Bailey
Stepping out of my parents’ house, I consider my next move. It’s either to the grocery store, as I have nothing at home to eat but cereal, and I’ve eaten that for the past three days. Or I can order takeout using GrubHub, which is a luxury I couldn’t have afforded before my promotion in the Blackwood corporation.
But I deserve it. I work hard for the money I’m making, I rarely eat good food consistently, and it’s not like I’m considering ordering a burger or pizza. No… I’d go with a salad or maybe a turkey wrap. It’s way more convenient than going to a grocery store, where I’m more apt to get lured down the snack section where I’d load up on Little Debbie cakes.
I trudge to my car and add onto my list of things to do tonight, after I eat a healthy but satisfying meal, to take a hot bath. One of the downsides of my job is the aching shoulders caused by the stress and tension I bear each day. Of course, that has nothing to do with the actual work I do for Declan and the Blackwood Resort. I find my job to be enjoyably challenging.
No, the stress comes from the incredible amount of tension between my boss and me, due solely to the fact we were idiots who indulged in each other. While I can’t speak for Declan, after experiencing something as thrilling as our night at The Wicked Horse, the rest of my life seems dull and lacking.
What does that even mean?
Well, it obviously means I want the experience again, but I can’t have it. Some would say it was the thrill of being in a sex club I enjoyed. That I should go back and do it with someone different.
But I don’t think that’s it.
I think Declan made the experience so monumental. If we were crammed into a janitorial closet with only five minutes to get the deed done, I have a sneaking suspicion it would be just as good.
It’s the man I want to try again, not the locale.
Growling, I fling my body into my car. I have to stop thinking like that, but damn if Declan doesn’t make it impossible when he’s continuously doing sexy shit. Eyeing me in carnal ways. Rolling up his shirtsleeves in a deliberately sexy way, so I get a gander at the fantastic muscles in his forearms.
Hell, he came into the office after having worked out in the resort gym a few days ago. He said he’d just come by to pick up a few things, but had ended up taking a call. I’d been forced to watch him pace back and forth while he talked to someone. God, he’d looked amazing all sweaty with his gray t-shirt clinging to every defined muscle.
I’m doomed.
Doomed, I say.
The drive from my parents’ house to mine doesn’t take but about ten minutes. Before I even get out of my car, I pull up my GrubHub app and order a chef’s salad from a deli not far from my house, but give in to temptation and order a cookie to go with it. I’ll give into a fraction of stress eating, because if I can’t have Declan and the astronomical orgasms that come with him, then I can at least have a cookie.
With the order submitted, I move from my car to my house. It’s not much, but it’s home to me. Or at least it has been since my divorce when Caleb and I split our property. He didn’t want the house we owned because he was moving to California with Felix. I didn’t want the house because of the memories in it, the worst being that I caught him and Felix in our bed together.
Also, I couldn’t afford it on my own, so we sold it, applied the very tiny profit as we didn’t have much equity, toward our joint debt—which barely dented it—and I rented this little bungalow less than five miles from my parents on the southeast side of Vegas. It certainly made it easier to see them a bit more frequently and help out more now that I had no husband to go home to. Of course, with Caleb’s exit and the massive amount of credit card debt he’d accrued, I’d had to pick up two more jobs to compensate.
My little house is cute, and I made it mine with quirky decor. I didn’t want anything we’d accumulated during our marriage, so I’d had to buy my own. I couldn’t afford a lot. I’d bought most of my stuff thrift, but it had ended up eclectic and comfortable. Maybe if my job with Blackwood pans out in the long run, I can afford better stuff once my debt is drilled down. Hell, maybe I can buy a home again one day.
My life isn’t working out gloriously, but I’m avoiding significant pitfalls at least.
And hey… I have a great job. I could get ahead in life if I could concentrate on my new career and manage to forget about Declan Blackwood and his magic dick.
I decide to splurge on a glass of wine, knowing there’s an open bottle of Pinot in my fridge. Dropping my purse on the couch, I cross my living room and into my tiny kitchen. Just as I’m reaching for the handle, my doorbell rings, which is a surprise.
