Spoken For (3 page)

I hear him, the cynicism, the cold logic, and I’m still pulsing, panting with shallow breaths.

“That is all, Ms. Lynch.” He brings his hand down from the wall and turns, turns his back on me and crosses the distance to his desk. “Close the door behind you, please.”

I mangle my lower lip, swallowing a moan at the ache of pleasure-pain throbbing through my entire body. I am shattered and it takes me long moments to pull myself together again. Long moments to watch Roman Rocchi settle in behind his desk, listen to his fingers thrum the keyboard, understand that his attention is thoroughly absorbed in his work.

What just happened here hasn’t been dismissed, it hasn’t been forgotten, it has simply never been.

My panties are still shoved to the side and I don’t pause to adjust them.

I can’t get out of his presence fast enough, fingers fumbling over the buttons of my shirt. I don’t care what my body wants, it is never getting that, not ever, not even if Roman Rocchi comes back grovelling.

5

IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS since I fled Roman’s office. We’ve been on a first name basis since he finger-fucked me. Inside my head, that is. I don’t know what I’ll call him when I actually see him again.
If
I ever see him again.
Bastard
sounds perfectly reasonable.

I haven’t breathed a word to anyone.

So far as Liam knows, I apologised, the air has been cleared, and he’s too preoccupied with his latest hook-up to notice otherwise. Some girl called Charlie from Camden Town. If they last until the weekend, I’ll probably get to meet her.

Liam’s style is more conventional than mine. He likes to play away from home. When things go south, as they inevitably do, he doesn’t have to worry about the fallout around every corner. He doesn’t have a problem. He’s just a twenty-two year old guy afraid of missing out on the next best thing.

But if there’s one good outcome from my encounter with Roman Rocchi, it’s this: There’s no risk of me falling into Liam’s comfort anytime soon. I’m not the least bit lonely. My head is crammed with the smug bastard.

6

I’M SUMMONED TO a meeting the following morning.

Celia falls into step with me as I push through the front door with ominous beginnings. “They’ve already started.”

I keep going, checking my watch as I toss my handbag beneath my desk. “It’s not yet nine. Did I miss a message?”

“No, he said to call you up when you got in.”

“Mr. Bellamore?” I straighten to look at her as I run my hands down my tailored black pants. My strappy turquoise tee is too casual if there’ll be clients present. It’s almost November, but the weather is still freakishly warm so I haven’t brought a jacket and this is the first I’ve heard of any meeting.

“Mr. Rocchi,” Celia deadpans.

The kick to my ribs is physical.

My eyes widen on Celia. She’s not deadpanning. She’s totally clueless to the fact that she’s just choked the air from my lungs.

“Okay, then,” I say, although absolutely nothing is okay. “I just need to make a detour to the restroom.”

My gaze flits to the wall of meeting cubicles.

Celia notices. “The boardroom, Keegan. Upstairs.”

“The boardroom?” I mutter. “I thought we didn’t use that.”

“Now we do,” she says, and she’s off, walking away before I have a chance to ask her what the hell the meeting is even about.

Dana isn’t at her workstation. A few other eyes turn on me, but no one I can share a quick grumble with. I haven’t seen Liam this morning either, as he spent last night in Camden Town.

I swipe a pen and notepad from my desk before I head for the restroom, because who knows? Apart from everything else, this is also the first official meeting I’ve been asked to participate in.

In the ladies restroom, I drop the stationery on the marble countertop and step back to scrutinize my reflection in the mirror.

My black pants are snug at my hips and thighs, showing off my long legs. That’s my best feature and I’m not afraid to work it. My tee is skimpy, but then I’m a scrawny cup-size B. I don’t have much to reveal in that department.

Mascara thickens my lashes and the tinted shade highlights the green flecks in my hazel eyes. Unfortunately, I’ve already chewed my lip gloss off.

I’ll do.

I’m reaching for the notepad when I change my mind and unclip the loose knot at my nape. My hair falls to my shoulders, thick, straight and blonde. A quick shake, then I drag my fingers through the mid-length ends and finger-comb my fringe.

This isn’t for Roman Rocchi.

I’m not lying. I don’t do that with myself. Walking into that boardroom with every bit of self-esteem I can scratch together is entirely for me.

On the top floor, I knock and open two doors before I find the correct room.

My gaze connects with Roman’s and for those first few seconds, I see no one else.

He’s seated at the head of the boardroom table in all his dark, intimidating beauty. Chiselled jaw, stone cold eyes, white shirt, blue tie, black designer suit.

