Promoted to Wife? (11 page)

T
he precedent was set for the next two weeks. Zac remained cool and professional during office hours. He always asked if she was free that night. Emily always said yes, except for the weekends. Those days were hers alone.

At night Zac spent hours exploring her body, learning what turned her on, what made her cry out in passion or sigh with delight. He focused on her pleasure, skillfully bringing her to the brink of bliss night after night, then taking them both over the edge. And in the early hours of the morning, Emily crept from his bed and returned to her own, exhausted. She made sure she always got to work on time, despite her growing need for sleep and the ever-present ache between her legs.

And she never let anything remotely personal slip again.

“Any plans for Saturday night?” Zac casually asked when their Friday afternoon meeting had broken up.

“Work. And I might get in a book and a bath.”

She ignored the glint in his eye, then the small frown when she reiterated her plans after they were alone in his office.

Yet on Sunday, after she'd slept, read and bathed herself into
boredom, she dressed in a pair of gray track pants and an old baby-doll T-shirt and opened up her laptop.

As she put the finishing touches on the launch for Point One and finally pressed “save,” a deep sense of satisfaction engulfed her.
This
is what she should've been doing every weeknight instead of indulging in the joys of mutual sexual pleasure. This was her career, her life. Do this well and there was no telling the kind of contacts she'd make when it came time to set up her business.

Her hands stilled over the keys.

She hadn't thought about that in…days. Weeks, even. She hadn't heard back from the university to confirm her second-term enrollment. And, she realized with shock, she hadn't gone chasing it, either. Carnal pleasure had taken priority, pushing her goals from the limelight. And Point One had firmly kept them in the darkness.

You got caught up in the sex.

She leaned back into the sofa, grabbed a throw pillow and cradled it in her lap.

And the intimacy. And actually feeling desirable and wanted without there being an ulterior motive. For Jimmy she'd been a meal ticket. For her ex-boss, a conquest. And the others had come with their own unique baggage. Not one guy had wanted her for
her.

Sure, she may have been clueless when it came to boyfriends, but she'd made sure to bank every single one of her paychecks. She'd always understood the power and freedom money represented.

So what would happen after Point One launched, when her debt to Zac was paid, when she got into her course?

You'll go forward with your life. Moving on, no looking back.
Just like Zac always moved on, with the next eager female.

Thoughts of him with another woman sharing his bed, doing the things they'd done, suddenly made her want to gag.

She rose, threw the pillow across the room and headed for the kitchen. Grabbing the half bottle of mineral water from the fridge, she poured it into a wineglass and gulped it. The bubbles
fizzed on the way down, followed by a sudden desperate need for normalcy. Her apartment, AJ, her job. They were normal, they were stable. Not this…this…crippling self-doubt.

Yet her mind was still buzzing hours later, her dreams peppered with gorgeous women vying for Zac's attention, her mother's cold, lined face and an empty room where the Point One launch party should have been.

She woke before dawn, a strange feeling pooling in the pit of her belly. After checking all the faucets, the locked front door and windows, then the lights, she texted AJ, then crawled back into bed.

No good.

It wasn't about her mother: she had no idea if Charlene was still alive, let alone where.

The Point One project?

She ran over the details in her head. No. Everything was on track, the prospectus was out, buyers were calling their sales division and the invites for the launch were going out today.

Yet something wasn't right. She rolled over onto her tummy, grabbed her glasses, cracked open the venetian blinds behind the headboard and squinted out into the predawn light.

Number seven's German shepherd was barking, as usual. Number ten had left her porch light on again. But other than that, nothing.

It had to be Zac—or more specifically, the way she felt about Zac. She knew what his life was like, the kinds of women he attracted. Who wouldn't feel inferior compared to the likes of Haylee Kerans and Trish Sattler?

With a sigh, she dragged herself up and pulled on her jogging gear.

The sun rose halfway into her run, the only other beach activity three lone fishermen and some surfers suiting up in the parking lot.

