Exposed by Fate (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

Oliver wore a tux like a motherfucker.

Call him arrogant, call him whatever you like. At age eight, he’d been tapped to play ring bearer at his aunt’s wedding. He’d slipped the jacket on in front of the hotel’s full length mirror and felt like he’d finally become a man. Then he’d promptly called for his mother to help him fix the bow tie.

Tonight, he really needed the confidence provided by his favorite form of attire, because over the course of the week, he’d started to feel very un-Oliver. He’d passed two nights at the office, working overtime on the scholarship program in his mother’s name. The perfect applicant had even come across his desk. Francesca De Luca from Queens. Frankie for short. She lived in a two-bedroom house with her uncle and drove a cab for a living, attending night class at the local community college when she could, not the usual course of education for someone who’d scored sixteen hundred on their SATs. At age twenty-four, she’d only managed to accumulate one third of the credits she needed for a business degree.

He’d placed two calls to her since coming across her application and held out hope she’d be the first recipient in the program. But even as important as the project was to him, his thoughts had been on a gorgeous blonde and her apparent lack of urgency to see him again. Finally, last night he’d given in and gone to one of his regular night clubs. His goal had been to distract himself, remind himself of the options available to him. Before he’d taken a sip of his first drink, he’d been sent three from various corners of the bar and asked to dance by a redhead who bore a vague resemblance to Emma Stone.

He’d felt claustrophobic, like he’d woken up in a carnival fun house without any memory of how he’d gotten there. Everyone had looked distorted, their voices too loud. He’d started noticing that the lyrics in the loud, pumping music didn’t even make sense. His clothes felt itchy along with the back of his neck. He’d mumbled some excuse about finding a friend and walked out of the club without a backward glance. Now, as he climbed out of the backseat of the town car that had driven him uptown to the venue, he found himself scanning the sidewalk for sight of her. Which was ridiculous, since she would be inside, right? He just wanted to be sure. He was
that desperate
to get eyes on her.

Fuck that, he wanted
everything
on her. Eyes, hands, mouth. The poor girl had no idea what was coming through those doors. She’d left him to roast for four days and now he was overcooked. If he made it an hour at this goddamn gala without dragging her to the nearest dark corner to screw her into a stupor, he’d be shocked. He was already hard just thinking about gripping those mouthwatering curves and telling her in vivid detail what a cock tease she was. Giving him a taste, then vanishing for the better part of a week. Honestly, it was outright torture.

He declined the coat check with a smile and walked toward the opulent ballroom. The girl working the door in a headset didn’t ask him for an invitation or check his name against the list she was holding, she simply waved him through with a nervous laugh.
All right, this is what I’m
talking
about.
Guys who could rock a tux well enough to forgo security measures didn’t get possible crushes. They walked in like they owned the joint and let the girl come to him. Much better. No more un-Oliver.

Confidence intact, he breezed into the opulent ballroom, immediately being swallowed by buzzing conversation, semi-darkness, elegant music being played by a ten piece band in the corner of the room. Taller than most, he could see over the top of the milling crowd, his gaze landing on Eliza as if she’d called his name.

Good Lord.
His breath felt trapped in his lungs, feet glued to the floor. Like that dream where you see something you want but have no way of reaching it. Eliza stood in the room’s center, near the dance floor, talking to an older woman over a champagne flute. She had to be the only person in the room wearing white. It made her stand out, like someone had trained a spot light on her. The dress was short, but the material loose, making it modest and an ungodly degree of sexy at the same time. Her front was covered entirely, but a sequined strap went down the middle of her almost completely bared back, connecting to the material just above her ass. It showed off two dimples he hadn’t yet had the chance to explore and it pissed him off mightily to know that. To know other men were seeing the perfection of her back for the first time, same as him. He tore his attention away from her back and traveled the long length of her legs, accentuated by silver stiletto heels. Remembering how tight those legs had squeezed his bucking hips, he had to look away or his below the belt predicament would become obvious to everyone around him. Especially if he took an eye out.

A passing waiter offered him a glass of champagne. He drained it in one shot.

Okay, maybe he had a little more than just a crush on Eliza. Did they call it a crush because it made you want to
crush
objects with your fists until every man with a pair of eyeballs stopped looking at her? He tugged on his collar. This tuxedo didn’t feel so good anymore. It felt restricting, like its sole mission in being created was to choke the air out of him. Would it be weird if he ripped one of these thousand dollar tablecloths off a table and wrapped her up in it? Just until he could get her into another room and completely naked, of course. Where only
he
could see her.

