9

BROOKE WAS ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING SHE considered wicked and reckless. Something she had vowed never to do—which is exactly why she snuck into the storage room with a wicked smile on her face.

Her pulse hammering throughout her veins, she turned on the light illuminating the stacks of boxes and office furniture that blocked her path toward the back. Moments later, she stood before the black cylindrical door that was built way back when to keep out even the faintest sliver of light. Now would be the time for that inner voice of reason to come out and tell her that this was wrong.

But she couldn’t hear it. She didn’t want to. Hell, Roger was probably already in that darkroom waiting for her with his clothes undone. With a steadying breath, Brooke flattened her hands against the cold metal cylinder.

Do this.

The door began to rotate on its narrow track, creating a low, hollowed sound. When the chamber opened, she stepped inside. As she rotated it closed with one hand, she opened the buttons of her blouse with the other. Now she was in the pitch-black abyss that was the darkroom. Brooke stepped out of her capsule, feeling much like a heroine in one of those sci-fi movies exploring strange new worlds with unimaginable bravery.

“Roger?” she whispered. Nothing.

Since he wasn’t there yet, she felt around the wall and located the light switch. She flipped it on only long enough to get an idea of her surroundings. The film-developing equipment was still arranged the way it had always been, relatively undisturbed since the darkroom had been decommissioned, but various things had been piled around it, like some outdated fax machines, some old waiting-room chairs, and a shelf stacked with boxes of forgotten computer cables and keyboards.

The smell of sex was gone at least, replaced by a bottled-up odor of old plastic. With the room memorized, she turned off the light and kicked off her shoes. As she ripped the elastic band from her low pony-tail, voices began to reverberate through the walls from the conference room on the other side.

Damn! One of the other account specialists had brought in a client. She heard the click of the conference room door and identified Regina Sandusky’s voice as she offered them coffee, water, or anything from the soda machine. Brooke was horrified by the sound quality, knowing that if she and Roger so much as grazed against anything, it would be heard on the other side of the wall.

But somehow, the danger only heightened her excitement. Flipping her hair upside-down, she knotted it on top of her head where it would stay out of the way. In a hurry to disrobe before she changed her mind, Brooke pulled down her skirt and finished unbuttoning her blouse.

The revolving door began to turn, sending shockwaves of excitement throughout her body. More than five minutes had passed since they’d made this deal, and now Brooke stood in her bra and panties unable to wait any longer. She touched the door and felt it move beneath her hands. Once the opening came around, she reached in, grabbed Roger’s shirtfront, and pulled him against her.

In a frantic bid to keep him quiet, she covered his mouth with hers until he could figure out the situation for himself. While the conference room voices hummed around them, his lips opened. Their tongues met for the first time. Brooke felt an immediate, overwhelming connection, one that had remained untested between them for days now. The kiss built with scorching intensity, her sigh of pleasure whisper-soft. The fact that there was a meeting going on right beside them ramped up the naughty factor and made the game that much more exciting.

Her sense of daring soared out of control. While her hands explored his chest, his traveled up her bare arms, clamped around her shoulders, and yanked her against his lean, hard body. With trembling fingers, she loosened the first button of his shirt and then another. While she worked on getting his clothes off, his fingers hooked her bra straps and slid them down her arms, exposing her breasts to the chilly air. Her nipples instantly hardened, coming alive with a tingly yearning to be touched.

She ripped her mouth away with a gasp. He softly shushed her, kissed her neck and shoulders as he cupped both her breasts in his large, warm hands. She arched into him, finally able to tear the shirt from his shoulders. Before she could do more, he grabbed her hands and forced them behind her back. The heat was so encompassing, all that mattered was the pulsing need between her legs. She needed him to enter her, needed him to fill her up, needed him to quench the fire until it no longer consumed her.

While they sipped from each other’s mouths, she stepped backward, her bare feet moving along the cold floor until she bumped into one of the old cushioned chairs behind her. Thrown off balance, she fell back into it, making a bumpy noise in the process.

The voices next door stopped for a second. Someone asked what that was. Brooke waited, her breath suspended as the juices flowed from her aching body.

Despite the danger, Roger’s clothes continued to rustle with movement as he removed them. Apparently, he would not be deterred in his quest to have her. Commanding herself to breathe, she waited for him, knowing that she was about to get laid for the first time in a long while.

By a man other than Brandon. And at work.

His zipper made a painfully loud noise. Her tongue skimmed her lower lip in anticipation. Then something unexpected happened.

