Chapter One

“Where the hell am I?” Emily asked aloud as she woke up with a groan. One pain shot through her head at the same time one shot through her groin. She groaned again, finally opening her eyes. Emily focused on the ceiling fan overhead. “Now how did my bra get up there?” She sat up. The room spun around her. The sheets slid down and the air from the ceiling fan chilled her. “Ooh, I’m naked. How’d that happen?”

Emily pushed the covers aside and stepped off the bed. Ooh, bad move. The room SPUN around her again and her stomach and head protested. Emily grabbed hold of the Paul Bunyan bedpost just as a wave of dizziness overtook her. Oh, that’s right. The company’s annual Fourth of July picnic.

She looked down. The rest of her clothes lay scattered on the floor. What’s this? A tie? Emily stooped down and picked the tie up. Why does my butt feel sticky? She examined the tie. It was made of Italian silk. Nice taste. Who does it belong to? She tossed the tie on the dresser on her way to the bathroom. My thighs feel sticky too.

Emily turned on the light in the bathroom, looked down at her body and screamed, “Oh lord, I’ve had sex with someone!”

Emily climbed into the tub after the hysterics died away. She tried to recall the events of last night while she soaked in the warm sudsy water. She scrubbed her body furiously to wash away the shame. She remembered arriving at the picnic with her best friend Deandria. There was some drinking and toasting, and then more drinking and toasting. Somewhere around midnight she remembered watching the fireworks display with someone. A man. There had been some hugging and more drinking and toasting. Oh my gawd, Bekim Lacolmn. Not him. Please not him.

Bekim was one of her company’s clothing designers, and notoriously known throughout the design world for his womanizing ways. Had she spent the night with him? Emily felt a gag coming on. He was everything she hated in a man. No, I don’t even like him.

Emily got out the tub and walked into the bedroom and picked up the tie again. It smelt of cologne, Bekim’s. Emily got a flashback and dropped the tie like it was on fire. Bekim does have a tie like that. She remembered admiring it once. He had such impeccable style when it came to clothing. Don’t panic. Maybe he won’t remember anything either.

Emily got dressed. She wouldn’t know anything until tomorrow when she returned to work. She stripped the dirty linen from the bed and took them downstairs to wash. Her legs trembled when the events of last night began to play back in her mind. She hurried back up the stairs to the bathroom to look for an antacid to soothe her nervous stomach.

* * * *

Tuesday arrived quicker than Emily expected. It took her a day to get over the yucky feeling from drinking too much, and now she just had to deal with the fright of having to face Bekim. Emily made a mental note never to drink beer ever again.

Emily prided herself on her cool head and rational choice of dating. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life and she didn’t know how to deal with it. What was she supposed to say to him? Thanks for the sex? Hell, she didn’t even remember it. But her body still felt sore. Apparently she’d used some muscles she hadn’t used in a long time.

Did he use protection? Panic set in again. She sure as hell hoped so. She couldn’t use the pill and her system rejected almost everything the gynecologist had suggested. Emily hadn’t been with a man in years, but she kept a supply of condoms in her night table drawer just to be on the safe side. She groaned. Bekim didn’t seem like the type to pry, so he probably didn’t open the drawer. As many women as he’d messed with she hoped he had common sense to have stock in a condom company and a big supply in his wallet.

Emily left the house and took the subway to the building where she worked. There were a lot of cars and foot traffic, she discovered as she walked down Thirty-Fourth Street, which catered to all aspects of the fashion industry. She’d walked the same path five or six days a week for the last seventeen years since she came to New York to live with her father after her mother died.

Emily dodged a rack of clothing as two guys pulled them away from the curb and tried to maneuver it into one of the fashion showrooms. This was also a normal sight in the Garment District of Manhattan. Every day one could see delivery trucks next to the sidewalks lined with clothing, frantic designers and bitchy models.

Emily finally arrived at the House of Bucktell where she’d been working since she turned sixteen. Her father, Solomon, was the CEO and had allowed her to work her way up, making sure she learned every aspect of the business from how to sort the incoming mail, to cutting patterns, to choosing fabrics by texture and color. She apprenticed for him during that time. Solomon was a loving and caring father at home, but a very strict boss who insisted on no less than perfection. Seventeen years later he was still that way. She continued to help out in the mail room every now and then, but her current position of head technical designer kept her very busy.