“Oliver?”

That wasn’t Eliza’s voice. She was too far away. Who was talking to him and forcing him to stop staring at her? He turned toward the source of his name and found a black-haired girl in an electric-blue dress beaming back at him. Shit. His mind flipped around like a Rolodex. Name…name…name… “Hey, look at you. You look great.”

“Thank you!” She launched herself at him, and he had no choice but to hug her back. Even though he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he knew her. She could have been his dental assistant and he’d have no idea. Even as he hoped for that outcome, he knew the chances were slim. He’d probably slept with her. “What are you doing here?”

He shot a glance toward the dance floor and saw Eliza watching him, looking a little sad. She seemed to bolster herself with a smile, shrugging at him as if to say:
What’re you gonna do? Can’t take you anywhere, playboy.
Then she turned her back on him and went back to her conversation.

Frustration clawed at him. If he didn’t think security would drag him out, regardless of how he wore a tux, he would have grabbed the nearest oversized centerpiece and dropkicked it through the picture window overlooking the dance floor. Eliza was right. This was the life he’d created for himself. He couldn’t go anywhere without a one night stand crawling out of the woodwork. Why
would
she want to spend more than three nights with him? She saw him as a joke and nothing more.

He remembered Blue Dress had asked him a question and he hadn’t even answered. What was it?
Why are you here?
Why, indeed. “I’m here on a date, actually. I better get to her.”

“
Right
. A date.” She winked at him, as if they were in on the same joke, running her fingertips up the inside of his sleeve. “You know, I applied for an internship at
ReVAMPed
, but I haven’t heard anything. It would be so fun to work together.”

God save him
.
“Caroline is in charge of hiring. You should talk to her.”

“I’ll mention your name,” she said, sounding pleased. He’d have to discuss this with Caroline on Monday. Although, what would he say? Don’t hire any girls in blue dresses? “Hey, do you want to grab a drink after this? I’m already bored.”

“No, I…”

Oliver shot a glance toward Eliza, praying she wasn’t seeing this blatant come-on. Oh, she wasn’t. She was just talking to another man, for fuck sake. Jealousy, a feeling that was fast becoming familiar, scraped in his chest like a thorn bush. How had this night gotten off to such a shitty start? All he wanted was to spend time with one freaking girl, and he couldn’t get within a hundred yards of her. Well, he wasn’t about to stand here and let someone move in on Eliza. Not going to happen. This arrangement between them was far from over.
Time to rally, Preston.

He gave Blue Dress’s hand a gentle squeeze before removing it from his arm. “I’m sorry, I really have to go. It was great to see you.”

Without waiting for a response, he skirted past a cluster of elegantly dressed party-goers, making his way toward the dance floor. As he got closer to Eliza, he recognized the man she was speaking with. Conrad Sterns. The client she’d come here to land. She was making her pitch.

During his week in purgatory, he might have Googled the guy, once or twice, to see what Eliza was up against. Roughly the same age as Oliver, the guy had made a lucrative investment in a technology company that won a government contract the following year. Now he spent most of his nights at
Scores
, an upscale strip club on the West Side of Manhattan.
That
part wasn’t mentioned in the papers or investment trades. In addition to his Google searches, Oliver might have also made a phone call or two about Sterns. Just out of mild curiosity, of course.

He slowed to a stop at the edge of the dance floor, worried if he interrupted Eliza’s pitch, he might wreck her chances. But as the continued to watch, it was obvious Sterns wasn’t listening to a damn thing she said. Apart from his casual perusal of Eliza’s legs, his mind was probably off getting a lap dance on the West Side.
Don’t interfere. Don’t.

Sterns gave her an absent nod and leaned back, actually
leaned back
, to check her out. Oh, that did it. He didn’t have the decency to
hide
his indecency. Oliver walked onto the dance floor that had started to fill out with people and claimed Eliza by settling a hand on her waist. She jumped a little, but recovered with a smile.

“Er—hi.” She tilted her head to let him kiss her cheek. “Conrad Sterns, meet Oliver—”

“Preston,” Sterns finished enthusiastically, holding out his hand. “I subscribe to
ReVAMPed
. Big fan of the magazine.”

