"Bad idea."
Bryce growls at me from the other side of the room. "Logan, what is your fucking problem with it, man?"
My problem is I can't stop thinking of that night. My problem is that I can't stop picturing her naked body as she rides on top of me, her breasts swaying with her breathing, her lips trembling, and her fingertips raking my shoulders and my back as she explodes around me. Hell, I couldn't stop thinking about that whole night before I knew who she was, but now it's like pouring gasoline on a fire, and it's about to blow up in my face. On top of that, the fact that she's William's daughter - my brother's new sister-in-law, or whatever - and the fact that she's so off limits isn't turning me off like it should be.
It's making it worse.
I mumble something under my breath and push Hudson's hands away as I move towards the window.
"Well, whatever problem you've got with Quinn, get over it, man." Hudson says, and I turn to look at him. "You just have to work with her, Logan, not take her out or something."
I can feel my gut seize up as I stare at Hudson standing there grinning at me.
He knows, he must know, and he's fucking with me.
Except if he did know, he'd have already thrown me out this window.
"Alright, alright. Fine."
"Atta boy." Hudson checks his watch. "Alright boys, time to get up there and meet the rest of the family."
I cringe. Fuck.
Chapter Six
Quinn
So much for ‘until at least Thanksgiving' I think darkly to myself.
I'm sitting in some gorgeous, opulent conference room at the Archer Holdings building with jaw-dropping views of midtown Manhattan and Brooklyn out the big windows.
But it's a view I can't enjoy, because Logan Dempsey is sitting between me and that view, and he's got that damned cocky grin on his face, and it's making me squirm in my seat.
The meeting is Logan and I, which would be bad enough, except Bryce and Hudson are also here, which is making me feel like I'm under some sort of microscope. It's a classic "Tell-tale Heart" scenario. I'm sure they can hear my pulse racing like an engine or can see the dirty, dark thoughts about Logan I'm desperately trying to shake from my head clearly across my face.
His lips are hot on mine, kissing me with a fierceness I've never felt as his hands explore my body. He's pulling at my tank top, slipping it up the small of my back as his hands trace the skin there, sending shivers through me core.
There's a fervency and a throbbing need here that I've never felt with any man before, and where I'd normally be put off with how quickly his hands are familiarizing themselves with my body, I find myself urging him on, wanting him to touch me.
Wanting him to know all of me.
He's pushing his hands under my shorts and cupping my ass, grinding me against the hardness pushing in his pants that feels bigger and thicker than anything I've ever felt before. And my hands are reaching for him, finding a boldness in their need to touch that I've never seen from them before.
But he's pushing my hands away and slipping my shorts and panties down and off my legs, and then he's touching me, and I'm gasping as he finds me hot and wet and ready for him
When he pulls me up his body, pulling my sex towards his mouth, the shyness and the awkwardness I know would normally be there slips away, replaced instead with a heady, almost drug-like need to feel him.
I WANT this man. This total stranger.
His tongue slips into my folds, pushing deep against my opening and then curling up to tease at my clit. Hands grab my ass and coax my hips back and forth, back and forth across his magical tongue, urging me further, and higher, and harder until I'm almost screaming as I come and-
Oh, God, and now I'm fantasizing about Logan Dempsey in the middle of a business meeting at my job.
Something is severely wrong with me.
I glance around, suddenly self conscious about what is I'm sure a bright red blush across my face, but also the fact that my panties are hot and wet beneath the formal business skirt I wear.
I shoot a look across the table at the man responsible for these wicked and ill-timed thoughts, hoping to find some sort of counterpoint there. Hoping to find him as confused and ill-at-ease looking as I feel.
But, if he's feeling any sort of uncomfortableness, he sure as hell isn't showing it, that's for damn sure. It's just that same stupidly handsome, stupidly mesmerizingly cocky grin on his face. That cool, composed look staring right back at me and making my face burn despite my attempts to push him from my thoughts.
He's also staggeringly good looking in a suit, which isn't helping. I mean to be fair, all three of them are good looking guys and in amazing shape but Logan is just fucking criminally good looking - his broad shoulders and chest filling out the suit perfectly as he leans back in that big leather conference room chair and winks at me.
