Taking the Score (14 page)

He bit back his grimace. “Of course not. You wanted me to get my mojo back and here I am. Mojo’d to the max.”

She looked at him closely. Cocked her head, squinted some more. “Well, you do seem more relaxed.” Reaching out, she pushed the hair from his eyes. “I suppose sex can be a great healer.”

“I don’t need healing.” At her pained look, he regretted his snappish tone. Having introduced him to Kerry a couple of years ago, his sister still blamed herself for the crash and burn of his engagement.

“This isn’t your fault, Liv.”

“Really? I match my sorority sister up with my brother and then she fucks him over by hooking up with my father and—”

“I know how it ended.” Recounting his humiliation was not on his agenda today. He redirected the focus of the conversation. “I’m trying to keep what’s going on here on the down low. You know what Flynn and Hunter would be like if they knew.”

She rolled her eyes. “Old women. Especially Flynn, that obnoxious shithead.”

Considering his sister seemed to spend all her time “plotting” with Flynn to get Brody laid, her vehemence sounded on the wrong side of strange. They’d never gotten along, so he supposed he should be grateful she’d put her dislike aside to make Brody happy.

“It’s no one else’s business, and as it’s short term, I’d rather keep it private. We clear?”

She winked. “Clear as chardonnay, bro.” He slammed the door on her laughing face.

Brody walked back into the kitchen, pondering for the millionth time this week how his life had gotten so complicated and why he wasn’t more upset about it. He found Emma with her face buried in her hands. He suspected she’d held this position since he left the room.

“It’s not as bad as all that.”

“Your sister thinks I’m a stripper. Even worse, I
told
her I was a stripper.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of curious about that.”

She threw both hands up in the air. “I panicked. I was so worried she’d find out I worked for you and how sleazy
that
was—”

“And telling her you’re a stripper named Chardonnay is so much classier.”

“This situation is getting worse and worse. What if she stops by the office?”

Today was Thursday, so they had two days to cover. “You won’t be there. You’ll be here, playing Chardonnay the Stripper.” He laughed, marveling at how much he was enjoying himself. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had this good a time with anything.

She slapped his chest, let her fingers linger, and dropped them. “Not funny.”

“Oh, Chardonnay, but it
is
.” He’d wanted to keep her here, outside the office, so he could explore this chemistry between them without the constriction of nosy coworkers and know-it-all partners. The circumstances had certainly conspired in his favor. “She’s here for the weekend, so for the next two days, you’ll be calling in sick. You’ll never see her because I’ll be going out to squire her about town.”

“You, your sister, and the F-Troop?”

“Ah, your nipples are pouting again.”

“In your dreams.” She folded her arms, hiding those beautiful, likely jealous nipples. “If I can’t be seen around the office, then what am I to do?”

“You’ll work from here, in my study.”

She touched a finger to her lips, considering this. “I can remote in to the network and work on the Crown Point files. You have three meetings this afternoon. I’ll call Serena with my best I’m-dying-of-the-flu impression and have her prep for those. The PowerPoints are ready. This could work except…”

Damn, he loved when she got all sexy-efficient. “Except?”

“Where will you be?”

Time to let his assistant know that working from home could be very, very productive.

“Right here with you until I need to head down for those meetings.” He fixed her with his best CEO stare. “Isn’t it time you headed to work, Ms. Strickland? Commute might be shorter, but that’s no reason to dawdle.”

Chapter Fourteen

Thirty minutes after she’d humiliated herself by announcing to Brody’s sister that she was a stripper named Chardonnay, Emma stood outside her boss’s study, raised her hand and clenched it. Making a fist reminded her how clammy her palms were, so she rubbed them against her new navy pin-striped skirt and tried again. The knock sounded loud. Final.

“Come in.”

Mr. Kane will see you now.
After their close shave in the kitchen and all those fantasies he’d laid on her, the idea of spending the morning in such intimate proximity—
working
—drove her a little screwy. How was she going to get anything done? It would be so much easier if he went into the office and left her to compile the reports he needed.

She stepped inside and was immediately enveloped in the smell of leather, a lemony-piney scent, and something indefinably male. Business books lined the walls, a large globe begged for a whimsical spin, and an antique desk looked like the perfect spot to be taken hard by the boss. Behind it sat Brady, staring at his laptop through those hot glasses.

He didn’t look like a sex god.
Not.
So he had those shoulders made to grab on to that filled out his Italian shirt very nicely. Hidden from view by his desk, his thighs no doubt packed his charcoal suit pants to perfection. Those delicious, hairy thighs that had felt so good brushing against her own as he thrust into her over and over from behind.

Ten seconds on the clock and she was already hot and bothered. Swallowing her desire, she scanned the room. Another laptop was set up at a smaller table off to the side.

“Should I sit here?” she asked.

“Hmm.” He didn’t look up.

The laptop was already configured to remotely connect to the company’s servers. All the necessary files were right where she needed them.

She blinked. He really expected her to work. With him in the room—
ignoring her
.

