Talking Dirty with the CEO (9 page)

“I get that. I don’t want that, either.”

She was silent a moment. Then her hand lifted, fingers circling his wrist. She turned her head and bit the tip of his finger. Surprise and a jolt of pure lust went through him.

Unpredictable woman. Fascinating woman.

He sighed and kissed her, hard and hungry. They made love again, and this time he took it even slower, exploring every inch of her with his hands and mouth, bringing her to the very limit of her control, before burying himself inside her body, taking them both right into the heart of pleasure yet again.

It was only afterward, as she fell asleep in his arms, her hair spread across his chest, her breath warm and soft on his skin, that he understood.

One night wasn’t going to be enough.

Chapter Seven

“You’re revolting this morning, St. John,” Marisa commented grumpily.

Christie put the coffee she’d bought on Marisa’s desk. “And a happy Monday to you, too.”

The other woman glowered. “There’s nothing happy about Mondays.”

Christie grinned. “What? Is that all the thanks I get for remembering your triple-shot, soy trim latte with the one sugar?”

Marisa gave her a distasteful look. “Hmm, a smile like Pollyanna, a new haircut, distinct lack of metal T-shirt, and, dear God, you’ve got sandals on your feet.” Her eyes widened. “And they’re
pretty
sandals! Okay, who are you and what have you done with Christie St. John?”

Christie resisted the urge to pat her newly trimmed hairstyle. So she
may
have gotten a haircut over the weekend. And she
may
have splurged on a new pair of shoes. She
may
have even hesitated with her usual choice of band T-shirt and put on a plain green tight-fitting one that reflected the color of her eyes instead, but what did that have to do with anything?

She shrugged. “Nothing. I felt like a change.”

“A change? Yeah, right. You hate having your hair done and you
never
wear sandals.” Marisa’s eyes narrowed. “You got lucky, didn’t you?”

Should she tell Marisa? She wanted to. Wanted to shout to the heavens that Christie St. John had had a whole night of hot sex with a gorgeous billionaire. A billionaire who thought she was smart and funny and sweet. And sexy. Definitely not forgetting the sexy!

Christie took a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear, then she sank down in the chair beside Marisa’s desk, giving in to the urge spill her guts. “You know that guy? The one I met for that dating thing?”

Marisa gave a shriek. “Really? Oh my God! Not Mr. You’re-So-Hot-I-Have-To-Have-You-Now?”

“Uh yeah, him. Well, I met him again.”

“Oh my God! Where? When? How? I want details!”

Should she reveal Joseph’s identity? It wouldn’t hurt. Her interview with the guy was going to be featured in the magazine, after all, and Marisa would no doubt guess in seconds flat anyway. She was uncanny like that. “I met him at the product launch.” Christie leaned in a bit closer. “It was Joseph Ashton.”

“What?”
Marisa’s shriek made everyone in the office raise their heads and look around.

“Shut up, Mar.” Christie flapped her hands urgently. “No one knows, okay? I’d like it to stay that way.”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. But you had a night of hot, unbridled passion, right?”

“Yeah, hot.” Christie couldn’t stop herself grinning. “And the bridles were most definitely off.”

Both and more. Joseph had been an incredible lover, passionate and demanding, and yet, when she’d needed him to be, also tender and patient. She’d been amazed at how her touch affected him. And how uninhibited she’d been. Like he’d unlocked something inside her. A sensuality she’d never dreamed she’d possessed.

The whole night had been heady, intoxicating. Exciting.

Marisa gave another, more subdued shriek. “Whoa, you go girl. You bagged yourself one hell of a catch.”

“I didn’t catch anything,” Christie corrected. “It was only a night.”

They’d both agreed, hadn’t they? One night was all they’d wanted. Admittedly she’d had a moment’s fleeting regret when she opened her eyes and saw him sprawled beside her the next morning, his restless energy quiescent in sleep. But fleeting was all the regret had been. She hadn’t wanted to stay, hadn’t wanted the whole morning-after-the-night-before awkwardness of whether to swap numbers or who was to call whom and when. And the thought of telling him she’d changed her mind didn’t appeal either. So she’d quietly dressed and left.

It had been her decision and she was happy with it.

Marisa’s brow wrinkled. “But you’re seeing him again, right?”