Yeah. I’m still not a fan of
yours
, buddy.
“Thank you. That’s great to hear.” A waitress approached with a tray of drinks, and he handed a fresh glass of champagne to Eliza, declining one for himself. “We’re still trying to find the right balance. We value the readership who are sticking with us through all the changes.”

“Well count me in.” He gave Oliver a sly look. “Of course, I just read it for the financial articles.”

“Of course,” Oliver echoed, his smiled feeling strained. Why was everyone assuming he was in on their dirty jokes tonight? He didn’t want to be in on them. Reflexively, he pulled Eliza into his side. “What were you talking about before I rudely interrupted?”

Instead of answering his question, Sterns split a thoughtful look between him and Eliza. “Are you two…together?”

Eliza stiffened against him. “Mr. Preston is just a friend.”

Oh, she did not just call me Mr. Preston. Again.
God, he’d usually be relieved to hear a girl refer to him as
just a friend
. Not tonight. Not with this slime ball leering at her. Not when she looked so beautiful it made him ache. Not happening. He needed to salvage this meeting for her and warn the other man,
every
man, away in one fell swoop, so that’s exactly what he would do.

Oliver clutched at his chest. “A friend? You’re killing me, bunny.” He shook his head sadly at Sterns…and told the truth. “She’s too good for me, and she knows it. That’s not going to stop me from chasing her, though. Eliza’s worth every ounce of the misery she’s putting me through.”

“Is that right?” Sterns eyed Eliza with renewed interest, but this time his gaze was above the neck where it should be. Respectful. “What did you say about setting up a consultation? You’ll have to excuse me, my mind is a million miles away tonight.”

Eliza wasn’t smiling as he’d expected her to be. “Um, consultation.” She reached into her clutch purse, took out a glossy business card and handed it to Sterns. “Yes, I can do Thursday or Friday next week, but of course, we can work around your schedule.”

“Friday will work fine.” He held up the card. “I’ll have my assistant call your office.”

“Perfect.”

Chapter Twelve

Eliza wanted to chuck her drink at Conrad Sterns’ retreating back. She should be elated that she’d managed to secure a consultation, as had been her plan. Once she managed to get inside his house, she would wow him. She had enough confidence to be sure of that. Her boss would be thrilled. Instead, all she felt was shortchanged. Until Oliver arrived on the scene, Sterns had been about as attentive as a ficus. Her association with Oliver had basically bought her credibility she should have earned on her own. And that ticked her off.

She rounded on Oliver. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” he returned. Way too quickly.

“Swoop in like a hero to save the little lady. I was doing great on my own. Stupendous.”

He sighed, probably wishing he’d left with the girl in the blue dress. She refused to consider her anger at him might partially stem from what she’d witnessed when he arrived. Refused.

“Eliza…you could be Madonna’s interior designer and that dude wouldn’t have blinked. Some men are just like that. They’re not
listening
no matter what you say.”

“They’re like
you
, you mean?” Oliver flinched, and she immediately wanted to weep. Since when had she started getting angry at him over his very nature? It wasn’t her job to judge him. How dare she? “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I didn’t mean it. You’re nothing like him.”

“No, you’re right.” He sounded numb. “I am.”

Eliza felt helpless. There she stood, in the middle of an extravagant, romantically-lit ballroom with a gorgeous man right in front of her who’d only been trying to help, and she’d let petty jealousy ruin their night. Before it even started. Worse, she thought she really might have damaged his feelings. Her chest felt hollow at the very idea. “Look, I…this is stupid. But I saw you talking to that girl earlier, and I just got angry. You were supposed to be here as my date, you know?” She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the probable horror on his face. She’d all but admitted to being jealous over him.
God
. “And you’re right, Sterns is an asshole. He saw me as a pair of talking legs. I just wanted to nail him down on my own.”

She opened her eyes to find Oliver watching her with an unreadable expression. Hope? Disbelief? It disappeared before she count decide. He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have intervened, but I took a chance. It’s common knowledge that he shies away from investing in female-run companies. I can’t see it being any different with whatever design firm he hires. You were fighting a losing battle.”

“How did you know that?” She murmured, feeling stunned. “I didn’t even know that.”

“I asked around.” He shrugged. “I wanted to help you.”