Emily entered the building and took the elevator up to the thirty-second floor where the House of Bucktell’s administrations office resided. The actual production side of the business was located just one floor below, but most of the think work happened on the administrative floor.

“Good morning, Miss Bucktell,” one of the administrative clerks said to Emily as she walked through the door.

“Good morning, Jasmin.” Emily made a point to learn each and every employee’s name. The House of Bucktell stayed on top of the fashion world because of its excellent creations and their friendly atmosphere it provided for its employees. Emily wasn’t much of a socializer. In fact, the recent Fourth of July picnic was the first company-sponsored event she’d attended in years. But she wasn’t there to make friends. Her job was to supervise production of an outfit from inception to rack. She didn’t have time to make friends, not when she had to appease designer’s egos and keep spoiled models in line.

The nighttime cleaning crew were just wrapping up. Emily passed several workers moving vacuum cleaners and pushing cleaning supply carts to the maintenance room. A window washer waved to her from outside one of the huge window. Emily waved back. The administrative floor had recently been remodeled and two contractors were busy hanging a huge round pink and brown emblem on one of the lobby walls. The sign had a capital “B” brightly embossed in gold in the center of the emblem. Bucktell had been in business for sixty years and the name was synonymous for fine clothing and accessories. Her grandfather, the original owner, died a couple of years ago, but her father carried the reign of boss with honor. She left the administration lobby and walked down the brown-carpeted hall to Solomon’s office. She found him, as expected, with his head buried in a French newspaper, checking out the latest fashions.

Solomon had met her Alabama-born fashion consultant mother, Erica, in Paris. They married a year before Emily was born and were divorced two years later when it became common knowledge Solomon Bucktell had a mistress. Erica took baby Emily back to Alabama where she managed a successful consultant business until her death eighteen years ago. Fourteen-year-old Emily arrived at her father’s mansion dressed in black mourning wear. Emily was tall for her age and already had a sense of style. Solomon took one look at her, cried, and then welcomed her with open arms. He also stuck her in her first fashion show shortly after that because she was tall for her age and had a slender build. Of course it took Emily some time to warm up to her father. The same went for whatever woman he dated at the time. There had been so many women in his life she’d lost count. Emily loved her father, but she’d never marry a man with his thirst for women.

Solomon looked up. “Oh, Emily, darling, you’re here. Come on in.”

At sixty, Solomon Bucktell could still be considered handsome, with his full head of thick silver gray hair, a well-groomed mustache and goatee, and a fit body he kept toned by visiting the gym regularly.

“Is that a new suit?” he asked.

“Yes,” Emily said, modeling the navy blue pinstriped suit. Shane, one of their resident designers, had created it for her. At thirty-two, Emily stood five feet ten inches tall and still had a slim build. She was heavier at the top and hips than she was when she first arrived at the House of Bucktell, but she still maintained a decent weight. “Shane designed it for me.”

“It’s very nice,” Solomon said. “Maybe you’ll pick yourself up a husband today.”

Emily rolled her eyes at him and sat down, crossing her long legs before her. He’d been trying to marry her off since her eighteenth birthday. She’d received plenty of offers, but Emily just wasn’t interested in settling down and starting a family. She loved her job, but raising babies she’d leave to other women. “Don’t hold your breath,” she told him.

“I don’t understand why you’re so against settling down. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and you’d make some man a fine wife.”

“I just don’t want to be just some man’s wife. I like my job and I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

Solomon chuckled. “You remind me so much of your mother. She had that same attitude, but I eventually wore her down.”

“Don’t go there,” Emily said. At thirty-two she was old enough to speak frankly with her father. “You cheated on her.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t love her. How could I not love her? She gave me you.”

“Yes, well,” Emily said, straightening out the tailored-to-fit blazer. “I’m still waiting for some sibling to appear demanding his or her place in your heart and a share of the business.”

Solomon chuckled again. “You don’t have to worry about that. I might have been a lousy husband, but I did practice safe sex.”

Emily grimaced. She couldn’t do anything about what happened in the past, but she didn’t need to hear about it. “How’re the fashions in Paris these days?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Interesting,” Solomon said, looking down at his newspaper. “The models are getting plumper and the designers are going wild using color combinations you’d never dream of using together.”

