Taking the Score(24)
“You, your sister, and the F-Troop?”
“Ah, your nipples are pouting again.”
“In your dreams.” She folded her arms, hiding those beautiful, likely jealous nipples. “If I can’t be seen around the office, then what am I to do?”
“You’ll work from here, in my study.”
She touched a finger to her lips, considering this. “I can remote in to the network and work on the Crown Point files. You have three meetings this afternoon. I’ll call Serena with my best I’m-dying-of-the-flu impression and have her prep for those. The PowerPoints are ready. This could work except…”
Damn, he loved when she got all sexy-efficient. “Except?”
“Where will you be?”
Time to let his assistant know that working from home could be very, very productive.
“Right here with you until I need to head down for those meetings.” He fixed her with his best CEO stare. “Isn’t it time you headed to work, Ms. Strickland? Commute might be shorter, but that’s no reason to dawdle.”
Chapter Fourteen
Thirty minutes after she’d humiliated herself by announcing to Brody’s sister that she was a stripper named Chardonnay, Emma stood outside her boss’s study, raised her hand and clenched it. Making a fist reminded her how clammy her palms were, so she rubbed them against her new navy pin-striped skirt and tried again. The knock sounded loud. Final.
“Come in.”
Mr. Kane will see you now. After their close shave in the kitchen and all those fantasies he’d laid on her, the idea of spending the morning in such intimate proximity—working—drove her a little screwy. How was she going to get anything done? It would be so much easier if he went into the office and left her to compile the reports he needed.
She stepped inside and was immediately enveloped in the smell of leather, a lemony-piney scent, and something indefinably male. Business books lined the walls, a large globe begged for a whimsical spin, and an antique desk looked like the perfect spot to be taken hard by the boss. Behind it sat Brady, staring at his laptop through those hot glasses.
He didn’t look like a sex god. Not. So he had those shoulders made to grab on to that filled out his Italian shirt very nicely. Hidden from view by his desk, his thighs no doubt packed his charcoal suit pants to perfection. Those delicious, hairy thighs that had felt so good brushing against her own as he thrust into her over and over from behind.
Ten seconds on the clock and she was already hot and bothered. Swallowing her desire, she scanned the room. Another laptop was set up at a smaller table off to the side.
“Should I sit here?” she asked.
“Hmm.” He didn’t look up.
The laptop was already configured to remotely connect to the company’s servers. All the necessary files were right where she needed them.
She blinked. He really expected her to work. With him in the room—ignoring her.
Two hours later, he hadn’t spoken a single word except to ask her if she needed any paper files from the office, because he’d be happy to have one of the other assistants send them up. It was as if he’d forgotten what he’d been doing to her this morning on that kitchen island. Those hot, whispered fantasies about hiking up her skirt and taking her against the window. No foreplay, because she was already wet and there was a damn meeting in five minutes—remember? He’d left her poised on a sensual ledge and expected her to act like it was a normal day at the office?
She’d give him normal. So usually he was in his office, playing Master of the Fucking Universe or Solitaire: The Billionaire Edition, and didn’t see exactly how she spent her day. What she did to keep healthy.
She stood, removed her jacket, and placed it on the chair. Carefully. Then she rolled her neck and stretched her arms above her head. Just a little preparatory limbering up.
Placing a palm on the table, she moved her heeled feet out and wide. The stretch of the fabric across her ass felt almost as good as the pull on her inner thigh muscles as she bent her lower leg until her heel touched her ass cheek.
She heard a slight movement behind her, followed by a barely audible cough.
“What are you doing?”
Over her shoulder, she found Mr. Kane ogling his assistant’s ass. Getting to be a habit, that.
“Office yoga. After sitting so long, I like to stretch my legs.”
This skirt fit perfectly, so was snugger than her usual charity shop threads. She inched it up to give her a touch more flexibility. Then revealed a couple more inches of thigh, because she suspected it might yield an interesting reaction.