The office was empty when she got in. Zac had a site inspection that morning. A common occurrence, yet discontent dogged her routine.

AJ finally returned her text and Emily ticked it off her mental
list, turning on the computer, then syncing up with Zac's schedule as she grabbed her coffee. The distinctive aroma made her mouth water, but before she could take a mouthful, the office door opened.

“Hey, Em.” Zac's chief accountant, Megan Hwong, always reminded Emily of actress Lucy Liu—exotic, poised and confident. “Here's those budget figures you wanted.” She put a file on the desk, then perched her Armani-clad hip on the corner with a smile.

An expectant, knowing smile.

Emily blinked. “What's up?”

Megan tipped her shiny black-bobbed head. “Just wanted to see something.”

“What?”

“You.”

“Why?”

Megan leaned in with a grin. “To see if last week was a fluke.”

All sorts of scenarios sped through her mind. “Sorry?”

With an elegant hand, Megan gestured at Emily. “A nice hairstyle, a little lippy. You've even ditched those awful jackets,” she added, eying Emily's sweater-and-skirt ensemble. “We reckon there's a man involved.”

“What? No!”

“Wow.” Megan pulled back with a grin. “Denial, much?”

Emily took a deep breath then said more calmly, “There's no man—it's getting warmer and I felt like a change and…and who's we?”

“Oh, Kerri and Bob,” she supplied, naming the Accounts team. “Nice necklace, by the way.”

Emily glanced down at the dozen long silvery strands of beads tied into a low knot. “Thanks. A late birthday present to myself.”

“See? With an eye like that, I knew there was a fashion diva inside, dying to get out!” Megan grinned. “You should come shopping with the girls on Saturday.”

Surprise stilled her for one second before she realized Megan was serious. “This Saturday?”

“Sure. Early Christmas shopping.” She mock eye-rolled with a smile as she stood. “I'll e-mail you, okay?”

“Okay.”

As the door clicked shut, silence engulfed the large office. After all her gentle refusals to social invites, all her deliberate avoidance of personal relationships in the workplace, it took just one, an invitation to shop with one of the most stylish women in Valhalla, to spark something inside, the part of her that longed to indulge in being a woman again.

She stared at the glass door as doubt surged. Was it coincidence that the offer came on the heels of Megan's casual reference to a man?

Emily gathered up some papers, walked into Zac's office, then shut the door, leaning up against the solid wood as her mind leaped to a thousand different conclusions, all of them bad.

Finally she straightened and went over to Zac's desk. No. Megan wasn't into subterfuge, unlike some. She'd asked, Emily had answered. Case closed.

Her reflection stared back from the huge tinted windows. She saw a twenty-six-year-old blonde in standard office wear—a long black skirt, sensible shoes, panty hose, short-sleeved baby-blue sweater.

She placed the papers in Zac's tray, then stepped in for a closer look. The sweater was cashmere, the V-neck showing off her collarbone, the long dangly beads drawing the eye down. She turned to the side, then front on. The material clung over her hips, a thin black belt defining her waist. Short capped sleeves showed off toned arms. With a frown she smoothed the sweater down over her belly, then her bottom.

Have I lost weight? Have I—

The door suddenly opened and she whirled, cheeks flushed.

Zac.

Their gazes met and held for a heartbeat, then two. Despite herself, she felt her breath hitch as memories crammed her head.

Soft touches. Demanding kisses. Hot skin, sweaty with passion…

She felt the instantaneous heat pool low, then fan upward as he stood there, his eyes grazing her body with a slow smile.

“That color suits you,” he finally said.

“Thank you.”

“But I hate the shoes.”

Her chin went up, a sharp reply at the ready, but his grin somehow negated her irritation.

“Maybe that's why I wear them.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “First you make a point of saying your new hairstyle is
not
to impress me, and now you're wearing shoes you know I hate?”

When he walked steadily toward her, she forced herself to remain exactly where she was.
Good, that's good. Don't show him you're affected, or how that boyish grin makes him way too irresistible.

