The Geek Gets The Girl (7 page)

Her mouth dropped open and her eyelashes fluttered. She’d not considered that, but he was going to chalk it up to overworked and under-assisted.

“Put them on, and give them a go down the catwalk.” He gestured out the door. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The smile that curled her mouth was too quickly hidden as she twisted down to slip on the shoes. Her derriere wiggled in the snug gray skirt she wore. He exhaled, recalling the feel of that gorgeous bottom in his hands. When she walked past him, he inhaled oranges. Perfect way to end a long day—breathing in summer.

She walked down the hallway, emulating a model’s confidence and swagger. The thing about high heels? They gave every woman a sexy swagger, a hip-shifting swing, an innate confidence that made them carry their bodies straight, shoulders back and head high. It was enough to make any man hard. 

And Zac was any man.

She pulled a runway turn at the end of the aisle by the Accounts Receivable desk and swung back toward him, exaggerating her strides as she assumed a model’s pony-like prance. Zac recalled his mother always camping it up by modeling the season’s newest shoes in just such a manner at holiday dinners and before friends.

“Modeling Haute Heels’ fall line is the lovely Rachel Parker,” he narrated as she neared him. “The shoes are fuchsia. The model is gorgeous.”

“The narrator has a hard-on,” she commented with another swing that took her down the aisle.

“Indeed, he does,” he muttered on her return. “I don’t suppose we can use the ad slogan ‘Gives men a woody,’ eh?”

“We? Remember, you’re just IT.” She tapped him on the nose admonishingly. “Next pair. I’m not feeling these.” She ducked into the office to forage through the boxes. “These!”

Moments later, she again strode the makeshift catwalk, a pair of impossibly sexy black lace-ups hugging her ankles. The big black satin bows tied at the back of her narrow calves, crisscrossing once in front and in back, made him want to crisscross her with his arms and pull her in to crush against his erection. Which demanded some attention.

He needed a drink.

Spying a bottle of water sitting on her glass desktop, Zac twisted it open. Rachel strolled in and gave his chest a shove. Toppling over a stack of shoeboxes behind him, he landed on the couch. A nudge of her foot cleared the boxes between them. She put a foot on the cushion between his legs and leaned over. “What do you think of this pair?”

Zac’s eyes were level with her breasts, which were neatly covered by her button-up lavender silk shirt, but those nipples were dangerously hard.

She tapped his chin. “I’m talking about the shoes, lover boy.”

He set the water bottle on the floor beside an open shoebox. “Let me take a closer look.”

Chapter 8

Computer geek that he was, the man had the right idea by suggesting Rachel put on the shoes and walk in them. Haute Heels were not the kind of shoes a woman slipped into at the last minute and slipped out of as soon as her feet were beneath a table or desk because they were so damned painful. These shoes were a dream to wear. Almost like walking on clouds. The owner’s mother—the company’s founder—had one stipulation for every pair of shoes sold: they must be comfortable.

And the pair Rachel wore right now caressed her soles. The silk ties that wrapped about her ankles made her feel like a cross between a ballet dancer and something more daring and sensual, like maybe a stripper.

Nothing wrong with feeling like an angel who also grips the pole. And thinking about poles…

Zac’s hard-on was obvious as she drew her foot along his thigh to give him a closer look at the shoe. He gripped her ankle firmly and growled as the heel dug into his thigh. His hand glided over the silk ties and then he danced a fingertip along the inner curve of her arch. Oooh, that felt as good as if he were stroking her nipple.

“This shoe is sex tied up in black silk,” he commented.

“I like that. More,” she encouraged, leaning in to dash her tongue over his lower lip. Again, he tasted like the expensive coffee the barista across the street sold. Discerning geek. “Does the shoe turn you on?”

“The shoe on the woman turns me on.”

“So the woman is an integral part of the seduction?”

“Hell, yes. You think I’m going to get off on the shoe? Just a shoe?”

