The Singles (17 page)

A wicked smile tugged at his mouth. “First,” he continued, “I’m going to remind you why you want all that to happen.”

“And what would—”

But then, his lips came down hard on mine, obliterating what I was about to say next.

––––––––

O
liver’s mouth seized mine, issuing a seductive challenge that I wasn’t about to back down from. I leaned into him, breathed him in, tasting the flavor of vodka intermingling with scotch as our tongues moved together. He released one of my wrists, immediately cupping my neck. Electricity hummed through my fingers, through every part of my body rubbing his, but I managed to bring my trembling hand to the lapel on the left side of his jacket.

His fingertips snagged a few stray strands of my hair when he tilted my head further back, and a low moan escaped my throat. He made a noise like he was about to say something, but then he released an impatient groan and deepened the kiss, his tongue driving me half-crazy with desire as it tormented my mouth.

My body wanted him. My body wanted to feel the weight of his pressed against it, the slick of his sweat mixing with mine.

Loosening his grip on my other wrist, he trailed his palm down the exposed skin of my back to settle on the curve of my ass, and I grabbed his other lapel. I wanted to rip the designer jacket off of him, to hear the fabric rending beneath my grasp, to see my costume on his floor tomorrow morning. 

I
wanted him.

He drew my back away from the door, his lips never breaking their sensual hold over mine. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered that the song had changed to Puscifer’s toe-curling “Rev 22-20,” but I didn’t realize his intentions until our bodies grinded together.

Dancing.

Dear God. He was dancing with me. Dancing and kissing me and taking away all my good sense.

When the chorus started, he tore our mouths apart, and though my lids were still closed, I could feel his blue eyes penetrating me. “I have to leave once this song finishes.”

What? Opening my eyes slowly, I stared up at him, noticing the strained expression on his face. “You’re leaving,” I repeated sluggishly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, sounding tortured. “I came here tonight to tell you in person that I’ll be in New York on business for the next week. I’m flying out in a few hours.”

“So you came here to get me all turned on, just to tell me you were leaving?” The frustration in my voice was palpable, and I swallowed hard. “That’s so messed up.”

“Almost as fucked up as you avoiding my calls for the last two days,” he countered, causing me to release my hold on his jacket and step away from him. I was angry enough to hit him—or drag him onto that loveseat with me—and I didn’t trust myself enough to be within breathing distance. “Come here, Lizzie,” he ordered.

I shook my head. “Your mother is giving a speech in a couple minutes, and I’m sure she’ll be freaking—”

“Come here.” He jerked me against his body, shushing my words with his mouth as his hands resumed their spot on my back and neck. I loved and hated the way he could kiss me speechless, and when he pulled away, all I could do was trace my tongue over my lips. He’d left me
that
affected.

With my dating history—my real life, not the fantasy I exuded every time I met a client—I’d kissed and had been kissed more times than I cared to admit, and I thought I’d felt every emotion that came with the act.

I was wrong.

Not only was the frustration still echoing through me, but the aching pull of longing dragged through my body, pooling between my thighs, and I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think—as he held me to him.

“I didn’t plan on bringing you up here. But when I saw you—” Pausing, he let out a laugh that was just a touch remorseful. “—nobody else in that room existed.”

My lips parted to speak, but his hand on my nape moved around and covered my mouth. “Don’t talk, Lizzie. Don’t argue. Just let me hold you.”

There were so many things I wanted to say to him, to ask him, but instead, I pulled in a deep breath and kept quiet. Our gazes stayed locked as we moved in rhythm to the sexy lyrics. Finally, the song faded away, and I dropped my hands from his jacket again. Backing away from him, I fisted handfuls of chiffon fabric.

It was the only way I wouldn’t try to touch him.

“When will you be back?” I asked, tuning out the fact that Margaret was being introduced to a round of applause downstairs.

“Next Friday night.” He closed the space between us again, hovering one of his hands over the side of my face, like he was fighting the urge to feel me too. “And that’s when I’m having you for dinner.”

“Dinner or sex?” I heard myself question.