“I’ll check it out in a couple of months when I go there,” Emily said. She had signed on to attend a conference there and looked forward to hobnobbing with some of her old friends.

“You might think about taking Bekim along with you. He’s always wanted to see Paris.”

Emily scowled. Bekim Lacolmn was Bucktell’s senior fashion designer, who had also apprenticed with her father. Solomon loved Bekim like a son, and even though they didn’t share blood, Bekim had inherited a lot of her father’s habits. At thirty-five, the tall and handsome designer never lacked female companionship. It was normal to see some model draped on Bekim’s arm or some rising young starlet seated in his office discussing their date or his plan to design a line of clothing exclusively for her.

She and Bekim got along like fire and water. She respected him as a designer, but hated everything he stood for as a man. “No thanks,” Emily said. “This is a working conference. I won’t have time to baby-sit the resident gigolo.”

“Ouch,” Solomon said. “I thought that was my moniker. Bekim’s really not that bad. He can’t help it if women gravitate toward him. And you have to admit he’s a fantastic designer.”

True, she could admit that.

“And he’s quite handsome.”

True. Mother Nature had been very generous with Bekim. She conjured up his image. Bekim stood five feet eleven, and weighing possibly one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He had a great build and he did do a stint as a model in his youth. He kept the physique by hanging out at the gym with her father. He also had the nicest thick jet-black hair. And like her father, he sported a well-groomed mustache and goatee, which gave his face personality and made those ice-blue eyes pop. Emily shook the image away. She so didn’t want to think of him after what had occurred between them two nights ago. Good thing for her she’d been too drunk to remember. “I’ll think about it,” she said to get her father to stop mentioning Bekim. She planned to avoid the designer like the plague today and possibly for the rest of the week until the little disaster was far behind her. Emily rose. “I better get to work. The rest of the employees should be in shortly.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Solomon said. “Bucktell has been asked to create a fall/winter Young Adult line for Niemeyer’s.”

“What?” Emily asked, almost falling off her three-inch heels. “When did you find this out?” Niemeyer’s was a major chain of department stores around the country.

“A couple of days ago,” Solomon answered.

“But that only gives us two months to design and deliver,” Emily protested.

“And?” Solomon asked. “You’ve worked against deadlines before.”

“Not intentionally,” Emily whined. It took a lot of work to get a specialty line together. Designs had to be created, patterns constructed and cut, fabrics had to be selected and not to mention the number of man-hours it took to get the outfits sewn and finished.

“I’ll leave it all in your hands,” Solomon said, going back to his newspaper. “I have faith in you.”

Emily walked toward the door. “Thanks,” she said. Her mind spent a mile a minute. “Ah hell, Shane’s still in the hospital. Who am I going to get to design this line?”

Shane had taken a nasty fall last week while riding a dirt bike and had broken both his legs.

“Ask Bekim,” Solomon suggested. “Maybe he can spare a moment or two.”

Bekim normally designed haute couture...clothing made especially for an individual. Bekim designed exclusive custom-fit creations made from high-quality expensive fabrics and sewn with extreme attention to detail. Bekim was a perfectionist and in high demand this time of year with the approach of the holidays and Fashion Week. Fashion Week occurred twice a year in New York and around the world. And she knew for a fact Bekim had been busy finalizing his contribution for the September event. “He might be too busy with Fashion Week to help,” Emily said.

“You won’t know until you ask him. I’m sure he’ll agree to do it if you ask him.”

“I doubt that. The man hates me.”

“You two looked pretty chummy at the picnic the other day,” Solomon said. “That was some kiss you laid on him during the firework display.”

“What kiss?” Emily asked. “I don’t remember kissing him.”

“You never could hold your beer,” Solomon replied. “You kissed him at midnight. Everyone saw. You two looked quite romantic under a sky of fireworks. You had your legs wrapped around his waist and he was kissing you back passionately.”

Emily opened her mouth to protest, but she just stood there gaping in surprised. “No!”

Solomon laughed. “Yes. Quite a few of us captured it on video. I plan to show it to your kids one of these days.”

“Arg!” Emily said, stamping out his office. “I’ll sue anyone who posts that picture to Facebook.”