He stopped, so close she could see tiny flecks of gold in his olive eyes, the creases in his bottom lip as he continued to grin at her. And there was his scent, a mixture of shaving cream and some subtle aftershave that always seemed to scramble her senses.

“How was your weekend?” he asked softly. When his gaze dropped to her lips and remained there, she gave an inward curse.

Damn you, Max Factor, and your To-Be-Kissed Pink gloss.

“Fine.”

“Good.” It didn't sound as though he was pleased, but she let that go.

“What happened to your meeting?” she asked, determined to uphold that professional veneer.

“Rescheduled.” He reached out and plucked something from her sweater sleeve, his fingers briefly brushing her arm before he withdrew. “I just sent you a text.”

She nodded, letting silence command the room.

He leaned in and to her dismay, she jumped, her hip bumping into the desk.

He smiled, his mouth close to her ear, his cheek not quite touching hers but radiating warmth all the same. “Did you need something?”

Can I make a list?
“Ahh. No.”

“You sure?”

His breath brushed over her lobe, sending scalding heat through her veins. And when his tongue followed, she bit her lip to stop the groan from escaping.

“You don't need this?”

His mouth nibbled at the spot where her ear met her neck, then slid down her jaw.

“No…” she managed to croak out, frantically trying to ignore her body screaming
yes!
through every nerve.

“Or this?” He trailed one finger over her collarbone, then slowly into the valley between her breasts, carefully watching for her reaction.

“Zac, you can't.”

His grin was full of wicked knowledge. “I can. I have.”

“We're in your office,” she got out as his finger edged around her bra cup, eventually finding her hard nipple. His other hand came around to the desk and settled by her hip, pinning her there, possessive yet allowing escape if she so chose.

His heat, his breath, the need in his eyes threatened to overwhelm her thoughts.

His finger rhythmically stroked her nipple, producing little shudders that she struggled to quash. His mouth—that wondrous, skillful mouth—curved, teasing her into acquiescence with one smile. And the intense heat from his body engulfed her, spinning her thoughts, negating her halfhearted protest.

She swallowed as arousal pulsed beneath her skin. No matter how hard she tried to keep their arrangement after-hours, her body betrayed her every time. Since Friday night she'd been alone, three nights that suddenly felt like three months, and now she craved him like some illegal drug.

Suddenly she didn't care that they were in his office or that she'd been the one who'd demanded secrecy. All she wanted was
for him to kiss her, take off her clothes and make love to her in that plush leather office chair.

Her phone shattered the moment, the two-time ring muffled through the door before it went to voice mail.

With a gasp she twisted, away from his drugging heat, away from her weakness.

She glared at him as she quickly adjusted her glasses then smoothed down her sweater. “I told you, Zac—not in your office. What would've happened if someone had walked in?”

“Then they would've won big on the office pools.”

His shrug, such a casual dismissal of her concerns, sent indignation surging. “What?”

“I know everything that goes on in this company, Emily.” He crossed his arms. “The current odds of you being my next conquest are about three hundred to one.”

“Three…”

As she floundered with embarrassment, his smile dropped. “Look, don't let it worry you. No one cares—”

“
I
care.”

“Why?” He crossed his arms. “Why does it bother you so much what other people think?”

The familiar hot pulse of shame engulfed Emily as he stood silent, awaiting her reply. Yet she had none to give him, none that would keep him at the distance she so desperately needed him to be.

“Because I refuse to be judged on anything other than my work. And now I have to get back to it.” And she was out the door.

 

If he hadn't had back-to-back meetings, Zac would've gotten to the bottom of whatever was really bugging Emily. As it was, he spent most of the day thinking about the deeper reason she'd been so upset and how he was going to broach the subject again.

They'd actually started becoming friends. No, not friends. The things he wanted to do to her were not friendly at all—they were downright dirty. For three long, frustrating nights he'd spent way too much time thinking about her skin, her lips, her warm,
accommodating body. After such a solid beating, his restraint had lapsed that morning and he'd been unable to keep his hands off her.