Impulses (3 page)

Exuding sensuality, Miss Kennedy sweeps her right leg across her left knee in a relatively inviting fashion and every modicum of my attention automatically falls upon them; toned like a dancer, and traveling like a spire up to the blissful curves of her figured hips.

I twist marginally and place my coffee back on the coaster just behind me. When I turn back to face her again, her skirt has risen substantially, exposing the halfway-point of her thigh. I detect a small, tan-coloured beauty-spot on her right thigh, which is followed by a tightening in my crotch.

“This is a great coffee, Sam.”
I wonder what other skills she has,
my subconscious smirks suggestively with an arch of his eyebrow. I subtly shake my head, agitated with how brusquely my considerations are spiraling out of control. It’s unacceptable to evaluate an innocuous statement against such a licentious act, but Heaven help me, I cannot thwart my errant notions.

Enticingly swinging her upper crossed leg back-and-forth, a sexy smirk claims her pale, oval face. Her guileless, blue eyes narrow and creases form at their corners. It’s as though she’s burning a hole in my mind––interpreting exactly what I am thinking, and giving me permission to come and uncover the answers to my unspoken, unruly questions, while the testosterone that courses through me is pleading me to play the game of kinky cat and mouse.

“Thank you, Mr. Wentworth,” her voice is soft and encased with a promising although alluding tone as she twists and pulls a pendant along the chain of her necklace, effectively drawing my attention away from those interminable legs that I itch to have bound around my waist, to her agile fingers.

I brush my tongue over my lips and force myself to swallow. The image of her undoing my shirt and peeling it off my body with those nimble fingers causes all my breath to leave my body. I sigh inwardly as she places the pendant back to its rightful position, hanging decadently between her breasts.

Want and need floods unremittingly and inveigling through my veins. The one thing I have been certain about this past year is my failings and the derisive voice of my scornful demons. But, Miss Kennedy…I feel as though I have been in a stifling room for months, and she is the breath of fresh air that I have needed, that I have been craving.

For some inexplicable reason, I am drawn to her, even though I shouldn’t be. But I can’t and won’t quit, until I know why.

TWO

---------------------

SAMANTHA

He looks so deliciously hot right now; half sat, half resting against the exquisitely crafted desk, with the panoramic floor-to-ceiling window behind him, the backdrop of San Francisco there at his beck and call, to offer solace whenever needed. He looks so in control, so confident but his eyes say a hundred unspoken words. I wish I could read his mind right now, would his thoughts reflect mine?

Hmm…one can only wonder.

I observe his eyes deepening and his lips parting as his attention falls upon my deliberately exposed legs. Oh, what I would give to be stood in between his thighs, looking down into those hypnotic, suggestive, dangerously darkening eyes. Unraveling his navy woven tie and pulling it leisurely through his collar. I’d slowly and eagerly work at undoing the buttons of his powder blue shirt then peel it over his broad shoulders.

Don’t you ever stop, Samantha?
I wave a flippant hand at my subconscious and place a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorjamb of my erotic daydream.

The want to divest him of his clothing gradually to savor the sensuality of the process, yet wanting to give in to the animalistic desire, the carnal need to have him stripped naked without delay, and explore each other’s bodies with wandering hands and roving mouths; all taste and touch and heated urges.

“Well, Miss Kennedy…? Samantha?” his soft, meaningful voice, quite rudely interrupts my reverie.

He’s gazing at me with a lopsided grin; a glimmer of amusement brightens his penetrating eyes.
Oh, no.
I have no idea how long I have been slowly undressing him with my eyes––relishing the visual of our hands and mouths on one another. My mouth is bone-dry.
That is because of all the drooling you have been doing since you laid eyes on this gorgeous, sexy, hunky man,
my subconscious offers her premise into my rather humiliating situation, while sitting back in the middle of her white leather couch, legs crossed, arms outstretched running along the back rest.
Yeah, enjoy the show.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wentworth, I didn’t quite catch that.”
Because I am more curious about how it would feel, having your body shake uncontrollably beneath mine.
I offer a shy, flirtatious smile as I squirm in the burgundy, soft leather chair. Furtively raising my leg a fraction higher, hauling it in closer to my body in a feeble attempt to place a pinpoint of pressure against my sex to ease the sensitivity, the slow gripping sensation that calls to me on an intimate level.