She smiled against his lips and kissed him quickly. Meeting his soulful brown eyes, she said, “I’ve been told there are some who prefer just the shoe.”

“Not me. I like what’s inside them. And these satin ties definitely make me think about tying you up.”

“Is that so?”

He slid his hands up her thighs, nudging up the skirt until she felt the air on her pantiless crotch. She straddled him, kneeling on the couch. The idea of a little kink appealed, but when her brain started to sort out how that could happen in an office—no restraints, no silk handkerchiefs or ties—her business logic struggled to take charge and resisted. Besides, she had to stay in the creative moment.

Zac leaned forward and bit the button on her silk shirt just between her breasts. He tugged, button in mouth. Once it had pulled free from the buttonhole, he released the other three buttons as quickly and glided his hands up to cup her lace-hugged breasts. 

It was dinnertime, the office was empty, and the lights were low, but the shades were not pulled. Rachel briefly considered leaping up to draw the shades, then decided against it. If the man wanted a little kink, what could be more adventurous than the risk of being seen?

Gripping his skinny, gray tie, she loosened it and tugged it free, tossing it to the shoe-littered floor. His jacket slid off next, followed by his shirt as she unbuttoned it in tandem with him unsnapping the clasp in the front of her bra. She sat on his lap, grinding her mons against his impressive erection.

As his warm palm cupped her breast, he leaned in to gently bite her nipple, causing a heady sensation to zing from chest, to core, to her wet, wanting insides. “You sure this is safe?”

“You want it to be?” she asked.

“Only thinking of you and the office gossip mill.”

“None of our employees are so dedicated you’ll catch them here after hours.”

“You’re here.” He lashed his tongue over the other nipple. Rachel felt the heat all the way to her core, and her skin prickled sweetly. Big, brown eyes smiled up at her.

“And so are you,” she said. “Let’s get back to the shoe research, shall we? You think the shoe is only as attractive as the woman wearing it?”

His sigh echoed what must be his growing frustration. But Rachel wouldn’t tease much longer. Still. She did have work to do.

“The woman doesn’t have to be a certain kind of attractive,” he said, “it’s all in how she carries herself while wearing the shoe.”

“That’s perfect,” Rachel gasped as he leaned back and unzipped his pants. “The shoe makes a woman carry herself with more confidence. Gives her more power. Makes her feel sexual. Sensual. But that’s been overdone.” She exhaled, sighing futilely, then realized she was pouting.

Not on her watch.

With a tilt of her hips, she dragged a strappy, sexy shoe over the front of Zac’s pants and toggled the head of his emerging cock with the hard, black stiletto heel. He ground her name out through a tense jaw and gripped her ankle.

“You’ve confidence in spades, Rachel. I don’t think you need the shoes for that. But you can keep them on.”

He groaned and shoved down his pants to his ankles then quickly made work of her clingy jersey skirt. She stepped out of it and straddled his lap, lowering, her heels clicking together above his knees.

“Come on,” he dared her. “Ride me. I’ve heard sex is good for creativity.”

“Oh, trust me, it is. And I will take all the creative mojo you’re willing to give me.”

She lowered onto his erection, humming deep in her throat as the hot, molten steel of him filled her, pierced her. Bowing to receive his kiss, Rachel rocked her hips, riding him. Taking exactly what she wanted, and giving in return.

The man groaned and leaned back, his palms sliding along her ribs and up to her breasts until his thumbs found her nipples. He pinched both, and the electric but sexy pain ramped up her rhythm.

“Yes, faster,” he murmured.

His head tilted back and his eyes closed. He’d surrendered to the sensations, the moment, the dive into the creative well. For, truly, Rachel felt every part of her come alive, hum and tingle with energy. Oxygen infused her brain. Perspiration bejeweled her breasts, slickening Zac’s pulling and tweaking of her nipples. Everything felt right. The challenges of work slipped away. This man filled her with all that she needed and could ever want.