A grunt sounded from Brody’s side of the study. “You mean to say you’ve been doing that outside my office for three months?”
“Two to four times daily. Circulation is very important.” She rolled her lips in to hide her smile though he couldn’t see her face anyway. “Speaking of, how’s yours doing over there?”
“My what?”
“Your circulation?”
He snorted. “Blood’s moving exactly where it’s needed.”
She wanted to turn around and see the hunger tightening his face, assess whether it matched her own, but the not knowing was unbearably erotic. Squeak. Was that—? Oh, he’d moved his chair back.
Heart thudding, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Steps trod behind her, heavy, ominous. She wanted to run, perhaps have him chase her through the penthouse and when he caught her, pin her down. Take her roughly.
He stilled, inches away, maybe feet—shit, she didn’t know. He was close, but too far. His supreme control, the tether she knew was in her power to break, was like a third person in the room. She had to slice through it. Make him crazy.
“I’ve fantasized about this,” she said.
“About what?” His voice sounded strangled and closer than she’d thought.
“You. Finding me in your office. When I shouldn’t be there.”
She tried to keep the wobble from her legs, quell the sexual anticipation that had a grip on her. Yes, she’d indulged in fantasies with men before. Years before, when she was Bad-Girl Emma. But this was a whole other level, because Brody Kane was a different kind of man. A powerful specimen who could likely make her come on command. She’d never let someone control her that way, but she rather relished the idea of handing it off to someone else for a while.
On her terms.
She listened to the quiet. The erotically charged space between them.
“You come in early, unexpectedly, and see me here,” she whispered. “You ask what I’m doing. You think I’m nosing around, going through your stuff.”
“I don’t like that,” he murmured.
“No, you don’t. You’re a really private person and you have rules. Lines you refuse to cross. Ethics you refuse to breach. But you see me at the desk and—”
“Something snaps.” His voice sounded strained, as taut as the nipples budding her silk shell.
“You demand to know my business, and I try to tell you I just needed something.”
“Like a file.” Sexy pause. “Or a paper clip.” Amusement colored his voice at that alternative.
“But you won’t listen.”
Another sound of movement preceded a whisper of air at her back. He was mere inches away, but still not touching. It was excruciating.
“I refuse to listen,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.” His fingertips brushed her hip and she shivered. “They’ll never be good enough because I’ve already decided.”
She could feel her body angling over the desk, hinging at her hips to make her ass more accessible to him.
“Decided what?”
“To punish you.” He grasped the hem of her skirt with both hands and yanked it up completely.
“Oh!” Air rushed over her exposed ass cheeks, the string thong providing no protection from his eyes or the wicked deeds she knew were coming.
“How should I punish you, Ms. Strickland? What does a naughty girl like you—an eavesdropper on private shower moments, an office yoga tease, a paper clip thief—deserve?”
A paper clip thief. She giggled.
He pulled on the thong’s triangle of fabric at the top of her ass and twisted it. The friction it created between her legs turned her giggle to a moan.
“Do you think this is funny?”
Desperate for relief, she squeezed her thighs together. He nudged her feet farther apart, preventing her attempt at a solo grind.
“No,” she panted. “Not funny.”
Twisting the fabric again, he dragged it against her sensitive, throbbing flesh.
“Please, Brody.”
He stopped.
“Mr.…Mr. Kane. Please.”
He restarted, the friction so delicious but never quite enough to take her high, higher, and over. In that moment, she realized what he was doing.
Truly punishing her.
Hell, it looked like she’d have to take care of this herself. She reached down with seeking fingers, only to have him pull her back upright against his chest.
“Nah-ah, Ms. Strickland,” he rasped, his breath hot and urgent against her ear. “No more hands in panties when I’m here to do the job. If it’s not doing the trick, just say so. Communication is key in any workplace.” She heard a sliding whoosh and realized that he was taking off his belt. Within seconds, he had bound her wrists and pulled taut.