In one smooth move, Brooke was lifted out of the chair and spun around. He forced her back down into the cushion, only on her knees this time. Bent over, she rested her cheek against the back of the chair, keenly aware that the mood had changed from sweet and cautious to something much more frantic. She heard a tearing noise and knew he was arming himself with protection at that very moment. His mouth came down and left an erotic trail of nips and kisses along her shoulders and back. All the while, he fondled her breasts, kneading them at first and then rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She buried her gasps against the musty fabric of the chair.

Never before had she been handled this way. Brandon’s gentle touch and dry kisses had always failed to elicit that ever-elusive climax. As a result, he’d accused her of being rigid and cold.

Or perhaps the asshole just hadn’t known how to please a woman. As Brooke thought of that, she smiled. Here was living proof that, in the hands of the right man, she was far from cold. In fact when Roger sank his teeth into her right ass cheek, Brooke came alive with a mixture of surprise, pain, and fascination. Had he really just bitten her? And was it an accident that her body fairly gushed with heat in response?

While his hands moved from her breasts to the apex of her thighs, he bit her again—not too hard, not too soft—delivering a heady contrast of pain and pleasure as his fingers delved beneath her panties at the same time. She parted for him and arched her back, struggling not to make noise. God, he was torturing her, daring her to cry out and alert a whole bunch of people in the other room. He was incorrigible. He was fighting dirty.

And she loved it.

With one knee, he pushed her legs farther apart. Then he reached down and moved the crotch of her soaking wet panties aside. His fingers parted her exposed folds and found all the places that begged for his touch. As he slid them in and out of her, swirling his rough fingertips in circles around her clit, Brooke fought the need to scream out her pleasure. In response, he bent down and took a huge portion of her ass in his mouth. Oh, yes, the message was clear. He’d bite her again, harder this time if she didn’t keep quiet. The anticipation—the unbearable pleasure—built until her body was singing with the need to explode.

Roger stood up and replaced his fingers with the firm tip of his erection. Brooke tensed and waited.

When he entered her, it was hard and fast. She threw her head back, her hands balled into fists before her. His fingers dug into her skin as he stilled for a moment. Then he pulled out and drove into her again. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. He held her firmly at the waist, forcing her to meet each thrust with equal momentum. What had begun as painful slowly morphed into a torturous kind of pleasure as her body stretched to accommodate him. Then she began to notice his many techniques, the way his cock skimmed along her folds as his fingers had done before.

A burst of laughter came from the neighboring room, reminding them that the workday carried on around them while he fucked the living daylights out of her in secrecy. The reminder took her pleasure to a whole different, foreign level. It must have had the same effect on Roger because he gripped her shoulders and pulled on them so that she arched backward, giving him full access to what felt like the depths of her soul.

Sweet God in heaven, the desire to tear into him the way he was tearing into her was almost too much. The fact that she couldn’t heightened the need. All her untapped desires melted together until her body began to convulse around him. As her inner walls tightened, pleasure burst outward and enveloped her in the sweetest, most sensational pool of pleasure she had ever felt. He cupped her jaw, twisted her around, and shushed her cries with his mouth as he continued to pound into her from behind. Finally, he tensed, slowed, and then let loose with a violent tremor that told her he was coming too. When it was over, he continued to move inside her, his breath mingling with her own as he slowly brought them both back down to earth.

Never before had Brooke felt anything like it. She had tried so hard to come for Brandon, but she’d also heard that many women couldn’t have orgasms so she’d assumed that she was one of them. That sense of failure had stayed with her since he had left and saddled her with the belief that she’d been the problem.

Now Brooke actually found herself in a state of post-coital bliss. Did Roger feel as good as she did at that very moment? As she wondered about it, he lifted his body off of her and pulled out. As she gingerly exited the chair, there was a rustling of clothes and the pull of a zipper. Still shaky and weak-kneed, Brooke felt around until she found the roll of paper towels she’d seen earlier. She tore off a few and started to dry the moisture between her legs. Before she had a chance to even begin dressing, the revolving door whispered with movement.

Was he really leaving? Already? Not even a tender touch or a parting kiss to say goodbye? Then she remembered the conference going on next door. Perhaps Roger wasn’t as turned on by the danger of being overheard as she’d originally thought. Of course, he’d want to leave ahead of her since they couldn’t exactly be seen leaving together.

Yes, she’d catch up with him later and tell him just how wonderful he’d made her feel. Perhaps she’d even suggest doing it again someday.

ETHAN SQUASHED THE URGE TO RUN TO THE men’s room and wash the scent of woman from his fingers. Though he’d just quite possibly had the most pleasurable sexual encounter of his life, he was terrified by the fact that it had been with Shannon. Because instead of “getting it over with,” he’d just dipped his toe into something he’d only want more of.

Shit.