Rachel felt his hips begin to shake as orgasm taunted him, urging him to release. So she gripped the base of his penis and squeezed, hoping it would prolong his release while she got off on the pistoning pleasure of riding him. Slipping him out, she then rubbed his hard, wet erection against her clit, causing Zac to moan even louder.

And when he tilted his head forward and met her gaze, she recognized the want and need, combined with unrelenting desire there. Taking him inside her again, she gasped as all parts of her hummed and soared toward the same precipice he balanced upon. And when he gripped her hips and slammed up into her, holding tight, they both came, shouting, gasping. Rachel even laughed a little as the tremendous release relaxed her muscles and she collapsed against his chest.

They sat there for long minutes, breathing in oranges and spice, listening to the heartbeats of one another. He was perfect. Handsome, smart, talented, and incredibly well-built. And attentive to her needs in a way she’d never before experienced from a man. He was everything a woman could ever want.

Did she want him? For more than just a few hot and heavy hookups?

“I want you,” he singsonged as he stroked the hair spilling down her back, “I need you…”

Rachel sat up a little and met his heavy-lidded gaze. “I heard you humming that tune when you were under my desk. What is it?”

“Elvis.”

“Oh, yes, now I recognize it. Hmm, you’ve got a little Elvis in you.” She slicked her fingers through his hair to give him a bit of a ducktail coif in the front. His dark, harsh features smirked. “I want you.”

He responded with a thrust of his hips against her lusciously aching mons. “I need you,” he sang out boldly. “I love you.”

“Wait!” Rachel’s brain flashed like some kind of nuclear cloud going off. “That’s it!”

Tugging out of the man’s grasp, she toppled backward and almost fell over a stack of boxes, but managed to catch herself against the desk. Picking up her skirt, she swung around the side of the desk to land on her chair. Shirt open and breasts exposed, she grabbed a pen and paper and started sketching.

“Inspiration?” the sated man on the couch wondered. 

She glanced up, and in those brief seconds, saw his perspiring chest strapped with gorgeous muscle, his satisfied grin that never grew too big, and that sneaky hard-on that was ready for round two. Oh, sex on a stick, how he served her creativity.

“He’s singing to her,” she announced with creative glee. “He’s seducing her. And she’s mirroring him.” She tapped the pen against her lips. “Singing back!”

“You’re leaving me high and dry here, Rachel.”

She swished the pen in the air before her in a conductor’s move. “Sing it again.”

“Sing? Really?”

“Please?”

He broke into the lines from the Elvis song, ending with a crooning, “I love you.”

“But you don’t really love me,” she felt the need to interject curtly. “That’s just lyrics, right?”

He nodded. But did he wince at the end?

“Good.” Some things a woman needed clarified. Love was not on the table. It couldn’t be. Could it? “He’s singing, and she is, too…” She drew an empty thought bubble above the sketch of the woman Amelie had drawn. “But she’s thinking about the shoes!”

She had it. The ad campaign. And she had Zac to thank for it.

Chapter 9

The hotel room felt a little less vacant this morning, despite the fact that Rachel was not lying in the bed all sex-tousled and content. She’d wanted to go home alone last night after their office tryst, and Zac hadn’t argued. Too much. She’d said something about keeping him at bay.

Really? Was she playing hard to get?

It was working. 

Of course, she’d also mentioned the campaign and didn’t think she’d sleep a wink. He had been the one to spur her creative epiphany, and he patted himself on the back for that. His cock had never served a more useful purpose.

He leaned forward, inspecting his fresh shave job in the bathroom mirror. He always nicked his earlobe, but today not a speck of blood. Interesting. Must be due to how relaxed he was feeling. Almost as if the world had suddenly fallen into order.

But not completely.

He wanted to look good when he walked into Rachel’s office today. Because he intended to confess all. It had to be done.

“Just like ripping off a Band-Aid,” he muttered.