This man hasn’t even touched me, and my hormones are wreaking havoc upon my body. I’m a slave to the power he holds…this is a very disconcerting notion, indeed.

Mr. Wentworth rewards me with a shrewd smirk while I secretly admonish my traitorous body for acceding and being so highly attracted to this beautifully, tempting man.

“I said that, I presume we will have no problems with late starts, as you’re residing at Fillmore Point Apartments,” he kindly repeats himself. His voice is husky and deep with a tinge of mirth. His eyes bore into me, as though he is searching for an answer––and not to the question that he just asked either…something different.

Sam, if you want to make this work, you have to get a grip, and not on him.

“Absolutely not, sir,” I answer firmly with confidence.

His chocolate eyes are blazing. A ghost of a smile materializes across his designer stubble. A floppy lock rests peacefully on his forehead.
How I want to brush that lock back, and gaze longingly into his deep pooled eyes…before pouncing on him that is.

“Good to hear and good to know,” he adds coldly, professionally. Still, his opposing sweet smile triggers a shiver that slowly paths up my spine. I’m powerless to command myself to do anything other than reciprocate the same dazzlingly, sweet smile that holds a cavern of sexual promises. I contemplate the things I could do with him given an hour of privacy.

Since when does, Samantha Kennedy care about privacy?

My musing is cut short due to the freight train that collides with––and annihilates––my dawdling thought train, knocking me off my feet, and withdrawing all breath from my lungs.

Samantha Kennedy’s rule number two:
do not let anyone who you have sexual encounters with, find out your real address
.
At least not after what happened with Dominic, I couldn’t stand history repeating itself. I shudder. Shit, of course he would have my fucking address. Where does this leave me? I mean
us
now?

Maybe he didn’t want you in that way anyway. He wouldn’t if he knew where you had been.
My paranoia ridicules me, scowling at me in unalloyed disgust. My confidence beats the swelling sense of undesirability that my paranoia now radiates, preventing it from running through my mind at high speed with sneakers firmly in place.

You know you are desired––he can’t take his eyes off you.

I need to find a solution to my rule number two––a loophole if you will. Oh, I hope so, because all I want is to have Mr. Wentworth––my boss moving rhythmically on top of my naked body, pounding me into oblivion while my legs bind around his hips. Groaning, moaning, and passionate kisses as we surrender to silent frustrations, and shadowed by the relief of having that form of sexual contact to obliterated any further need.

All I ask for is to experience it with him just once. One time is all I’ll need.

HAYDEN

Stop staring at her; you are going to make her self-conscious.

Samantha looks confounded by something. Her entire facial expression transformed in a blink of an eye. First she was looking all seductive with an eye glinting smile; but now, replacing the glint in her eyes is the look of sheer desperation, hope and bemusement. It’s as if I have just pounced like a predatory animal and blurted the assortment of lecherous conceptions that I have endured this whole time while in her presence.

Miss Kennedy, I have an unwelcome feeling that I will soon become very familiar with that expression.

Looking down at my Rolex, I am astonished by how much time we have wasted.
And still no progress made, Hayden. You’re a lawyer. Whatever happened to being honest and upfront?

“So, Miss Kennedy, the range of duties that you will be expected to perform are obvious: answering phone calls, routing calls, routing mail. Ordering supplies, scanning, photocopying, filling documents and last but not least, serving tea and coffee.” Taking another sip of coffee, I take precious little time to gauge her expression again. She looks overwhelmed, uncomfortable even.

I rest the mug against my thigh.

“Any questions you would like to ask before we start?” I murmur gently, as if to reassure a frightened, timid animal, cajoling her into expressing what is in that head of hers. What I would give to have her head between my hands, pulling her into my embrace, my lips meeting hers, tongues dancing, and exploring.

For the love of, God, Hayden.

