Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(4)

"Can I bring you anything else?" Cassie's appearance pulled him back to  the present. The bar was empty. The din he'd noticed earlier had fallen  off dramatically. He glanced down at his watch. Nearly eleven  thirty-more time had passed than he'd realized.

"I'm not keeping you here, am I?" he asked. "But, no, because you just  up and leave when you're ready, right?" he teased, thinking of last  night, when she'd left seemingly in the middle of a shift.

She looked embarrassed-she was easy to tease. "You're referring to my  untimely departure last night." He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I  had a final exam this morning. I'd arranged with Edward to take off  early last night. He's good that way."

Not a lifer. "What are you studying?"

"Math. At the University of Toronto."

"Ah, the ants." Damn. A mathematician. A hot mathematician. Rules, he reminded himself.

"Yeah! Well, at the rate I'm going, I feel like an ant myself."

He raised his eyebrows, hoping to encourage her to continue.

"Let's just say it's taking me a long time to get through school. I can  only go part time. Extremely part time. I'm practically a senior citizen  compared to some of my classmates."

She didn't seem that old to him. Not an eighteen-year-old fresh from  high school, no, but she had an air of innocence about her he suspected  most university students-even those younger than she-did not.

"Well, good for you." He eyed her as he gathered up his papers. She did  look tired. Not that she looked bad, far from it, just that more of her  hair was out of her bun than in it, and her white shirt was stained.  Disheveled was the word, really. She looked like she'd worked hard  tonight, like she needed a foot rub and a stiff drink. An image flashed  unbidden in front of his eyes-why did this keep happening?-of her  reclining on his bed, eyes closed in ecstasy, sipping a scotch while he  kneaded the soles of her feet.                       
       
           



       

He pushed the untouched second glass of scotch toward her. "Change your mind?"

She snapped her eyes to his, a little shocked, as if he had suggested  something far, far wickeder. As if she could read his mind. They stared  at each other in silence for a few heartbeats. Then he thought of that  button, that straining button, and damned if his cock didn't start to  stir. He looked into her flashing eyes-flecked with blue, green and  amber, they seemed to be made up of little splinters of every color  imaginable-and told himself not to be a jerk.

He dropped his gaze. It was an asshole move, but he didn't have control  over himself, that fucking button did. His eyes found it right away. It  was just a plain, small, white button. Nothing special. It was the way  it was pulled, so that instead of lying flat, the edge pointed toward  him. She shifted a little, almost infinitesimally, and the button  quivered. So did his cock. God, she was magnificent under there, wasn't  she?

The next thing he knew, a small hand inserted itself into his field of  vision. Nicely shaped nails, fingers sprinkled with a few freckles. Did  she have freckles everywhere?

The hand clasped around the sweating scotch glass and began lifting it.

He followed it with his eyes. She licked her lips. Slowly. Jesus. Then  she tipped her head back and drank. For a moment he thought she was  going to drain the whole glass in one swig. But, no, she was a lover of  scotch. He watched her neck-she took two swallows. She kept her eyes  closed as she righted her head and gave a low hum of appreciation that  echoed in his chest.

Plunking the glass down on the bar, she looked at him and said, "I guess rules were made to be broken."

 …

The cold night air was a relief when it hit Cassie's overheated face.  She hadn't buttoned up her coat, and after she got out of the immediate  circle of light cast by the streetlamps outside Edward's, she turned her  head to the sky, looking for stars that the city lights and tall  buildings always obscured. Why did she even try? In this city, the stars  could all burn out and no one would notice.

As the wind hit her neck, she took a deep breath. Holy cannoli, what a  night. If this thing with Ebenezer sitting at the bar was going to be a  thing, life was going to get a heck of a lot more interesting. And more  lucrative. She patted the pocket where she'd stuffed her tips-Ebenezer's  made up two-thirds of her take for the night.

There was no denying the guy was hot. Not her usual type maybe, but  really, what was her usual type? Sensitive, stylish boys whose love of  *NSYNC should have, in retrospect, been a red flag that they were  complete closet cases? Jovial jocks who, though they were well meaning,  probably scored higher in a hockey season than they did in IQ? Because  that was the grand sum of her romantic experience. First had been Danny,  the high school boyfriend, still her best friend now that he was  comfortably out of the closet-but only because they both still loved  *NSYNC. And then there was Mark, the only boyfriend she'd had in the  approximately eight hundred million years she'd been at university. Set  up by friends, she'd gone with the flow, and before she knew it she had a  hockey star boyfriend who was … nice. She'd been surprised, then, when he  dumped her, showing uncharacteristic signs of wisdom when he said they  "just didn't have that spark." They'd vowed to stay friends, but without  a shared devotion to a 1990s boy band to cement their relationship,  they drifted apart.

But this guy. Ebenezer. Jack Winter. Mr. Richie Rich Real Estate Man.  Whoever the heck he was. He was something else. He was hot, yes, in a  conventional sort of way. Tall, good-looking, and all that. Smart-must  be, given that he was so rich, and he always seemed to be poring over  accounts. But aside from all that, there was something roiling just  below the surface, barely contained. The sense that he was perpetually  treading a tightrope of some sort. Like he was capable of exploding at  any moment, but had simply chosen, through an act of will, not to. And,  oh man, when he'd stared at her boobs so blatantly. She should have been  offended, she supposed, but as he openly and unapologetically looked  his fill, she'd just been turned on. Like crazy turned on.

She was still staring in vain at the sky when she heard him. "I was thinking about what you said."

She shrieked and jumped about a foot.

"Sorry," he smirked. "Did I startle you?"

Ugh. There it was again. Apparently all he had to do was speak, aim that  low, knowing voice in her direction, and something spiked through her  center. Something that had been conspicuously absent with Mr. Hockey and  Mr. *NSYNC.

She hoped he would interpret the time she took answering as a sign of  nonchalance. Instead of, say, lust. Because there was no getting around  it. She wanted him. But she didn't want him to know she wanted him. Her  insides were turning to mush, and he probably just wanted to ask her  something about Edward's scotch collection. But, fake it till you make  it, right? She sent him what she hoped was a skeptical look. "You were  thinking about what I said? Remind me what I said?"                       
       
           



       

He waited a beat before he spoke, and in the pause she stared at his  lips. Forget nonchalant, as he stuck his tongue out to lick his lips,  there was no way not to stare.

"You said rules are meant to be broken."

There wasn't even time to gasp before his mouth was on hers-his mouth,  tasting of scotch, and his hands. He was everywhere as he pressed her  against the brick wall of the building.

He tore his mouth from hers and she did gasp then, greedily sucking in  air to fill the vacuum the intense kiss had created. He pressed against  the soft flesh of her belly. His desire was unmistakable. "Do you feel  that?" he bit out, his voice as raspy as his face-she hadn't really  noticed his five o'clock shadow until it was being rubbed against her  cheek. "Do you?"

"Yes," she breathed. Suspended in a web of white-hot lust, she was  unsure if she'd managed enough volume to make herself audible.

"This is what happens to me when I sit at your bar and watch you."

Holy-

Before she could finish the thought, his mouth was back on hers, his  tongue testing the seam of her lips. She opened, and he sucked on her  lower lip. When he shoved his tongue into her mouth, she could have  sworn she felt it between her legs too.

"I have rules, too," he whispered, dragging his mouth down her throat  until he hit the first button that was done up on her shirt. "And  this"-he grabbed the button between his thumb and index finger and  pulled until it simply snapped off-"is against them." With a groan, he  lowered his mouth to the exposed flesh.