And of course, just to make matters worse, we're joined in the meeting by Peyton, a young little blonde thing that looks all of twenty years old who also happens to be Logan's chief affairs manager.
She's also immediately a frosty bitch to me for no apparent reason that I can figure out, and on top of that, there's something about the way she looks at Logan or the way her hand rests a little too long on his arm when she speaks to him that has my blood boiling.
Jesus, what am I, jealous?
Ugh. It's a terrible thought, and one that I quickly try to push out of my head. God no. I am not jealous of flirty little bouncy-tits Peyton grinning away at Logan, just like I'm not going to get bothered by her cutting me off mid-sentence every three seconds throughout the whole stupid meeting either.
I'm just uncomfortable with this whole arrangement - the secrets upon secrets, and of course the fact that I've barely paid attention this whole first meeting because all I can think about is how the man across the table from me looks without that suit on.
This is going to be a problem.
How on Earth did I agree to this? I could blame Andy, my ex the administrative director for being an asshole, or Vicky, for being a job-stealing skank. Or hell, I could blame my sisters for encouraging this whole thing, or Logan for not recognizing me that night. But really I should just blame myself for saying yes.
… To the job, and to him, that night.
Finally, it seems like we're done, and Bryce and Hudson excuse themselves, though Peyton sticks around.
"So, are we clear, Doctor Archer?"
I frown, realizing I have zero idea what little miss blondie is asking me.
"Hmm?"
She sighs dramatically. "Are we clear, about the schedule for the next few days and the D.C. meeting?"
"Oh, uh, yes?"
She rolls her eyes at me before shooting Logan a look as she snatches her papers off the conference table and marches out the door.
Logan clears his throat as she walks out, and I swivel back in my chair to look at him. "Well, she's fun."
"Oh, yeah," he chuckles, standing from the conference table and walking into his adjoining, office. "She's a real firecracker."
I can't stop the frown that storms across me face as I follow him in, and when he turns and sees it, he grins. "Oh now what are you, jealous, Doc?"
"Of missy teeny-bopper back there? Hardly." I roll my eyes as I brush past him into his office. "What is that, some sort of high school internship, Logan?"
He smirks at me. "Hey, you know you two may have more in common than you think," he says with a wink.
I balk and wrinkle my nose. "Eww, gross?"
Logan's grin cracks into a full laugh. "No, I mean you're both driven, and you both want for this project to work." He winks at me again. "And hey, Peyton wasn't the one staring at me through that whole meeting."
"Oh, fuck off, please."
"Well hey, we're alone now." He shrugs and arches a brow at his large wooden desk. "I mean we've got the room to ourselves, and this great view-"
"Dream on, Logan."
He shrugs. "Hey we could always just keep things to your place or mine like last-"
"Oh and enlighten me why the hell you're living in my fucking building? Aren't you a billionaire for Christ's sake?"
OK, I've got a great loft apartment in a great building in a fantastic location. But Logan's in the sort of income bracket that keeps a whole other level of residences.
I narrow my eyes at him, suddenly suspicious of why the hell he's "slumming it" in an East Village loft with practically zero furniture.
"Oh calm down, Archer," he growls, rolling his eyes. "I already told you, the penthouse is under construction, so I just decided to crash there."
I narrow my eyes at him. "You, a billionaire, just ‘crashing' at a place with a single piece of furniture and a punching bag?"
Logan grins. "So, you remember my single piece of furniture, huh?" He winks, and I know he's talking about the bed.
The bed from that night.
"You can come by and see it whenever you want, you know."
I huff my breath out in disgust. "You're delusional if you think that would ever happen again."
"Oh please, keep pretending you haven't thought about it, cute stuff." He taps the desk with his knuckle and then looks up at me in this over-the-top suggestive way that brings a flush to my cheeks. "I mean no one would have to know, darlin. Might make working together go a little easier."
I roll my eyes, trying to subdue the grin threatening to spread across my face. "Oh, very romantic, Logan."