Because I work so much, I don’t know my neighbors. I haven’t been able to do more than wave while pulling in or out of my driveway. My parents rarely venture out, and they’d call me if they needed something. Past that, there wouldn’t be a reason for anyone to be at my door. For safety’s sake, I look through the peephole first.
Going to my tiptoes, I place my eye on the glass-covered hole. It takes a moment to register who stands on my doorstep, only because I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
Dressed in the same business suit he’d worn to work is none other than Declan Blackwood. Hands casually tucked in his pockets, he glances around my neighborhood, which is not the safest after the sun sets. He’s been here before, of course, on the night we visited The Wicked Horse, but I doubt he cared about his surroundings, given he thought he’d never be here again.
Which begs the question… what in the hell is he doing here?
I unlock the door and pull it open. Declan’s head whips my way, his expression looking awkward and uneasy.
“Hey,” I say.
“Miss Robbins,” he returns but doesn’t say anything else.
“Um… what are you doing here?” I ask, looking past him to his Porsche sitting at the curb.
He follows my gaze, glances around again as if having second thoughts about leaving his car out there, before turning back to me. “We need to talk. Can I come in?”
Well, shit. He’s here to fire me again. To say this isn’t working.
But… I’ve stood up to him before, and I’ll do it again. I don’t move to let him in. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, widening my stance in a protective gesture. “If you’re here to try to fire me again, forget it. I don’t deserve it.”
“Not here to fire you, Miss Robbins,” he snaps, then runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh of frustration. “Can I come in?”
“Sure you want to leave your fancy car out there unattended?” I mock slightly.
His expression darkens until it’s slightly scary, and well… my attitude could be a fireable offense, so I backpedal a bit.
Turning sideways, I sweep my arm, indicating he should enter. He moves past me, close enough his arm brushes against mine, leaving a lovely tingling sensation in its wake. I grit my teeth, hating my body’s reaction, and shut the door.
Declan stops in the middle of my living room, looking around at the sparse furnishings and complete lack of decor.
I feel compelled to explain. “I… um… haven’t had much of a chance to decorate this place yet.”
“How long have you lived here?” he asks, turning to face me.
“Over a year,” I reply with a shrug. “Pretty much got rid of anything that I owned jointly with my ex-husband—”
“You were married?” he asks, brows drawing inward.
“Um… yeah,” I reply hesitantly. I never told him because it wasn’t pertinent to a damn thing.
But he doesn’t delve further into that, his glance moving to the couch. “Do you mind if we sit?”
I jump into action, realizing my boss is in my home, and I’m being a terrible hostess. “Of course,” I say as I rush to the couch and fluff the two decorative pillows that came with it. “You want something to drink?”
He shakes his head, moves around the end of the couch, and takes a seat. I follow suit, choosing to sit on the loveseat opposite of him instead, the wobbly coffee table I’d also picked up at a thrift store in between us.
Sitting solidly in the center of the cushion, Declan leans forward slightly and rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands lightly. “First, I want you to know that while I’m not here to fire you, I want you to know I’d be well within my right. When there is a personal issue between an employer and an employee, there is nothing wrong with cutting that employee loose.”
I keep my mouth firmly shut since he said he’s not here to fire me. No sense in engaging in an unnecessary battle, even though I take slight offense at the insinuation that I’m the problem between us.
“I want to talk about this issue between us,” Declan says directly. “To see if we can put it to rest.”
I’m not sure he could have surprised me more. I had expected him to propose transferring me to someone else in the company where I could keep the job, and the tension between us would be eliminated since we wouldn’t see each other. In a million years, I never thought he’d want to hash it out.
“Okay.” I drawl the word out in two long syllables.
“I want to fuck you again,” he says.
And I reel. Actually, I jerk backward until the rear cushion of the loveseat catches me from behind. “What?”
“I want to fuck you again,” he replies simply. “And I can’t stop thinking about it, and I bet if you’re honest, you think about it too.”
I swallow hard, my eyes practically bugged out of my head, but I refuse to acknowledge that statement. He might be all for talking this out, but I don’t have to admit to anything. My job is at stake. I’m not about to get my ass tossed out of this company.