* * * *

Bekim watched Emily leave her father’s office in a huff. He sighed, wondering what had her knickers in a tangle this time. Emily wasn’t a typical spoiled American heiress, but she had her moments. She was a perfectionist and liked to get her way. She was also argumentative, anal retentive, and opinionated. Also beautiful, talented, and a great lay. The latter description set off a thumping in his heart as he remembered their time together the other night. He supposed Emily didn’t remember much of it because of the amount of beer she’d consumed at the picnic, but he hoped she remembered how she trembled in his arms again and again as she climaxed, before dozing off sleep.

He felt like a cad for taking advantage of her in that condition, but he’d been infatuated with the statuesque technical designer since the first time they were introduced, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity after she offered herself to him so nicely.

Emily slammed her office door, jolting him out of the memory. He’s been a little less than sober himself, and he’d done something foolish and forgotten to use a condom. Something like that never happened to him before and he was prepared to deal with the consequences. He wouldn’t mind having a baby with Emily. They just had to get past the part that she couldn’t stand the ground he walked on. Bekim smiled. She did truly deserve the moniker of Dragon Queen, as the other employees dubbed her. They’d had their share of arguments over the years, and there was no hiding how she felt about the constant influx of women in his life. He couldn’t help it if other women found him desirable. And only a fool would turn down free sex.

Bekim walked down to Solomon’s office and knocked on the door before entering. Solomon Bucktell was his mentor as well as his friend. And they often spent time together at and away from the fashion house.

“Come in,” Solomon said, looking up from his newspaper. “Emily and I were just discussing you.”

Bekim continued into the plush executive office and sat down in one of the two gold, pink and brown upholstered chairs. “Oh, is that why she just stormed out of here?” Bekim asked. Hopefully Emily hadn’t discussed their night together with her father. But he was prepared to take full responsibility for his actions. He would even marry Emily and make an honest woman out of her. He frowned. But that would mean he would have to give up Simone, Gizelle, and Camille. He relaxed his face. But Emily Bucktell was indeed worth the sacrifice.

“No, I teased her about the kiss you two shared at the picnic the other night.” Solomon chuckled. “She didn’t believe it at first, but I think she finally remembers it. She’d only had a couple of beers. Since she doesn’t normally drink I think it brought out her inhibitions more.”

Bekim straightened his tie and then crossed his legs. “I don’t regret kissing her. In fact, I’m rather proud of it. You know how I feel about her.”

“Yes, I do know,” Solomon said. “I’m pretty proud of you too for seizing the moment. Emily is not the easiest woman in the world to get next to. She reminds me a lot of her mother...fiery and passionate, but a bit of a shrew.”

Bekim nodded and smirked.

“One of these days she’s going to realized you’re perfect for her.”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over,” Bekim said. “So what were the two of you discussing?”

“The two of you working together on a special project I agreed to do.”

“What kind of project?” Bekim asked. He’d been a party to Solomon’s last minute special projects before. The older man hardly ever refused work and very seldom listened to employee’s complaints about having to juggle other projects to handle it.

“Niemeyer’s Department Store wants us to develop a fall/winter Young Adult collection for them.”

Bekim glared at him. “But it’s July. That would only give us two months.”

“I have faith in you,” Solomon said, ignoring his concern. “Emily has agreed to work as technical designer if you agree to do the designs.”

Hmm, the opportunity to work side by side with the beautiful Dragon Queen. “What’s in it for me?”

“I never could put anything over on you. Niemeyer’s is paying top dollar and has agreed to let you include your label.”

My label on an exclusive design? That sounds tempting. He’d always wanted to design something for the younger generation that didn’t involve sewing on lace and sequins. Most of his older clients insisted that he hand sew most of their haute couture wear. “I’m in,” Bekim said. “If you’re sure Emily wants me to work with her.” Normally she worked with Shane, whom she could boss around and wrap around her finger.

“Oh, she wants you,” Solomon said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“We are talking about wanting me as a designer?” Bekim asked. He hadn’t missed that little conniving twinkle in Solomon’s eyes.

“Whatever,” Solomon said. “I’m in your corner.”

“What happened to blood being thicker than water?” Bekim asked, rising.