Two hours later, he hadn’t spoken a single word except to ask her if she needed any paper files from the office, because he’d be happy to have one of the other assistants send them up. It was as if he’d forgotten what he’d been doing to her this morning on that kitchen island. Those hot, whispered fantasies about hiking up her skirt and taking her against the window. No foreplay, because she was already wet and there was a damn meeting in five minutes—
remember?
He’d left her poised on a sensual ledge and expected her to act like it was a normal day at the office?

She’d give him normal. So usually he was in his office, playing Master of the Fucking Universe or Solitaire: The Billionaire Edition, and didn’t see exactly how she spent her day. What she did to keep healthy.

She stood, removed her jacket, and placed it on the chair. Carefully. Then she rolled her neck and stretched her arms above her head. Just a little preparatory limbering up.

Placing a palm on the table, she moved her heeled feet out and wide. The stretch of the fabric across her ass felt almost as good as the pull on her inner thigh muscles as she bent her lower leg until her heel touched her ass cheek.

She heard a slight movement behind her, followed by a barely audible cough.

“What are you doing?”

Over her shoulder, she found Mr. Kane ogling his assistant’s ass. Getting to be a habit, that.

“Office yoga. After sitting so long, I like to stretch my legs.”

This skirt fit perfectly, so was snugger than her usual charity shop threads. She inched it up to give her a touch more flexibility. Then revealed a couple more inches of thigh, because she suspected it might yield an interesting reaction.

A grunt sounded from Brody’s side of the study. “You mean to say you’ve been doing
that
outside my office for three months?”

“Two to four times daily. Circulation is very important.” She rolled her lips in to hide her smile though he couldn’t see her face anyway. “Speaking of, how’s yours doing over there?”

“My what?”

“Your circulation?”

He snorted. “Blood’s moving exactly where it’s needed.”

She wanted to turn around and see the hunger tightening his face, assess whether it matched her own, but the not knowing was unbearably erotic.
Squeak.
Was that—? Oh, he’d moved his chair back.

Heart thudding, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Steps trod behind her, heavy, ominous. She wanted to run, perhaps have him chase her through the penthouse and when he caught her, pin her down. Take her roughly.

He stilled, inches away, maybe feet—shit, she didn’t know. He was close, but too far. His supreme control, the tether she knew was in her power to break, was like a third person in the room. She had to slice through it. Make him crazy.

“I’ve fantasized about this,” she said.

“About what?” His voice sounded strangled and closer than she’d thought.

“You. Finding me in your office. When I shouldn’t be there.”

She tried to keep the wobble from her legs, quell the sexual anticipation that had a grip on her. Yes, she’d indulged in fantasies with men before. Years before, when she was Bad-Girl Emma. But this was a whole other level, because Brody Kane was a different kind of man. A powerful specimen who could likely make her come on command. She’d never let someone control her that way, but she rather relished the idea of handing it off to someone else for a while.

On her terms.

She listened to the quiet. The erotically charged space between them.

“You come in early, unexpectedly, and see me here,” she whispered. “You ask what I’m doing. You think I’m nosing around, going through your stuff.”

“I don’t like that,” he murmured.

“No, you don’t. You’re a really private person and you have rules. Lines you refuse to cross. Ethics you refuse to breach. But you see me at the desk and—”

“Something snaps.” His voice sounded strained, as taut as the nipples budding her silk shell.

“You demand to know my business, and I try to tell you I just needed something.”

“Like a file.” Sexy pause. “Or a paper clip.” Amusement colored his voice at that alternative.

“But you won’t listen.”

Another sound of movement preceded a whisper of air at her back. He was mere inches away, but still not touching. It was excruciating.

“I refuse to listen,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.” His fingertips brushed her hip and she shivered. “They’ll never be good enough because I’ve already decided.”

She could feel her body angling over the desk, hinging at her hips to make her ass more accessible to him.

“Decided what?”

“To punish you.” He grasped the hem of her skirt with both hands and yanked it up completely.

“Oh!” Air rushed over her exposed ass cheeks, the string thong providing no protection from his eyes or the wicked deeds she knew were coming.

“How should I punish you, Ms. Strickland? What does a naughty girl like you—an eavesdropper on private shower moments, an office yoga tease, a paper clip thief—deserve?”

A paper clip thief. She giggled.

He pulled on the thong’s triangle of fabric at the top of her ass and twisted it. The friction it created between her legs turned her giggle to a moan.

“Do you think this is funny?”

Desperate for relief, she squeezed her thighs together. He nudged her feet farther apart, preventing her attempt at a solo grind.

“No,” she panted. “Not funny.”

Twisting the fabric again, he dragged it against her sensitive, throbbing flesh.

“Please, Brody.”

He stopped.

“Mr.…Mr. Kane. Please.”

He restarted, the friction so delicious but never quite enough to take her high, higher, and over. In that moment, she realized what he was doing.

Truly punishing her.

Hell, it looked like she’d have to take care of this herself. She reached down with seeking fingers, only to have him pull her back upright against his chest.