Declan doesn’t seem to be bothered by my lack of response. He continues on, what appears to be a rehearsed oratory. “I thought I could fuck you just that once and I wouldn’t think about it anymore. That’s usually how it works, but then I thought, that probably works because I don’t typically see a woman more than once. But with you—working with me and seeing you day in and day out—I figure it’s just keeping the memory of what we did in the forefront, you know what I mean?”
I do indeed, but I refuse to admit nor deny that either. I just stare.
“So my solution is that we should fuck again,” he says, and that definitely makes my girlie parts start to tingle and throb. “And it might be that one more time is all we need to finish scratching that itch. Or maybe it will take a few times. Who knows?”
My wanton side, which wants to give in to all base instincts, has to dig my fingers into the cushion to keep from whipping off my clothes. The prudent side, which wants to protect my job, cautiously asks. “You’re proposing we have sex again? Like right now?”
A muscle in Declan’s jaw pops as his body stiffens. “No. Not right now. I want to be careful that we keep the personal and professional separate, because if we can’t, then you can’t work for me. It’s that simple.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmur.
“The Wicked Horse,” he replies, his eyes boring into mine. “We go there. Together. Whenever it’s convenient for us. We get it out of our system, we come into work the next day, and we focus on work. It’s a good plan.”
Is it, though?
I genuinely don’t know one way or the other, but I do like the knowledge Declan is affected by me. It’s nice to know he didn’t escape our first encounter unscathed. It means I’m not being silly in my continued obsession about that night together.
I tip my head to the side. “And you’re positive this is not going to affect our working relationship? Because I need this job.”
Declan rises from the couch, eyeing me from across the coffee table. “You’re incredibly good at what you do, Miss Robbins. I’ve decided I’d like to preserve this working relationship if we can. This is our best chance.”
“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” I mutter. “And you can call me Bailey. I think we’re past formal names now.”
Declan actually grimaces at that suggestion. “I can’t say whether this is going to work. I just know I need it for my sanity.”
I should take some time to think about this. It’s complicated, sticky, and a bad idea all around. My job is paramount, yet I find myself willing to believe this is the best way to preserve it. I know my willingness to believe it has everything to do with the fact I want the man standing before me.
Badly.
“Then I agree to your proposal,” I say, waiting for a stab of uneasiness to tell me I made the wrong decision.
It doesn’t come.
“Are you planning on going tonight?” I ask hesitantly.
“As much as I would love that,” Declan replies, sounding a bit regretful, “I have plans tonight. Besides, we’re going to have to draw up a legal agreement first.”
“A legal agreement?” I exclaim with surprise.
“That our relationship inside The Wicked Horse is separate and apart from our professional relationship. That I’m offering you no inducement or holding your job over your head in exchange for your agreement to go to the club with me. It’s to protect both of us.”
“Sounds more like it’s to protect you,” I muse, but I also don’t blame him. He’s in dangerous territory pursuing a sexual relationship with an employee. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why a man—who is clearly intelligent and successful—would ever put himself in such a position.
The only thing I can deduce is that he must have some level of trust—even if he doesn’t even recognize that’s what it is—in me. He knows inherently I’m not the type that would use this against him, because I’m not. I don’t operate that way. If I did, I would have taken my husband to the cleaners, rather than silently, if not bitterly, help him pay off our marital debt that he accrued.
“I’ll sign your agreement,” I finally say.
And for the first time tonight, I realize just how tense he’s been since he stepped foot in my house. His entire body visibly relaxes. While it’s not quite a smile on his face, it could possibly be called triumphant joy.
“I’ll have it on your desk in the morning,” he says as he heads for my door. Not a backward glance either. “Then plan on attending The Wicked Horse with me tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, sir,” I can’t help but chirp in an exaggerated tone.
He raises an eyebrow. I probably crossed some professional lines, but I don’t care. I’m too psyched about the opportunity to explore more of my sexual boundaries with this enigmatic, gorgeous man. He merely smirks wryly before walking out the door.