Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(15)

       
           



       

"Is this what you wanted?" he choked out as he slammed into her again  and again. She could only gasp and nod, and then all her muscles seized  as pleasure exploded inside and all around her.

"Christ," he ground out, only a few pumps behind her.

His body, flush with hers, was the only thing keeping her upright. Her  bones had turned to mush, and when he took a step back, her legs began  to quiver.

"I've got you," he whispered, and scooped her up, startling her into  laughter as he carried her across the room to the bed and dropped her  onto it.

She scrambled under the covers, the cold air causing gooseflesh to  rise-she was a little bit nervous now that the wave of mindless lust had  receded. What did he think now that he'd seen all of her-her soft  belly, her thighs, which, although they were nicely shaped, would never  be called slender? She'd never wanted to be a ballerina, to use the term  he'd invented, but she was aware that she deviated a bit from what most  men would consider ideal. He'd gone back to his clothes. She didn't  expect him to stay the night, but was he really going to leave now?

"Ah," he said, hand emerging from where it had been rifling through his  jeans pocket. He'd fished out his phone. The alcove that held the bed  was exactly sized to accommodate the double mattress, so getting into  bed meant mounting it from the foot. He hurled himself up and executed a  belly flop that made her laugh and roll out of the way.

He scrolled through his phone. "Still hungry, I presume?"

"I could eat an entire cow," she declared. It was true. She started thinking about what she had in the house.

He put the phone to his ear. "Hi. I'd like to order a pizza for  delivery." Mmmm. Pizza sounded perfect. He rattled off her address.  "Extra large. Now, might you have a pizza that comes with an entire  cow?" She threw a pillow at him. "No? Really?" He put his hand over the  mouthpiece and whispered, "Amateurs. What do you want?"

"Pepperoni," she said. "And mushrooms."

He repeated her preferences into the phone. "And extra cheese?" He  raised his eyebrows at her questioningly and she nodded. "Anything  else?" he whispered. "Salad?"

She shook her head.

"Good girl," he said. "Tiramisu?"

"Yes!"

She burrowed under the covers and watched him complete the transaction.  After he threw his phone aside, he turned and narrowed his eyes at her.  "There's good news and bad news."

"Well, let's have the bad first-isn't that how you're supposed to do it?"

"They're not going to be here for an hour-Saturday night rush."

"And the good news?"

He grinned. "They're not going to be here for an hour."

 …

Cassie came twice more before the pizza arrived. Their initial encounter  against the door had been hot-Christ, it had nearly left him with third  degree burns-but his masculine pride required him to demonstrate that  he wasn't usually so … hasty.

She tucked into the pizza the same way she did everything, with total  abandon. It didn't matter if she was devouring pepperoni and mushrooms  with extra cheese, diving into Winter Enterprises' fall returns, or, God  help him, driving her ass up the better to meet his thrusts-she was all  there.

When they were both sprawled back against the pillows post-pizza, he said, "So, math." There was more there, he knew it.

"Again? You say it like you don't believe it." She was using her index  finger to scoop out the last of the whipped cream from the Styrofoam  container that had held the tiramisu.

"It's not your abilities I'm questioning. It's your motivation."

"Excuse me?"

She was getting indignant. It suited her-she looked good when she turned  pink. But he truly wanted to know, so he clarified. "Don't take  offense. You just don't seem boring enough to be an actuary."

His observation caused her to let loose a giant theatrical sigh as she fell back on the disheveled bed. "I know."

Well. He'd been prepared for a whole host of reactions, but uncomplicated agreement had not been among them.

She blew out another breath, this one with her lower lip protruding, so  the exhale blew a little wind through her hair. "I told you, though,  it's about the money."

"You don't seem like a person who's motivated by money." Then he thought  of the whole absurd situation they were in. "Present circumstances  excluded."

She grinned. Damn, he kept thinking he was going to offend her and she just kept agreeing with him.                       
       
           



       

"It is boring. I dread it, in fact. I could take the exam any time, but I keep putting it off."

"So why do it?"

"I have this idea … "

"What?"

"It's stupid."

"I'll bet you anything it's not. It may be a lot of things, but if it came out of your head, stupid isn't one of them."

That earned him a small half smile. "I thought being an actuary would  make me a lot of money in a short time." She rolled her eyes and huffed a  self-mocking sigh. "I didn't count on meeting a titan of industry who  was prepared to pay through the teeth for a little math."

"Your mother must really be expensive." He was baiting her now, but  there was something going on, something propelling her toward a future  she wasn't excited about, and he wanted to know what it was.

"Yeah, she is. But that's not it." She raked her fingers through her  long hair in a gesture that had become familiar. "I want to make a lot  of money because I want to start a camp."

"Camp?"

"Yeah, a math camp." She pulled the covers up, embarrassed. "I want to  start a math camp for girls. Like a normal summer camp, but with a math  focus." She pulled the covers up even higher, covering the bottom half  of her face. But he could still sense the self-deprecating smile. "That  sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

He tugged the covers down so he could see all of her face and rolled  onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. "No. Tell me more."

"Well, there aren't a lot of girls in math. I'm not sure if they're not  interested, or if they find it intimidating. But you can do a lot with  math."

"Like be an actuary?"

"Yes," she said, a touch defensively. "Or an engineer." Then she smiled.  "Or the senior executive director of finance of a company." She began  talking faster, unable to hide her excitement. "Or an artist, or a  teacher, or whatever. I don't even think it's about careers, so much as  it's about building girls' confidence. I was thinking about trying to  target girls who maybe wouldn't otherwise be able to go to camp. I know I  would have loved to get out of the city in the summers when I was a  kid, but it wasn't … possible."

"Why not?" He wanted to know more about the mysterious and expensive mother.

"Teen motherhood doesn't usually come with a huge disposable income. She  was sixteen when she had me." She huffed a bitter laugh. "If I'd had a  kid at her age, I'd have a thirteen-year-old now." He labored over the  arithmetic-he'd been wondering how old she was. It took him a while to  come up with twenty-nine-eight years younger than he was.

"What about your father?" Hell, if she was in a talkative mood, he was going to get as much as he could.

"He wasn't that much older than my mother. He was nineteen when I was born-but he wasn't involved."

"But you've talked about Edward being your father's best friend."

"My father and I didn't have anything to do with each other until I was  in university. He made contact about five years ago to try to make  amends for … walking out, I guess. He and Edward met in culinary school  and bounced around the restaurant scene together over the years. Edward  had some family money and a lot more ambition than my father. He built a  name for himself as a front-of-the-house guy, and when it was time,  leveraged the family fortune to open Edward's. He hired my father as  sous chef-it was a huge opportunity for my dad, who'd historically had  trouble sticking with any job for long. Are you sensing a pattern here?"  She shook her head. "I shouldn't be so mean. He did the best he could."

"How did he die?"

"Car accident. Driving home after an evening shift. He was drunk."

"Jesus."

She scrambled up to sit back against the headboard and shrugged. "At least he didn't kill anyone else."

She was so matter-of-fact as she recounted the tale of abandonment,  reunion    , and death. It wasn't like her. She was usually much more  animated. The type of water she used in her scotch garnered more emotion  than this tragic tale. "Well, I think the camp idea is great. There are  lots of ways you could make money, though-you don't have to be an  actuary if you don't want to."