“Nah-ah, Ms. Strickland,” he rasped, his breath hot and urgent against her ear. “No more hands in panties when I’m here to do the job. If it’s not doing the trick, just say so. Communication is key in any workplace.” She heard a sliding
whoosh
and realized that he was taking off his belt. Within seconds, he had bound her wrists and pulled taut.

“Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head.

“Say it.”

“You’re not hurting me.”

He laced an arm around her waist and up until his hand splayed on her neck. Totally immobilized, all she could do was submit to whatever he had planned. With long, strong fingers, he lifted her shell, pulled down her cups, and freed her breasts. Combined with her raised skirt, her ass exposed, she felt gloriously slutty.

“Now, what do you need?”

“More. Your hands, your tongue. Please, more.”

“Yes. Tell me everything.”
Everything.
She wished…but wishes were for good girls. His fingers slipped inside her panties and finally touched her where she needed so badly.

“Harder,” she urged. “Stroke harder.”

He did, the rough callus of his forefinger sawing through her folds, whispering against her clit.

“Like that?”

“Yes! Oh God, yes. Don’t stop.”

He chuckled, a sexy-evil sound, then bit down on her earlobe. He plunged two fingers inside her, then slowly, oh so slowly dragged them against her clit. She shattered, shards of her mind breaking off as she hurtled over. He held her close, panting against her neck as if he had experienced that peak with her.

“Okay, Emma?” he asked softly, the rusty tenderness in his voice creating an ache in her chest.

A brief nod was all she could manage. Anything else might have been too revealing, because she wasn’t okay. Far from it. She was in the process of being broken down on a cellular level by this man.

She had no time to dwell on that before her panties were dragged roughly down her thighs and left to drop to her ankles.

“Step out of them,” he demanded.

She did.

“Now turn around.”

Dazed at her own willingness to submit to his commands, she obeyed, and let him guide her back to sit on the antique mahogany desk. Her bare ass felt cool against the grain.

Large palms splayed her thighs wide for his sensual examination. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist; one heel had fallen off. Her wrists were still bound by his belt. Enthralled by his dominance, she could only watch as he stared at her in hungry assessment.

He’d never exhibited anything close to this level of bossiness when he asked for coffee.

His thumbs moved over the outer lips of her sex and spread her open, exposing her to his dark gaze. “So rosy and wet, Ms. Strickland.” He rubbed a thumb through her folds, spreading the moisture around, but always avoided direct contact with her clit. She was grateful, because she wasn’t sure she could handle that again so soon.

“What should I do next?” He licked his wicked lips, like a preview of what he wanted to do to her throbbing flesh.

“Please, Br—Mr. Kane.”

“Please what?”

“Taste me.”

The moment stretched, held aloft on the charged quiet between them, and then he gave that sadistic smile. “No.”

…

No.

Surely he was mad to deny her but in this second, he knew the anticipation would be its own reward.

Her eyes widened, and he kept his own locked on hers as he sat back in his chair and unzipped his pants. Impossibly, her pupils enlarged to the diameter of hubcaps, though it was likely a trick of the morning light streaming through the window. Really, those blue eyes darkened, a little in fury, more in desire.

She had the common sense not to question him. He rewarded her by freeing his cock and giving one long, obscene stroke along its length. The swollen head was already leaking precome and he used the moisture to ease the pumping motion of his hand.

She squirmed. Sat up to get a better view, but she still kept her thighs spread so he could watch all that glorious pink flesh as it glistened.

For him.

With her hands still bound behind her back, her breasts jutted over the bra cups he’d roughly torn down her body moments before. That dishevelment, and knowing he’d caused it, intensified the sensations in his body.

She licked her lips, her eyes riveted to his stroke. She wanted to close her thighs, squeeze them to get relief. He just knew she did, but she was also enjoying this role. The subservient assistant, whose pleasure was in the boss’s hands. He wanted them both to enjoy it. He needed her to enjoy it.

“Come here,” he said.

She slid off the desk and wobbled over. This meek act of hers turned him on royally.

“Straddle me.”

While she did, he held her up with his hands on her ass, and slid down in the chair so that her sex was level with his mouth. Slowly, he blew on her wet, sensitive heat. She bucked.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured as he untied the belt from her wrists and dropped it to the floor. The
clang
of the buckle shot further heated awareness to his aching dick. Finally, he removed his glasses and reached forward to put them on the desk.

“Now. Fuck my face.”

Her moan reverberated around the room, bouncing off the leather tomes, the globe, the floor-to-ceiling window. But still she didn’t move.

He squeezed her ass to remind her of what he’d just asked. Demanded.

“I’m waiting.”

Placing her hands on the back of the chair, she slowly rocked her hips, tentatively at first, as though concerned about her strength. Like her pussy could injure him somehow. As her wet heat brushed against his lips and his chest filled with the scent of her, he realized that maybe there was something in that. Sex with this woman, getting deeper with this woman, could be very damaging.

His tongue flicked out of its own accord. “Come on, baby. Grind that hot little pussy all over my mouth.”

He opened wider to taste all that sweetness. Her movements turned urgent, jerky, demanding of her pleasure as he worked her lips with his tongue. A light tease here, a hard suck there, until she was taking what was her right.