“Ms. Lynch,” he drawls, “are you coming in or posing for a postcard?”

The spell breaks and the rest of the room comes into focus.

Simone’s snigger.

Liam’s puzzled expression.

Harry rolling a pencil between his fingers and swallowing a smile.

“Sorry I’m late.” I turn my back fully on the room to blow out a small breath as I close the door. Then I’m crossing the room to pull out the chair beside Liam, casting a smile around. “I didn’t know about the meeting and…”

It hits me. This is a Kleighnorm meeting, the account Liam, Simone and Harry have been working on for weeks.

I frown at Roman. “Am I supposed to be here?”

“We were just getting to that.” Roman directs his attention to Harry. “Mr. Baden, I’d like you to stay for the meeting, and hand over to Ms. Lynch afterward. You’re switching with her on the Steel Pin account.”

The pencil clatters from Harry’s fingers. “I don’t understand, Mr. Rocchi. Have I done something wrong?”

I can see how he’d draw that conclusion. Steel Pin is a maintenance contract. The highlight of my four months here has been to add a summer sale
DIY Bonanza
banner to their website.

“Quite the opposite,” Roman informs him with a cordial smile. “As you’re aware, most of our positions here are graduate placements. We take that responsibility seriously. I intend to mentor the Kleighnorm account personally and I believe Ms. Lynch needs the benefit of my guiding hand more than you.”

What a load of crap. My throat tickles with an indignant snort.

“Oh.” Harry brightens, buying the praise. Line, hook and sinker. “Alright then.”

My hand shoots into the air. “Mr. Rocchi?”

His cordial smile flattens as he looks at me. There’s nothing intense in that look, no smouldering heat, no reason for me to be suddenly thinking about his warm hand roaming over my skin, that finger grazing…

“This isn’t a classroom, Ms. Lynch.”

“Right.” I drop my hand, dragging my lower lip through my teeth as I cross one leg over the other. “I’m sure you can appreciate as how I’d be mistaken.”

“Did you have an actual question?”

I did.
What was it again?

“Ms. Lynch?”

My irritation escalates at the succinctly spoken prod. How does he do it? He unbuttoned my shirt and mind-fucked my breasts. He pushed my panties aside and finger-fucked me there. He’s just declared I need the benefit of his guiding hand. I’m squirming in my seat with heat pooling between my thighs while he doesn’t miss a beat.

“I’m curious about your hands on approach,” I say with a dismissive shrug that requires far too much effort. “I mean, Rocchi Enterprises is an international conglomerate with more than thirty satellite offices around the globe, and that’s just for your core shipping business. How on earth do you find the time, I wonder, to personally invest so much of yourself in—”

A kick in the shin cuts me off.

I send Liam an arched glare.

“The same way you apparently found time to research the Rocchi asset portfolio, I imagine,” Roman replies smoothly. “There are always hours to be found for a worthwhile cause, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Lynch?”

I give him a terse smile and shut up.

Yes, I did some digging,
after
I’d been drowned in his witch hunt.

“Your question, however, is not without merit,” he continues, no longer talking to only me. “Grasping the background on any account before you begin working on it is beneficial to all parties.”

He leans back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled in front of him. “Connor Kleighnorm, the owner of Kleighnorm Malt, is a personal friend. It was, in fact, while I was reviewing his request for help to launch Kleighnorm Malt internationally that I came across Diamond Designs and decided to incorporate a Social Media and Market Branding company into my portfolio.”

“Oh, you brought in the Kleighnorm account?” asks Simone, fluttering her baby blues his way.

Roman inclines his head with a nod at her, then his eyes harden as they return to me. “I made a promise to a friend that I’ll hold his hand through the process, Ms. Lynch, and that’s precisely what I intend to do.”

I bite down on my tongue.

Not that I don’t believe his glib response, but that doesn’t explain why poor Harry has been swopped out for me. Simone is marketing concepts. Liam is more technical and handles the background programming. Harry and I do the front end and visual concepts and while I’m not discounting my own talents, Harry’s been working here for two years and I’ve barely gotten my feet wet.

The rest of the meeting is brief.

There isn’t much more to say after Roman calls a halt to any further progress on the project. Apparently he’s been mulling things over since the last presentation and has decided we need a fresh start.

“I’ve arranged for us to visit the Kleighnorm estate in Scotland on the 18
th
for four days,” he informs us. “Clear your schedules and, until then, your time will be better spent discovering everything you can about the backbone of the malt industry.”