“I have to admit, Mr. Wentworth,” she winces, discomfited.

And my subconscious slowly undoes his top buttons of his collar, and slouches in his chair, waiting unwearyingly.
Hmm, an admission…? I quite like the sound of that, especially if it has anything to do with us subconsciously playing flirtatious Ping-Pong for the last forty-five minutes.

“I may have portrayed confidence and usually, I am very much that. But as you can see, I have never been in this line of work before.” She glances down at her hands which are placed sophisticatedly in her lap. She begins to twist a silver, amethyst ring around her middle finger. Her eyes tighten as she looks upon me in disconcertment. “I don’t want to be a disappointment,” she whispers on an outward breath.

My heart swells as I scrutinize this beautiful woman, a woman full of self-assurance one moment and then so embarrassed, withdrawn and cautious the next. I know that feeling all, too, well.

I idly wonder if I’m responsible for the contrasting cruxes of her self-esteem.
Yes, Hayden, you are, you overwhelmed her with the never ending list of duties and she felt as though she was some circus show act. You should have eased it upon her.

“Miss Kennedy––I mean, Sam.” I strain to conceal the devastation from my voice, and my expression, not for how inexperienced she is in this line of employment, but because I’m now aware of this woman––this goddess––who has walked into my office not even one hour ago. She walked into my life and vaguely-familiar feelings and flirtatious glances and tones that I had deserted long ago have been awoken deep within me. Farfetched maybe, but I feel it has linked us together as it feeds on undisclosed desires.

I haven’t been able to feel this way, this alive for eight months for the torture Addison subjected me to.
Don’t even go there. Don’t even waste a second of your Goddamn time thinking about that sleazy bitch again––she is gone and now, Miss Samantha Kennedy is sat before you. One door gets slammed in your face, a new one opens,
my subconscious metaphorically shakes the unwelcomed thought out of my head.
She could be your savior.
The voice whispers and grasps at my attention.

Think of something, Hayden, anything, before she walks out of this office, out of this building, and you never see her again.

Graciously uncrossing her legs, her hands are placed on either arm of the chair that she occupies in front of me. She slowly pushes herself up into a standing position. Her piercing, crystal eyes find and search mine and I detect the beginning of a plausible notion.

She needs the experience, I need her.

I gesture for her to stop with my right hand, and she stoically folds herself back into the burgundy leather chair, her eyes lifeless, derelict.

“We have never done this before, Samantha. I am convinced that you have numerous attributes that you could offer into the workplace, and to be honest, I have faith in you.” Sincerity lances through my voice. My eyes flare as my brow rises.

She offers an anxious smile and peers down at her hands once more.

“How would you feel about onsite training?” I cross my arms against my chest, and beam an all-star, white-tooth smile in her direction. She promptly lifts up her head, and gazes straight at me, sporting the exact expression of a deer in the headlights. “Think of it as an internship.”

Her brow knits together cynically. “Really?”

I nod my approval, and a whiskey-warmth spreads from my chest and throughout my body, as I witness her response to my overture. The animation reflected in her eyes, her impeccable cheekbones rise as her smile widens in obvious gratitude.

“I am so grateful for this opportunity, Mr. Wentworth. I promise I will not let you down.” The words pour out of her deliciously, tasteful looking mouth at eighty miles an hour, yet I sense she is reigning in her exuberance when her voice raises several octaves. She continues to gaze at me in astonishment.

She stands and her manicured fingertips and satin soft skin wrap around my hand. We maintain eye contact and regard each other with a searing intensity that thickens and charges the atmosphere around us.

Reluctantly, my focus drifts from her bright eyes and settle on our hands which remain locked in their embrace, tangled around each other, gripping warmly, lingering for far longer than necessary. Her eyes follow mine and she is soon inspecting the physical connection that binds us together. But even after a beat, neither of us attempt to pull away.

I feel her erotic appraisal as her eyes glide from our hands, up my chest to finally meet and hold my gaze. Her chest expands as she takes a deep breath, inhaling my Dior cologne, and releases a deep sigh through her nose as she exhales.