Uh oh.
Eliza’s pulse went crazy, and she felt suddenly drunk. As if she’d indulged in way more than two glasses of champagne. Around her, the room went darker, candles brighter. He’d spent time thinking of her, wanting her to succeed. Taking steps to ensure that success. She should have been angry that he didn’t think she could do it on her own, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t be when he’d done it so harmlessly. The hollowness she’d felt in her chest moments ago was gone, like it was never there, replaced with the heavy pounding of her heart. She heard it so loudly in her head, she swore it was being played over a loud speaker. That same heaviness crept lower and lower until her thighs tightened of their own accord. She was fairly certain her jaw had dropped over Oliver’s admission, but couldn’t command her brain to close it.
Brain full to capacity.

His throat worked and he glanced away.
He thinks I’m still angry.

“Eliza, I’m—”

She kissed him. Just grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo, yanked him close and kissed him like they were in the final scene of an action movie. He didn’t stop to ask questions, because this was
Oliver
she was kissing. With a starved growl, he flicked his tongue into her mouth the second she opened to him, claiming her mouth as if he’d only been waiting for the opportunity. Lips glided, tongues stroked greedily, chests heaved against one another. Eliza pushed up on her toes to get closer to his skilled mouth. Amazing. No one tasted like him, moved like him. His hand inched lower on her back.
Oh, please. I need his hands on my ass. Need them everywhere.

He pulled back with a curse, but didn’t let go of her. “Goddammit, Eliza,” he whispered furiously. “You can’t kiss me like that unless we’re somewhere I can unclothe and fuck you.”

Flames licked at her body. “Take me somewhere.”

His gaze moved over her head, scanning the crowd. “Not yet, babe. We just gave everyone quite a show and if we leave now, they’ll know I’m just looking for a dark place to sink my cock between your excruciatingly spreadable thighs.” He walked her further onto the dance floor. “My reputation isn’t salvageable, but there’s no way in hell I’m taking you with me.”

Afraid to look behind her and see who’d witnessed the kind of kiss usually reserved for the bedroom, Eliza moved into his arms and let him draw her close. She placed one arm around his neck, let him hold her opposite hand. Being close to him like this wasn’t helping her condition, only heightening her need. It wasn’t wise to behave this way in front of her boss, her colleagues…potential clients, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She felt compelled to get as close as possible, soak him in. They were pressed so tightly together, she could feel his stomach muscles bunching against her, his steely erection at her belly, his breath at her ear.

“Eliza, have I told you how much I love your pussy?”

She moaned and lost her balance. He caught her against his hard body without missing a beat, keeping them swaying to the music. To anyone watching, the slip might have been imperceptible, but inside of her a maelstrom of sensations whipped in a frenzy.

“When I had my tongue in it…when it started shaking for me…I thought I’d never taste anything sweeter. My smooth, wet Eliza.” He subtly rolled his hips and her breath caught. “I was wrong, though, wasn’t I? Having you squeeze my dick and tongue fuck my mouth at the same time? I’m not going to recover from that, you little traitor. You want no strings attached? Then stop fucking me up.”

How could she stop her body from writhing against him when he said things like that? As they turned in a slow circle, she saw her boss, Regina, watching them with interest, but even that didn’t break through the haze of lust blanketing her. She floated in a dream-like state, anchored only by Oliver. “I’m not doing anything on purpose.”

“Of course not,” he grated, then seemed to attempt to reign himself in with a deep breath. “You know what I was thinking when that girl had her hands on me?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but continued in a seductive tone of voice. “I was thinking about how your screams sounded echoing in my shower. Like a girl who’d just found out what a good fucking is supposed to feel like. A girl who’d finally gotten what her virgin-tight body was needing all along. Isn’t that right, babe? Who gave you what you needed?”

“
You
did, Oliver. Please. I need it again.”

“I should have gone to your apartment days ago. Should have knocked on your door and reminded you who’s in charge of when and how these lessons take place.” His fingers traced up her spine to grip the back of her neck. Just that subtle show of force sent a bolt of lightning to her core.
Yes
.
Take control of me.
“That reminds me, Eliza. The next time you call me Mr. Preston, you’ll be looking up at me from your knees before you can blink. You’re going to keep your eyes trained on me while I will fuck the word
Mister
right out of your mouth. Is that understood?”

She moaned, wetness settling between her thighs. “I can’t wait any longer. Oh God, I can’t—”

“That makes two of us.” He bit down on her ear lobe. “I’ve been here for a handful of meetings. I know there’s a conference room through that door to my left. You will go there and wait for me immediately.” The friction between their bodies was getting to be too much. “I’m not going to lie. I can’t promise I won’t make you scream loud enough to drown out the band. You want to take that chance?”