“A blood relative will stab you in the back when it comes to business. But a man in love will do anything in his power to please a future father-in-law.”

“Oh!” Bekim said, hurrying to the door. It’s a setup. Solomon is attempting matchmaking again. “Okay, I’ll speak with Emily later and get back to you if she doesn’t strangle me first.”

Solomon’s warm chuckle followed him out of the office and into the hall. “Old schemer,” Bekim mumbled with a smile. He wasn’t opposed to some fatherly help. Bekim looked at his watch. “Egad. Camille will be arriving soon.” He made a mad dash to his office before the model arrived.

* * * *

Emily grimaced the moment she heard Camille Davenport’s gravely little girl’s voice permeating through the office walls once she arrived. Camille was one of Bucktell’s highest paid fashion models, as well as one of Bekim’s current girlfriends. Camille was tall and thin as a pin, with a mane of red hair and big blue eyes. She had a walk that made men pant, and a voice that made Emily’s hair stand on edge. And she could be a bitch with her demands. She had to have a special brand of water when she worked, and only one specific makeup artist could touch her delicate face, and only Bekim could design for her.

“You better wipe that grimace from your face before she comes in here,” Deandria Mitchell, Emily’s best friend and the House of Bucktell’s resident senior pattern maker said to her. Deandria’s job was to draft the shape and sizes of the garment pieces by hand or with the aid of computer software.

“Fuck her,” Emily said. “The last time I checked this was still my father’s company and she was still just an employee.”

“She can also be your future mother-in-law if Solomon can pry her away from Bekim.”

Emily hissed at Deandria. “Don’t even jest.”

Deandria chuckled and her dark brown eyes filled with mirth. Deandria’s skin tone was like a mixture of caramel and mocha. And she could rock any fashionable hairdo with all that thick black hair. Today she wore it fashionably coiffed in cornrows and Afro puffs.

The door opened and Camille entered dressed in a black A-line dress with a matching black pillbox hat and carrying a small black clutch. She looked liked she’d just stepped from the pages of some 1960’s fashion magazine. Emily had to admit only Camille could pull off such a look.

Bekim entered next looking suave in a charcoal gray suit that brought out the sky blue in his eyes. He also sported a fresh new haircut. He normally wore his thick black hair parted to the side with just a bit of bang, but today he’d let the stylist spike up the top and shave it close on the sides. Even his little mustache and goatee looked sexier than normal. “Good morning,” he said. “Camille is here for her final fitting.”

Camille would be commanding the catwalk in a fashion event on the weekend for the House of Bucktell, along with about twenty-five other models.

“The clothing is waiting for her in the dressing room,” Emily said pointing toward the door.

Camille unglued her arm from Bekim’s and passed by her, giving her the evil eye.

Emily ignored her, too used to Camille’s childish antics.

Bekim lifted his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.

“So, I heard you two are teaming up for another one of Solomon’s special projects,” Deandria said, breaking the silence.

“So I’ve heard,” Bekim said, walking over to the pretty lady with the scissors in her hand. “I’m looking forward to it if all parties agree to allow me to be the designer.” He looked over at her.

Emily rolled her eyes at him. “I have no problems working with you as long as you create something sensational and limit your phone calls to the bare minimum.” Bekim’s cell phone went off all day with calls and text messages.

“I’ll turn it to stun,” Bekim said.

Emily laughed sarcastically at his joke.

“Or vibrate, and keep it in my pants pocket for a little thrill.”

“Gross,” Emily said, getting the sexual innuendo. She almost commented and then she remembered how she woke up naked and sticky the other morning.

Camille exited the fitting room looking cute in a one-of-a-kind Bekim original. It was a stunning light blue gown embroidered with a dark blue sequence neckline. The color simply brought out the beauty of Camille’s face. Camille had swept her long red hair over her left shoulder giving her the appearance of a Greek goddess. Emily frowned on the inside. She bet Camille never woke up with semen drying on her shaved pussy.

Bekim rushed over to the model and positioned her in front of the full-length Cheval mirror. “You look beautiful,” he told her.

Emily’s frown deepened. She did look like a work of heavenly art.

Deandria cleared her throat.

Emily looked her way.

Deandria had the most envious look in her eyes and a fake smile on her lips. Her friend couldn’t stand Camille either, but there was no denying the model looked good in the gown.

