And now she was against my apartment wall. Enraged. And only partially dressed.
I was speechless.
She was always so cool and in control at work. It was odd to see her so . . . agitated. I clearly didn’t know her well, probably because I barely gave her the time of day, too desperate to keep as much distance between us as possible. I’d hate for her to guess what was going on in my perverted little brain, for her to know all the things I imagined doing with her.
“And the music. Anyone would think you had the New York Philharmonic up here. What the hell is going on?”
My hands burned from being wrapped around her arms. I loosened my grip, but couldn’t let her go entirely.
“Answer me!” she yelled. “I have to put up with you ignoring me in the office, but you don’t sign my paychecks here. You’re breaching your lease.”
I’d had an inkling there was more under her professional exterior than I normally saw. She’d hinted a couple of times that she thought I was an asshole. It was a relief, because if she hated me it made things easier. It made the distance wider.
But nothing was easy now, not with her right here, almost naked in front of me. Her smooth skin, hot under my fingers, wasn’t helping. The scent of musk and sex seeping through my body and going straight to my dick. The way her nipples poked at the silk of her robe. None of it helped. I closed my eyes, trying to claw back some kind of control over what I was feeling.
“Are you listening to me?”
I wasn’t. I could hear she was upset, but I couldn’t process what she was saying. My senses were too overloaded.
She tipped her head back, exposing her long, creamy neck, and sighed, exasperated. Before I could stop myself, I released her arm and stroked my index finger across her jaw and down her neck. She gasped, but I couldn’t hold back. I trailed my finger lower, into the dip at the base of her throat. She was like a drug. Every hit I took of her made me want more. I was chasing the high—her high.
“What are you doing, you asshole?”
Her words brought me up short. Asshole? I froze and looked up. Shit, I did things like that to her in my imagination, not in person.
“I . . . I’m sorry.” I let her go and stepped back, pushing my hands through my hair. What was I thinking? I was a father. A businessman. Nothing else mattered.
She paused and frowned at me. “You’re vile to me in the office,” she said, her voice quiet and questioning.
I nodded. “I know.” It was deliberate.
I fixed my stare on her full, pouty lips. All the things I’d imagined those lips doing . . . She was right. I was an asshole.
“And you think I’m stupid,” she said.
“Stupid?” If that were true she wouldn’t be quite so alluring. Yes, she’d still be beautiful, but there were plenty of beautiful women on this planet. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Then why do you treat me like shit?” She pointed at me; her voice got louder. “You act as if I don’t exist.” She jabbed her finger into my chest. It was as if she’d pressed a button with the word “cock” on it. My dick pulsed in response to every touch from her.
I grabbed her finger, forcing her to stop pressing her skin against mine, and froze, not wanting to let go, and she didn’t pull her hand away from me. Instead we just looked at each other, not knowing what happened next, needing answers from the other. Was she done yelling? Could I keep my hands to myself a second longer?
To my surprise, she dropped her papers, took a step forward, wrapped her free hand around my neck, and pressed her lips to mine. Relief rolled through my body, and instead of pushing her away, I snaked my greedy tongue into her mouth. She groaned, the sound reverberating throughout my body. She touched me as if it were practiced, as if she’d been thinking of it as much as I had.
I pulled back for a second and a look of confusion passed over her face. It was just the encouragement I needed. I pushed her against the wall and dropped my lips to her collarbone.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
She wasn’t acting as if she hated me, wasn’t trying to get away. Had I read her wrong? I glanced up and she frowned.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
I grinned and bowed my head. She wanted this. “Don’t stop?” I asked against her neck. She threaded her fingers into my hair with one hand and smoothed the other over my shoulder. It was my turn to groan. A single touch from her and all my worst fears were confirmed—I wanted this woman. No, it was more than that. I’d found women attractive before, but I’d never had an overwhelming desire to be close to them, all the time. Not when I barely knew anything about them. Never found myself thinking about a woman when I was meant to be concentrating on a conference call or presentation. Never wanted to make them smile, find out all their secrets. I kneed her legs apart, and she ground her hips against my leg.