The most delicious smile stretched his face, making it impossible not to stare at his mouth. I shouldn’t want to taste him this badly. “Apparently you weren’t listening, beautiful. I said I was having
you
for dinner.”

An image of him naked raced through my thoughts, and I squeezed my thighs together. “When do you need an answer by?” I asked, barely managing to keep my voice cool and unaffected.

He walked past me toward the door, pausing just a moment to inhale my scent. My pulse sped up. “I didn’t ask you a question.”

I spun around to face him with my arms crossed over my chest. “What?”

“Because of the current state of your panties. Because, when I was holding you a few minutes ago, you whispered
more
.” He unlocked the door, and my disappointment reached a zenith. He was really leaving. “You’ve already given me your answer, Lizzie, and by this time next week, you’ll be too busy coming to ask for more.”

I hadn’t realized I said
anything
while we were dancing, and a flush tingled up my neck and face. “Is that a challenge?”

“That’s a promise.” Yanking me to him, he spun me around so that I was right where we started—with my back slammed up against the wall. His strong fingers pulled my dress up, until the blue chiffon was bunched around my hips, and he held it in place with one hand. “This—” He smiled wickedly, and my sex throbbed with anticipation. “This is a challenge.”

He skimmed his finger beneath my seamless Victoria’s Secret panties, pushing them aside. Giving me a meaningful look, he touched me, circling his knuckle around the slickness he found between my thighs.

“This,” he murmured appreciatively, flicking my clit, “
This
is a beautiful thing.”

I gasped, bucking my hips against his hand. “I have to go back to the party.” Despite the blood rushing to my ears, I could vaguely hear Margaret’s speech taking place downstairs. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.” But he squeezed my center between his knuckles, sliding his fingers back and forth until I was grasping at him wildly, pulling wherever my hands made contact. One of the buttons on his shirt popped off, landing on the floor between our feet. “Trust me, I hate to leave you.”

“Then you shouldn’t be doing this,” I moaned, feeling the pressure building already. It was too fast. Too soon. Forcing myself to resume some self-control, I put my hand between our bodies, grabbing his hardness roughly through his dress pants. He sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Tell me the truth; is this a challenge for me or you?” I rasped as he continued to stroke my pussy.

Ignoring my question, he teased me until I was at the point of breaking, and as soon as I did, he drowned out my sob of pleasure with his mouth. His tongue spread my lips apart, hot and demanding, as the orgasm rocked my body.

I was still trembling, still such a whimpering mess when our mouths parted that I wouldn’t have heard his answer had he not pressed his lips right to my ear.  “It’s a challenge for us both, beautiful. While I’m gone, all you’ll think about is how that would’ve felt if it had been my cock instead.”

I felt my panties shimmying down my legs, and I swallowed hard as I realized he planned to take them with him. Wearing a satisfied smirk, he let the skirt of my dress fall into place as he stuffed my underwear into his pocket.

“And I’ll think of nothing but this.” He brought his wet knuckles to his lips and traced his tongue over them, skimmed his teeth over his own skin. My sex quaked as I pictured myself shoving his face between my thighs, his mouth taking the place of his fingers.

“This is a cruel challenge,” I whispered, but he bent his head and touched his lips to mine.

“That’s the point. Goodnight, Lizzie,” he drawled against my mouth. Then, before I could stop him, he was gone.

*

I
stumbled into my apartment a few minutes after midnight, hot and bothered and without panties, thanks to Oliver and his expert hands. All the lights were off, including the guest bedroom that Pen was crashing in, and I was glad my best friend wasn’t around to witness my slow burn tonight. She would immediately guess that Oliver was behind my frustration, and I probably wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Yawning, I wiggled out of my costume and draped it over the chair beside my bed. I stared at the chiffon creation longer than necessary, Oliver’s words from earlier that evening churning in my brain—
“Whether it’s your Khaleesi getup on my floor or one of those delicious little dresses you prance around Emerson & Taylor in, you and I will fuck.”

