“Do you remember where I touched you, Kasie?”
I’m blushing now and, knowing that he can see that only makes me blush more. I reach for the lapel of my robe. I don’t open it, just run my fingers over it, carefully hanging on to the last remnants of restraint I have.
“Open your robe, Kasie.”
“I can’t do that, Mr. Dade. I need you to stay focused. I have to talk to you about business . . . security . . . public perception . . . there are strategies that we can implement.”
His mouth curves into a small smile and I lose my thinly held train of thought as I remember what those lips felt like as they traveled up my inner thigh.
“Oh, I’m very focused. And trust me when I tell you that I am implementing a strategy.”
“I’m not your project, Mr. Dade.”
“No, you’re my lover, Kasie. And I’m telling you to show me where I touched you.”
This is the time to take my hands away from my robe. This is the time to turn off the computer. This is the time to hold everything together—white wine, not whiskey; quiet dinners at home, not wild nights in Vegas; no more shards of glass.
“Open your robe, Kasie.”
I pull on the edges of my lapel, my robe opens just a little wider, and he can see the inner outline of my breasts.
“A little wider, Miss Fitzgerald.” He says the last words teasingly. He’s mocking me, daring me. It’s childish and should be so easy to resist.
I pull the robe open a little wider still. I look into his eyes and again I feel his power . . . but this time I feel it entering me. I can breath it; it fills me, touches me, like a caress.
With steady hands I pull the robe all the way back. It hangs loosely from my shoulders. I hold his gaze, all trepidation suddenly gone. I roll my shoulders back, my fingers slip down to my nipples that reach out to him, hard and ready.
“You touched me here.”
And now we’re against the wall of the Venetian and again I can feel him, I can wrap myself around his fierce energy.
“Where else?”
My fingers move to the outline of breasts before tracing a line down from my ribs to my stomach. “You touched me here.”
And I can feel him kissing the base of my neck, that little hollow area where the flesh is softest and the most sensitive.
“Where else?”
My fingers keep going lower. He can’t see where they are but he knows; I can see from his eyes that he knows.
And I feel him deep inside me. I burn to be on that fire-colored bed. “You touched me here,” I gasp.
I know I’m affecting him. The power is coming from both of us now. His breathing is a little faster; his eyes convey a little more urgency. His own hands move below the screen and I know what he’s touching, I know its details, know its strength . . . I want to feel it again. I want to taste it the way he tasted me.
“You entered me here.” I breathe, feeling, stroking the dampness between my legs. He moans as I throw back my head, my control quickly leaving me. I can feel his eyes, almost as good as his hands, and oh his hands had been so good. And still, I touch myself, replicating his caresses. I am immersed in his desire, in my own.
“Kasie,” he whispers. My name is the final caress I need. My free hand grabs the armrest of my chair and my hips push forward as I follow this dangerous path to its only possible conclusion. I hear him moan again. I know I’m not alone. I know what I’m doing, to him, to myself.
My body shakes as the orgasm comes with a convulsing and heart-wrenching power. It’s the final chord of an erotic rhapsody that leaves me with the mingled emotions of satisfaction and endless longing.
For a moment I don’t move. My eyes are closed and the only sound is of my breathing and his. Across the city, by my side, he’s everywhere.
And the little voice that had tried to talk to me before, the voice that comes from the part of me I should have listened to, now whispers in resignation, You’ve broken another glass.
My throat tightens and with a shaking hand I reach for my keyboard . . .
. . . and disconnect.
CHAPTER 5
I SIT IN MY living room waiting. Waiting for Dave. Waiting for the chaos. Something is churning inside of me. A brew of disaster mixed with an impetuous desire. I have to get it out of me. Throw it in the sewer along with all the other toxic waste that dirties our lives. But what I can’t do is add deceit to that bubbling pot of trouble. Dave has to be told . . . something.
I stand and walk to my window and stare up at a brightly backlit sky of gray. Can I blame Dave for my recent mistakes? I’d like to. Wedding jitters run amok, that’s all. My subconscious telling me that his proposed union isn’t as perfect as I once imagined. He had rejected me so easily last night, like he would a homeless person holding out a hand for change. Dismissed me with a smile, a polite expression of sympathy and repulsion.