Christie pushed herself up from the chair, sensing the end of the conversation was now in sight. At least, from her end. “Uh, no.”

The other woman blinked at her. “What. The. Hell?”

“Oh, I’m not into relationships at the moment, Mar,” she said casually. “I’m happy with my life. Guys just make things way too complicated.”

Marisa leaned on her desk, blue eyes level with Christie’s. “Two words. Bull. Shit.”

Before Christie could reply, Ben came out of his office. “Hey, Chris.” He dropped a sheaf of papers on Marisa’s desk. “Sorry, Marisa, just another couple of letters.” Ignoring Marisa’s audible groan, he turned to Christie. “Got that interview for me yet?”

As it happened, she had.

The morning she’d left Joseph’s place, she’d arrived home to find an e-mail from him with an attached bio that seemed to cover all Ben’s questions. Plus he’d told her that anything the bio didn’t answer, she could e-mail him with.

The bio had made for fascinating reading. She’d known all about how his business had grown but not that he’d been a high school dropout. Or that he’d had to take a number of lowly paid, menial jobs in order to survive when Ashton Tech had been in its infancy.

From there though, his small business had expanded into a major company that always seemed to be at the forefront of technology thanks to a heavily funded research-and-development arm, and a flair for design that was second to none.

Pretty good for a guy with no qualifications to speak of.

No, not pretty good. It was brilliant. He was brilliant.

She’d found she had a hundred other questions for him, none of which were appropriate for the interview. But one night was one night, no matter how fascinating she found his story.

Unable to resist the urge to contact him, she’d ended up e-mailing him a couple of silly questions, which he’d responded to more or less instantly. He’d even signed them Love Machine, which had given her a tiny thrill.

The result was an interview that Christie was sure no one had been able to get from the mysterious Joseph Ashton before. Ben was going to love it.

“Should be in your in-box,” Christie said, unable to keep the note of pride from her voice.

And she felt even prouder when Ben rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Excellent. I’ll go check it now.”

Twenty minutes later, Ben called her into his office, grinning like a maniac.

“This,” he said, gesturing to his computer screen, “is brilliant.”

“You mean the interview?” Christie bit her lip to stop from smiling.

“Yes, of course the interview. How did you get him to open up like that?”

She shrugged, as if encouraging reclusive tech CEOs to open up was something she did all the time. “Oh, it’s all part of my natural charm, I guess.”

“However you did it, well done, Chris,” Ben said, his gaze full of new respect. “Well done.”

The good feelings lasted for a couple of days, buoyed by Ben’s praise of her interview. But as the week went on and normality reasserted itself, they began to dissipate, leaving her restless and grumpy, as if she was missing something.

On Friday, even more grumpy and depressed, Christie opened her e-mail to find a message from Joseph.

Her heart gave a funny jump as she saw his name. She’d sent him a copy of her article a couple of days before as a courtesy gesture, but hadn’t expected a response.

But you wanted one.

No. She didn’t. Not at all. Why would she? She’d had one night with him and that’s all she needed. She didn’t care if she didn’t hear from him again, right?

And yet as she hit open on his e-mail, she found her finger trembling.

Hey Naughtygirl, the article was great. I’m impressed. You write extremely well, you know that? But of course you know that. Just like there are other things you can also do extremely well. But I’m not putting those in an e-mail.

BTW, if you ever want a hands-on tech job (and no, not that kind of job), come see me. There’s a position in our research department that I think you’d enjoy.

Call me.

Love Machine

He liked it. And she hadn’t known how much she’d hoped he would like it until now.

Christie reached for the bottle of Coke on her desk and took a swallow, moistening her dry mouth. For a brief moment she hovered over the reply button, an urge to send him something back, maintain that contact, filling her.

Then again, what was the point? She didn’t want a relationship. He’d been a great ego boost but that was as far as it went. They had nothing in common but chemistry and stereos. Yeah, he’d already told her he wasn’t into gaming, and although he headed a major technology company he so didn’t look like the type of guy who’d enjoy tinkering with motherboards and circuits. Hands-on tech job or no.

Oh darling, no one’s interested in all that computer stuff. Absolutely no one. Why can’t you find something more interesting to do?

Christie growled and pushed Helene’s intrusive voice out of her head.

It was his loss, not hers. His. With a certain amount of determination, she deleted his e-mail.