He’d said that to me wearing a confident little grin, even though he had no plans whatsoever for us to spend tonight together. And that infuriated me. As selfish as it was to admit, other than uncovering the details surrounding my father’s death and figuring out who’d called me five months ago, spending the entirety of my twenty-fourth birthday in Oliver Manning’s bed was one of the few wishes I had this year.

And now he was gone for the next week.

“Screw you, Oliver,” I muttered, stalking into the small, private bathroom on the far side of my bedroom. Twisting on the faucet in the stand-up shower, I stood beneath the hot water and watched the steam make the bathroom foggy. I showered slowly, tracing my fingers carefully over the parts of my body that he had touched.

Closed my eyes and pictured it was his hands all over me instead of my own.

Eventually, when the water ran cold, I wrapped myself in a towel and padded into my bedroom. Dressing quickly, I slid between the cool sheets. And I finally accepted the fact that I was sleeping alone tonight.

*

T
he bouncing sensation that came from someone jumping on my mattress shook me awake the next morning. Shooting straight up in bed, my gaze landed on boobs and then a mane of brown hair whipping into my face and hers when Pen slammed down on the pillow next to me.

“You scared the hell out of me!” I held my hand firmly against my throbbing chest. “Nothing’s wrong, is there?”

She batted her eyelashes. “Happy birthday, Gemma Emerson.”

It was sad—I’d heard the name Lizzie so much lately, being called by my real name was a bit of a shock to my system, but I quickly recovered. “Thanks.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “What time is it?”

“Nine-fifteen.”

Shit
. Work. Margaret was going to have my head on a silver platter if I wasn’t in her office with her usual scalding hot cup of bullshit in fifteen minutes, and since I’d be lucky to make it out my apartment by that time, I was screwed.

Scrambling off my bed, I started for my closet.

Pen stopped me by getting up and literally barring me with her curvy body.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, stepping around her.

“The stepmonster called half an hour ago. She woke up this morning and decided she wanted to go to some spa in Ojai, but she said she would send you a to-do list.”

Pausing in the doorway to the walk-in closet, I turned to look at her, tapping my bare toes against the laminate floor. “You answered my phone?”

Throwing herself on the bed, Pen eased back on her elbows and stared across the room at me. “Well, I tried to wake you up first, but when it looked like your loud-ass snores weren’t stopping, I pretended to be you. By the way, she didn’t notice.”

My mouth slack in disbelief, I dropped down in the chair by my bed and buried my face in my hands. “Ugh, I’m probably the most ill-informed personal assistant in history.” I moved my head from either side. “She tells me everything last minute. Not that I’m complaining about that today—I could definitely use a day away from her.”

While I hadn’t consumed enough alcohol to get drunk last night, my head was reeling, and every few seconds my attention snapped to the costume draped on the armrest beside me—a reminder of what
hadn’t
happened. It was a bittersweet memory that coaxed goose bumps across the surface of my skin.

“Plus it’s your birthday.” The mattress creaked, and then I heard the suggestive smile in her voice as she asked, “So ... how was your night?”

I wasn’t ready to talk about Oliver, not when my body reacted so easily to the mere mention of his name and the sight of the dress he’d pushed around my hips, so I decided to focus on his mother—my stepmother.

I combed my hands through my pale blond hair before pushing the tangled locks behind my ears. “They made a lot of money, and I found out Margaret is matching all donations with a giant charitable endowment to the foster program.” Rolling my eyes, I released a harsh laugh. “As much as I want to hate her, she makes it a little bit difficult when she does things like that.”

At Penelope’s sudden quietness, wariness pulled my features into a tight frown. “Is everything alright?” I questioned.

“Better than alright,” she promised, but her tight smile made my chest constrict. “
But
I should probably let you get ready to get started on the she-devil’s list.” She hopped off the bed, starting toward my door. “You don’t have any birthday plans for this weekend, do you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I do, because everyone here knows it’s my birthday.”

Pen’s forced smile turned into a very genuine grin. “Just making sure.”

*

A
n hour later, I walked through the lobby of Emerson & Taylor, feeling my cheery smile at having the day all to myself slowly slip away as I approached Carl at the security desk. The pitying look he gave me was undeniable, and I shifted uncomfortably as I handed him my employee ID.