“Try on the green one next,” Bekim instructed Camille. “It’s a show stopper.”

Camille’s skin turned a dark shade of pink as Bekim spoke to her. “Did you create that one too, Bekim?” Camille asked. She always pronounced the designer’s name with heavy inferences on the last part, like Be-kim instead of Bek-im.

“Yes, sweetheart. The green one has Camille written all over it.”

Emily would have stuck her finger in her throat and gagged if it wouldn’t have appeared childish. It always infuriated her the way men babied and coddled some women.

Camille slinked into the dressing room to change and Bekim returned to his position next to Deandria’s workstation. “Well, do you like the gown?” he asked.

“It was okay,” Emily said. “The color is perfect for her.”

“Would you like one like it?” Bekim asked. “I could design another for you. Of course I would do it in black and add a little more at the top since you have more cleavage than Camille.”

“No thanks,” Emily said adjusting her blouse around her breasts. “I’m cool. I prefer something a little less dramatic.”

“Like a suit of armor,” Deandria said.

Emily nodded. “Complete with a chastity belt.”

Bekim shuddered with displeasure. “You two can make a designer cry. I’m trying to create an illusion here. Fashion consultants and buyers expect nothing but the best from me.”

Camille appeared in an emerald green sleeveless mini-dress that showed off her fantastic legs and bare shoulders. The dress came with a pair of matching short gloves and a beautiful green choker.

Emily gawked. The dress did stun.

“Turn for me, darling,” Bekim said to Camille as he walked over to her.

Camille turned, revealing the smooth sidelines of the dress and the way Bekim cut it to accentuate her small waist, narrow hips and schoolgirl-firm ass. It was indeed a showstopper with the tiny pleats at the center of the back.

“I’d like one of those in red,” Deandria said, rising from her seat to get a better look. “But you’ll have to add a little more material to get around my hips and ass.”

“You are simply scandalous,” Emily told her. “Try not to feed his ego too much.”

Bekim chuckled and ignored her comment. “Deandria will be beating men off her if I do her up in a red replica.”

“I can handle that,” Deandria said. “I can stand to beat off a few men.”

“What about you, Emily?” Bekim asked. “Perhaps one in silver lamé to fight off some dragons.”

Emily scowled at the designer. She’d heard them refer to her as the Dragon Queen before. “No thanks. I don’t need sexy clothes to slay a few dragons. I prefer to conquer them with my mind.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Camille told her while admiring her reflection in the mirror. “Men like their women coiffed, not smart.”

“Apparently,” Emily said, noting the way Bekim was checking the model out. “But I can’t fake stupid, and I don’t need to get a man.” She walked out of the room, leaving the three of them to bask in their silliness.

* * * *

The door to her office opened around noon and Bekim entered. “She’s gone,” he said.

“I suppose you’re referring to Camille. I could care less. You know I only entertain her because my father likes her.”

“She’s not so bad,” Bekim said, entering the room. “And she does look good in my designs.”

“Yes, she does,” Emily said, wondering why he was in her office.

“I’m here to talk about Niemeyer’s fall/winter line, and to get your true opinion on whether we can pull this off in time. We only have two months and we both have other projects.”

“Have a seat,” Emily told him from a seat behind her desk. “I have some concerns as well. I have a million things to do to get ready for the holiday season and for September’s Fashion Week. But he’s my father and my boss so I have to consider his suggestions.”

Bekim sat down carefully not to wrinkle his suit. “Well, I’ve taken on several more clients who demand I create an exclusive line of clothing for them. And some special requests for the upcoming Grammy and Oscar award shows.”

Emily knew he didn’t say this to brag. She’d seen his appointment book and noticed the names of some famous actresses and singers. “We can both tell him, no way,” Emily said.

Bekim chuckled. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but your father doesn’t take the word no, well.”

“He does have a bit of a temper,” Emily said. “And he likes to get his way.”

“Not unlike his charming daughter,” Bekim added.

“Don’t start an argument,” Emily said. “Not after we...”

“After we what?” Bekim asked.

Emily refused to continue.

“Oh, you mean the other night. I was wondering how you would broach the subject.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Emily lied. She could feign ignorance just as well as he could.