She felt good about it for the rest of the day. Like the kind of woman who could have mad, passionate sex with a hot guy then leave him without a backward glance. Strong and confident and kick-ass.

But when she got home that night, all the kick-assedness had vanished, leaving a creeping kind of loneliness in its place. Her apartment, in the inner-city neighborhood of Ponsonby, had always felt safe. But tonight the familiar untidiness of it, with her
Star Wars
posters on the wall, the bits of electronics from the PC she was rebuilding all over the table, the remains of a half-eaten pizza from the night before still on the couch, felt kind of sad.

A computer nerd’s bachelorette pad.

For some reason it made her think of Joseph’s pristine apartment. How tidy it had been. How clean. God, if he ever came here and saw the filth she lived in, he’d have a heart attack.

Not that she cared about that. It was her home and she had nothing to be ashamed of.

And why was she thinking of him anyway?

Christie tried to wash away the annoying thoughts of Joseph in the shower, thinking instead about logging in to
Zombie Force Online.
Hopefully she could get rid of the stupid, lonely feeling with a good round of blasting aliens with awesome lasers instead.

…

Joseph couldn’t concentrate. He felt restless, edgy. Even more wired than normal.

He frowned at the sales figures he was supposed to be looking at but couldn’t seem to get them straight in his head. Always a bad sign when he couldn’t concentrate on sales.

He flicked another look at his in-box. No e-mail from her. Again.

Cursing, he pushed himself up from his desk and stalked around his office. There was a treadmill in the corner he often used for burning up excess energy, but he didn’t feel like running. He felt like something else. Something that burned up the same amount of energy but in a far more pleasurable way.

He wanted Christie.

His brain fixated on her. He couldn’t get her out of his head. All unpredictable passion and vulnerability. Courage and determination. He burned to know more about her and he was annoyed—no, extremely pissed off—that she hadn’t replied to his e-mail.

At the very least a thank-you for the job offer would have been nice.

Joseph made another restless pass around the office. It was dark outside the windows, all the rest of his people having long gone home. But not him. Him and his restlessness.

He moved to the desk and sat down again, opening up the Internet search page and Googling her name. It felt a bit pathetic to do so, a bit too teenage boy, but the curiosity inside him refused to let go. Anyway, he reasoned, if she did happen to accept his R&D job offer, it would be good to know something about her, right?

A whole host of hits came up and he scrolled through them, eventually finding what he was looking for.

Christie St. John. Features writer for
Total Tech
. Who also, it appeared, spent a lot of time on gaming chat forums, not to mention participating in online gaming tournaments. No surprises there, and great scores, too, from what he could see. Not much else apart from the fact that she seemed to be related in some way to a well-known Auckland society family.

He scrolled through some of the online gossip columns as more hits came up. Not just related as it turned out. She was the daughter of Helene St. John, ex-beauty queen turned socialite, one of the undisputed divas of the Auckland society circuit.

A picture popped up on his screen. An old one from the looks of things, at least a few years. A tall, slender, stunningly beautiful older woman with perfect blond hair and wide green eyes stood smiling at the camera, a glass held in one elegant hand. And behind her, partially obscured, another, much younger woman…a girl, really. Standing there in that awkward, gangly way teenage girls had when they didn’t know what to do with themselves. Christie. In a pretty dress and heels, peering out from the Pre-Raphaelite mass of her hair.

Joseph frowned. His Naughtygirl in her Docs and skull T-shirt a society maven? And yet there was the evidence. God, she’d been gorgeous even then. Was that where her insecurity came from, maybe? Her mother was hard as nails from the looks of things.

Going back to his list of hits, he clicked through to
Total Tech’s
website and found her mobile number.

Ringing her was a bad idea, he knew that. He’d gotten what he wanted, one night of hot sex. She hadn’t wanted any more and he hadn’t questioned it because neither did he.

But perhaps he should just check about the job offer. He’d been quite serious about it and it would be good to know what she thought.

At least that was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.

Picking up his phone, he dialed her number. It seemed to take a while for her to answer and when she did, her voice sounded huskier than he remembered. But man, the sound of it still made parts of him directly south of the border start to harden.

“Hey Naughtygirl,” he said, kicking back his chair and putting his feet up on his desk.

“Joseph?”

God, he loved the way she said his name. “Yeah, it’s me. You were supposed to call, remember? About the job offer?”