my head to one side, unsure whether I do understand. It sounds as though she’s telling me to hide in the shredding room, to complete my stealth coding there. “Are you saying I can work on my—”

“I’m saying nothing more,” Miss Yen snaps. “Gather up your things and move into the shredding room. I don’t want to see you at your desk.”

I stand and smooth down my leather skirt, my thoughts spinning. Is she giving me permission to work on my project full-time? “I—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Green.” My boss’ beautiful face hardens. “I’ve spent enough of my valuable time on this issue. I’m expecting results.”

She’s expecting my project to be successful. Warmth fills my soul. Miss Yen has invested her limited time arranging this opportunity. She believes in me. “Thank you, Miss Yen.”

“Thank me by doing some work for a change.” My boss turns toward her computer screen, dismissing me.

Chapter Eight

F
OUR HOURS LATER
Nate leans against the door frame of my new office, his arms crossed, his expression cool and contained. “The view in here has improved.”

“Ha.” I’m draped over my desk, my leather-clad ass in the air, as I plug in my phone charger. “I’m still working out the bugs.” I straighten. “But what do you think?” I glance around myself with pride.

The desk, chair, computer equipment, and other office essentials were already in the room when I arrived, their existence erasing any lingering doubts I had about Miss Yen’s intentions. I arranged the makeshift office quickly and dedicated the rest of the morning to my project, openly answering my phone and replying to e-mails, no longer worrying about anyone overhearing me.

“I think you need one of these.” Nate places a green fountain pen on my desk. None of his pens had been green. My chest warms. He bought this gift especially for me.

“It’s beautiful, lover.” I skim my fingers over its barrel. The gold nib is exquisite and the engraving is fine. “Thank you.”

“The person with the pen holds all of the power.” He gazes across the small space, his eyes unfocused and his lips flat.

“A pen signs checks,” I add quietly, now understanding their significance. He collected eighteen pens representing the eighteen years his dad paid child support, having control over him, over his mom.

Nate nods.

“I’m keeping the pen, I’ll always treasure it, but I’m returning the power. Power isn’t a hippie need.” I press my body against his, regaining my solemn executive’s attention. “We’re all about love, peace, and freedom.” I swivel my hips, teasing him. “Be free with me, Nate. Cast your material things aside.” I throw my hands back and fall.

He hooks his arms around my waist, catching me. “You’re crazy.” He gives me one of his small smiles. “And we’re late for lunch.”

“Yes, lunch.” I straighten. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving.” His eyes glint.

“I have a healthy appetite . . . for everything.” I hold Nate’s hand as we walk down the hallway. My coworkers stare at us, the whispers swelling in waves of sound, gossip spreading. I don’t care. I have a parent to meet. “What will you do if your mom doesn’t like me?”

We enter the elevator. “She won’t like you.” There’s zero doubt in Nate’s voice.

“What?” I blink, temporarily stunned speechless by his honesty. “Why? Because I have green hair, multiple piercings, don’t fit into her white-bread-eating world? She can suck my—”

“She doesn’t like anyone,” he adds.

“Oh.” My righteous rage oozes from my bones and I frown. “Your mom has to like someone. She loves you, doesn’t she?”

Nate says nothing, his face darkening.

“She wouldn’t have lunch with you if she didn’t love you.” I move closer to him, brushing against his body.

“These lunches have a price.” His voice is soft.

He pays his mom to see him? I tilt back my head and gaze up at him, not hiding my disbelief. Nate reaches into his jacket and shows me a thick white business envelope.

I squeeze his hand. “You’re paying me also, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. Money has no bearing on emotions.”

“It has no bearing on
your
emotions. You’re a hippie.” Nate’s eyes glitter. “Not everyone grows their own herbs and wears the same suit until the fabric dissolves.” His smile returns.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

“No way, man.”

I swallow my laughter, captivated by this playful side of my serious executive. “Do you want me to tell you off? Because I will and it won’t be pretty. I know some foul words.”