“Maybe you were drunker than I imagined. I’m talking about the time we spent together on the Fourth of July. You do remember don’t you? Or would you like me to refresh your memory?” He moved his broad shoulders around. “And you must tell your manicurist to round the tips of your fingernails instead of squaring them off. My back was a bloody mess afterward.”

“After what?” Emily asked, toying with him.

“After we screwed,” Bekim finally said.

Emily frowned. So it is true? She and Bekim did do the nasty. “I don’t remember,” she said. “We’re you any good?”

Bekim groaned. “You do go for the jugular, but I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Emily felt a slight bit of pity for not remembering. “Did I at least enjoy myself?”

“You came a considerable amount of times, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Emily shrugged. She was normally good for a time or two if the man knew what he was doing.

“The bed was quite a mess when I left. And you were sleeping like a baby.”

“How did my bra get on the ceiling fan?” Emily asked.

“You tossed it up there,” Bekim told him. “After you did a little strip tease for me. You have some pretty smooth moves for a Dragon Queen.”

Emily shook her head. She’d have liked to remember, but she couldn’t.

“Would it help if I told you it was one of the most memorable nights of my life?” Bekim asked.

“No,” Emily said. “You don’t have to make me feel better about what happened. I’m a big girl and shouldn’t drink beer to try to socialize with others. I’m sorry that I don’t remember what happened, but I know you won’t speak of it again.” She picked up her reading glasses and put them on, and then she reached for a pad of paper and a pen. “Let’s get down to business. Who else do you want on this team?”

* * * *

Ooh, she is such an infuriating woman, Bekim said to himself as she rattled on about the design team. And why couldn’t she remember their night together? He couldn’t believe anyone could get that drunk on just a couple of beers. He frowned. Maybe she did remember and was just messing with him. He wasn’t bragging but he was built ruggedly enough down below to leave a lasting impression. Emily should have woken up very sore the next morning by the way the two of them went at it. She’d been so tight he’d thought he’d split her when he entered her. He smiled to himself. And talk about wet. Damn, her pussy went off like a gusher, drowning him with her feminine juices each time she came. God, he wasn’t lying about his back. Emily had scratched the shit out of him, and it would be some time before he could be seen without a shirt. This put a cramp in his love life. How was he going to explain the claw marks to another woman without causing a riot? Bekim shuddered at the memory of Emily wrapping those shapely legs around his waist and begging for him to thrust deeper. If that’s how she responded drunk he couldn’t wait to fuck her stone cold sober. Just the thought of her wiggling that fantastic ass at him while she stripped for him set a fire in his loins. Emily Bucktell, AKA Dragon Queen had a cunt designed for loving and he’d tried his best to brand his label inside her.

“Could you at least try to pay attention,” Emily told him.

“Sorry,” Bekim said. “I was designing in my mind. I do that some times.”

“We might have to call Shane for his input,” Emily said. “He’s done a few pieces for Niemeyer’s. We can do a conference call since he can’t come to the office until his legs heal.”

“I’ll set the call up for tomorrow morning,” Bekim said. Shane, she liked. He wondered if she’d slept with him. No, he didn’t think so. Emily hadn’t been a virgin, but she had felt tight from lack of use. “We’ll give him some time to get up and take pain medication and then we’ll drop the bomb on him.”

“He’ll be okay,” Emily said. “The bulk of the designing will rest on your shoulders.”

Bekim’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, sliding it out and looked down at the display. It was a text from his sister Glenda. They were meeting for lunch. He texted her back and put the phone away.

Emily went on speaking like she hadn’t noticed. He knew how much the phone calls irritated her.

“That should be all for today. We’ll meet in the boardroom tomorrow at nine with the rest of the team. Please try to find time in your busy schedule to sketch up a few designs to show us.”

“It’s just my sister Glenda. I’m joining her for lunch,” Bekim explained.

“Not my business,” Emily said, dismissing him.

Bekim rose. What could he do to melt that chunk of ice around Emily’s heart? “I’ll check in with you later,” he said walking through the door. “And it is just a lunch date with my sister. I’m not always draped in models.”

“Whatever,” Emily said. “I just hope we used protection. I wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

Bekim was just about to tell her the truth when Emily’s phone rang. He left out the office to give her privacy. He’d tell her later.