“Yes.” Was that her talking? She barely recognize her voice. “I don’t have a choice.”

“What is your safe word, Eliza?”

“Cookie.”

“Go.”

…

Eliza ran her fingers over the cool wood of the forty-seat conference table. Yes, she’d counted the chairs. She needed a distraction, something to keep her from exploding into a million fragments. Her body hummed uncontrollably, so desperate for satisfaction that sweat had broken out along her neck and forehead. In the quiet room, her soft, panting breaths were amplified. The sound turned her on even more, until one hand inched its way up her thigh, moving of its own volition. A couple strokes of her clit while replaying Oliver’s harsh words to her on the dance floor and she’d be free of this gripping need. This
desire
. It was so thick, she couldn’t drag in a full breath. Just one touch.

She leaned back against the wall and ran a finger down the center of her damp panties. Using her middle and ring finger, she pressed the material against her sensitive nub, moved them in a slow circle. Just as a whimper broke from her throat, the door opened and Oliver walked inside.

“Don’t you
dare
.” He rounded the table, coming toward her with a full head of steam. His sexuality blasted her the closer he came, as if he were projecting it. She watched hungrily as he ripped off his tuxedo jacket and threw it unceremoniously on the table. His face, his body, were so compelling she wanted to weep, while at the same time his hard edge instilled a kick of danger. This was what a man looked like before he took a woman hard. Fierce. Rough. A little angry. She wanted all of it. So bad. “You trying to cheat me out of one of your orgasms, Eliza? When I’ve been out of my goddamn mind for days to feel you shake and clench?”

“I just—”

“You just better
listen
. That’s what you
just
.” He reached her then and spun her until she faced the conference table. A powerful hand splayed at the center of her back, before pushing her forward. Her cheek pressed against the smooth surface, hot breaths heaving in and out to fog the polished wood. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but the cool air against her bottom, the gathering of material at her waist, told her he’d lifted her dress. Exposing her. “Put your palms flat on the table and don’t move. If you do, I will slap your ass until you can’t stand.”

Eliza’s legs liquefied.
What if that’s what I want? Should I move? No, just trust him.
She exulted in the feeling the bent over position gave her. The damp flesh between her legs swelled and pulsated, anticipating being filled by Oliver at any second. Every beat that passed without his hardness inside of her was painful. “I need you inside me so bad,” she moaned. “Please, it hurts.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you wanted to wait.” His growl stoked the fire inside her even higher. “I can’t imagine any other reason for you to wear panties when I’ve forbidden them. You’ve wasted my time, Eliza. And now I’ll waste yours.”

“
No
.” She pressed her hips against the table, seeking relief and finding none. “I forgot.”

“Is that right?” His footsteps moved away from her.
Nooo. Come back
. “I’m going to forget something, too, so we’re even. How does privacy sound?” The sound of the window blinds being drawn startled her into looking over her shoulder
. Oh my God
. Her naked backside was now on display before an uncovered window. While her instincts screamed at her to cover herself, Oliver’s directions kept her glued to the table. It wasn’t easy. Not at all. Especially when across the street, a party raged on the roof of a hotel. Smartly dressed clusters of people sipped cocktails. She couldn’t hear them from this distance, making them seem like a muted television program, but they were there. Could very likely see her if they happened to glance over at the building.

Her pounding heart echoed louder and louder in her ears. The longer she stood there exposed, the less apprehension remained. She focused on Oliver’s hot eyes traveling over her flesh, his hand gripping the fly of his pants, stroking.
My job. Mine.
“Oliver,” she said hoarsely. “I’m dying.”

His attention snapped to hers, and she saw a flash of concern, before it vanished. He was behind her in a flash, dragging her sodden panties down her legs. That act alone caused her to tremble. God, she felt so empty without him.

“Get your legs up on the table. Show me how you do the splits.” He hooked a hand beneath her knee and lifted it into the hard surface, her thigh brushing his rigid erection on the way. “Be a good girl and give me what I want. So I can give you what you’re dying for.”

It was one thing to have her bare bottom visible to the party taking place across the street, but if she spread her legs on the table, every inch of her would be on display. Why did the idea of it make her pulse skitter out of control? “What if they see?”

He palmed her between her thighs, eliciting a strangled cry from her mouth. Using the heel of his hand, he grinded slow circles over her clit. “They might get lucky enough to see what I’m about to own, but they can’t have it, can they? This is all mine. Get up on the table.”