Grounded (Up in the Air #3)(57)

I sighed, thoroughly confused and sooo done with the conversation. "Yes. I'm very aware," I said, trying not to blush as I kept his steady gaze. Something about the man was just so dignified. I couldn't believe that I was as good as discussing my BDSM lifestyle with him.

His thick, dark eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's a relief, though it doesn't exactly clear anything up for me. Again, pardon my bluntness, but perhaps you should let James know that his past won't scare you off."

"Why? What is the point to all this? What's been going on with James?"

He shot a glance behind me and looked particularly uncomfortable. "I am not at liberty to say," he said absently.

"Now you sound like a lawyer," I told him.

As I spoke, a firm hand descended to my nape.

"That was quick," Roger told James, who was pressing himself tightly against my back.

"It was nothing," James stated dismissively. "What have you two been chatting about? Why does he sound like a lawyer, Love?"

I turned to look at him.

He shifted with me, not relinquishing the hand on my nape.

"What was the emergency?" I asked with an arched brow.

His upper lipped curled. "There wasn't one. There was only a part-time manager in need of a demotion. Tell me what you were talking about?"

"That's a nosy question. Did you really demote someone for wasting five minutes of your time?"

He moved until he was standing close against me, pressing himself against my side. Even knowing that he was doing it to distract me, I was far from unaffected by his nearness.

"I demoted him, and put him on probation pending termination, because he is managing one of the most profitable clubs in Manhattan, and he can't handle a simple wine shortage. Him wasting five minutes of my time only illuminated the facts for me. Your turn. What were you two talking about?"

Roger cleared his throat. "Nothing important, James. I really do need to get going. I'll call you if I learn anything new."

Roger shook our hands, bowing his head politely before turning away.

"I'll walk you out, Roger," James said to his back.

Roger waved him off. "No, that's fine. Get some time with Bianca. It's obvious that you don't get enough of that. Have a good night."

"Are you going to tell me what you two talked about?" James asked me as Roger strode out of sight.

I shook my head. "Why are you so curious?"

He moved into me, pressing his front against mine. He bent as though to kiss me. "I'm curious about everything you do, Bianca. What do I need to do to get you to tell me what he said to you?"

I just shook my head at him again.

He let out a little growl in his throat, kissing me. It was an overwhelming, possessive kind of kiss. We were in public, in one of his clubs, but he didn't hold back. He sucked at my mouth, his hands moving to my butt to pull me hard against the proof of his desire. He rubbed against me like a cat.



       
         
       
        

I purred. My hand curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, gripping desperately.

He snaked one hand up into my hair, gripping it then pulling it sharply enough to elicit one involuntary little moan. He pulled back just far enough to breathe against my mouth. "You're in the mood to get fucked against a wall tonight, aren't you?"

He was kissing me again before I could respond, the hand on my ass moving to the back of my thigh, hitching it up so that he could grind right into me.

He stopped abruptly, pulling back but not away.

My hips twisted against him before I registered that we weren't alone. Oh yeah. We'd never been alone. We were in a club.

He pulled back, grabbed my hand, and began to pull me.

"We'll be right back," he called out to Stephan. "We're just going to go have a chat."

I didn't look at Stephan, didn't hear him respond. I was lost in a sensual haze, just putting one foot in front of the other, following him blindly. James had said something about fucking me against a wall. Yes. That sounded perfect.

He led me out of the VIP lounge, down a long red hallway, and then another. He pulled me into a large office. There was a man behind the desk, typing on a computer. He looked startled at our entrance.

"Give us privacy," James told him, his voice sharp.

The man beat a hasty retreat.

James shut and locked the door behind him. Handy that, a lock.

He started loosening his tie. When it was untied, he hooked a finger into the hoop at my neck. He pushed my back to the wall. Or rather, the door.

He reached above my head and I looked up. There was a coat hanger above me, hooked over the top of the tall door. James was tying his tie to it with swift, sure motions. He pulled my arms up and together, wrapping the tie around them, tying more swift knots around my wrists. This took longer, and I watched those skillful hands with rapt attention.