Four days in the Highlands with Roman Rocchi?
My pulse quivers with silly anticipations that I refuse to acknowledge. I can’t stop my physical reaction to this man, but I can ignore it.

Chairs scrape back, including mine, until Roman calls out softly, “Ms. Lynch, a moment please.”

I fall back into my seat with a groan, my gaze trained on the chair Simone vacated across the table from me.

I cross my legs again.

Whatever else happens, I will not end up pressed between Roman and the wall. Thank God I’m not wearing a skirt today.

Roman doesn’t speak until the door closes and we’re alone. “Do we have a problem, Ms. Lynch?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

My eyes glaze with fury as I turn on him. “Well, I haven’t tried to pick you up recently, so I’m guessing no, we don’t.”

His lips twitch. “As grateful as I may be for that, Ms. Lynch, I was referring to your attitude in the meeting. You seemed distracted.”

I roll my eyes. “And you have absolutely no idea why?”

“I have a few ideas.” He pushes his chair out and rises to his full six-foot two. “That’s why I asked you to stay behind.”

My blood hiccups through my veins, but he’s only shrugging out of his suit jacket. The near-fright skitters shivers over every inch of my body. I’m not chained to this chair and there’s only so much I’ll do to keep my job.

So why are you still here?

He drapes his jacket over the back of the chair and stands there, his hands braced on the top, watching me like a predator.

“Is this another lesson?” I enquire sweetly.

A shadow crosses his face. “Did you enjoy the last one?”

“Not really, no.”

“Good,” he says. “Lessons aren’t meant for pleasure.”

Okay, so that is why I’m still here.
There are times when I run at the drop of a pin and there are times when I get stuck. When I have to see things through to the bitter end and beyond.

“It wasn’t valuable either,” I assure him.

“This isn’t a schoolroom, Ms. Lynch.”

“Then stop treating me like your personal playground,
Roman
.”

He doesn’t flinch at my use of his name.

He does leave his position behind the chair, stalking toward me. “Trust me, Ms. Lynch, you could never begin to imagine what goes on in my playground.”

His baritone rumbles down my spine with dark intent and my stomach drops a little with each step that brings him closer. My gaze falters, falls to where my hands are folded in my lap. I’ve pushed him too far and I’m not done.

So many emotions conflict inside me, I’m a broiling mess.

Anger at his blasé attitude, at what he did to me, at how he left me, coils in the pit of my stomach.

There’s frustration too, sexual and mental.

Incredulity at his sheer arrogance and absolute disregard.

A decent shot of fear, because it would be idiotic to underestimate this man.

And washing over all of that is the forbidden temptation that licks my pulse and staggers through me like a wave of nervous desire.

I feel him next to me. The vibes he gives off are a tangible presence, a touch. I know when he’s pressed his backside to the edge of the table right beside me. My gaze flicks that way, along his lean, muscular legs that are stretched out alongside me. An inch closer, and his leg would brush my hip.

I slide my gaze up his thigh, over the bulge in his crotch, up along that immaculate white shirt and silk blue tie.

“I’d offer to show you,” he continues, “but that would be breaking ground rule number three.”

“And what would that be?” My voice is thick, my throat constricted with desire. I have to wet my lips before they’ll form the innocent smile I turn up to him. “No fucking women?”

“Tell me, Ms. Lynch…” His hooded eyes flick to the junction of my thighs, then up again to settle on me. “How long has it been since that itch was scratched?”

Condescending bastard.

I’m on my feet before I can think better of it, my hand raised. He sees the slap coming, I swear he does. His jaw glides with the delivery, dispersing the impact.

He grabs my hand before I can withdraw, shifting one leg to put me between his thighs as he tugs me close by my bended elbow. I could extend that elbow, push away, but Oh, God, I don’t want to.

“Ground rule number four, Ms. Lynch.” Grey flecks in his eyes glitter. Not cruel. Not cold. No storm. I don’t know what this new emotion is. “Never give what you’re not prepared to take.”

His palm lands on my backside with a crack and a burning sting spreads over my buttocks. A gasp bursts from me, my eyes instantly watering. He’s not playing. That wasn’t a love tap.

And then he’s rubbing that palm firmly over my backside, massaging the burn while crushing my soft, sensitive lower abdomen flush against his hard, throbbing dick. I’m sandwiched between sensations and everything mixes up. I no longer know what is pain and what is pleasure and I don’t care.