Regrets. Silence. Bathed in the white light of the men’s room, Ethan leaned against the sink with both palms and let the water run while he waited for the inevitable dread to come crashing through. He’d just fucked his sister’s best friend, something he said he’d never do. Besides that, Shannon was an enigma, a complication he couldn’t afford. So why had he done it?

Because he’d let his anger for Brooke get the best of him. Over a year of abstinence didn’t exactly work in his favor either, and there was a cute, curvy blonde in the stairwell, offering herself up at his greatest time of need.

I’m here for you, Ethan, she’d said. Waiting, wanting, and ready to take it from behind.

Good God. After the way they’d left things at the bar, Ethan had expected some sort of retaliation, but she’d actually come through for him. She’d actually met him in the darkroom like she said she would.

And the sex…holy shit! She’d all but attacked him straight out of the rolling doorway, her need for him dissolving every ounce of common sense he possessed. In all his thirty-two years, he’d never felt a connection of that magnitude. Not with the groupies, or the short-term relationships, not even with the girlfriend of four years. How could two people—as fucked up as they were—find an impossible rhythm like that?

When Ethan finally faced his reflection in the mirror, his brow relaxed. The regrets he expected to see weren’t there, only the less-harried face of a man who’d just ended a long drought. A sense of calm came over him, one that told him to lighten up. So what if he’d enjoyed being with Shannon? When it was all said and done, she was his friend, and he should be grateful she’d been there for him.

He reached for the jacket and tie he’d flung over a stall door and began to put himself back together.

Good mood restored, Ethan walked past the reception area with his hands in his pockets and a whistle on his lips. Letreece gave him an instant smile that said she liked what she saw.

“Why, Mr. Wolf, you look much better than the last time I saw you.”

He returned her smile with a wink. “Why, I feel much better, Letreece, thank you.” Then he decided to stop and talk for a while, give himself another few minutes to regroup.

While they chatted, Brooke showed up from seemingly nowhere. Ethan—still riding that sexual high—was hunkered over the reception desk, perfectly at ease when their eyes met.

Damn if the woman didn’t look different. Her luminescence practically shined brighter than the sign behind the reception desk. If he didn’t know the reason for it, he’d swear that it was afterglow.

With emery board in hand, Letreece sat back and gaped. “Why, Miss Monroe, you look much better than…well…ever.”

Brooke stopped in her tracks, looked down at her clothing as if she were afraid something was out of place. When she realized Letreece had paid her a genuine compliment, she cleared her throat and smiled back. “Oh, thanks.”

What? No gloating over her latest victory? Not even a hint in her tone or in the brief look she bestowed on him in passing? With a furrowed brow, he watched her sachet down the hall toward the administrative department.

“Was her top button undone?” Letreece asked, her eyes following the same woman.

Ethan remembered seeing it open when he’d confronted her in the break room. Despite how angry he’d been, he’d still noticed a hint of creamy cleavage peaking out from underneath. He shifted from hip to hip, uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Yup.”

“And I think her hair is a bit messier than usual,” Letreece added. “Now why would that be, I wonder?”

Ethan envisioned her jumping for joy in the parking lot. His look turned droll. “Because sticking it to me really agrees with her.”

When he pushed off the desk to leave, he caught sight of Letreece’s intense gaze boring a hole right through him. She slowly smiled as if she were privy to some kind of secret.

Ethan stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“Nothing.” The emery board scratched across the tips of her glossy red talons. “I’m just glad to see you two so…agreeable.”

Her tone dripped with a suggestive nature that he didn’t like. Ethan pointed a finger. “Don’t even go there.” Because if he was right about Brooke leaking information, it was as good as wiping any attraction he’d ever had for her clean away. “By the way, did you see Shannon come through here yet?”

“A while ago,” Letreece answered, her smile fading into a pout. “She was acting weird too, all puffed up and satisfied with herself.”

I’ll bet she was. The woman had every right to be satisfied with herself. With his optimistic side in check, Ethan gave Letreece a wave of gratitude and left the reception area.

He finally ran into Shannon around two o’clock on his way back from the fax machine. Her office door had been closed for the most part, but when she emerged, it was with an armful of files and a fresh coat of lip gloss. Four feet from his desk, they faced each other for the first time since the darkroom.

Brooke was away from her desk, so they had room for some low-spoken words. “Have a drink with me after work,” he murmured. “We should talk about what happened.”

As the afternoon sun filtered through her shaggy mane, Shannon’s brow went up. “Will I be safe with you, Mr. Wolf?”

Ethan glanced away with a suppressed smile. “That remains to be seen.”

“Then I’ll have to decline your offer.”

When she attempted to pass him, he blocked her path. Damned if he’d let her play hard to get now. “How well do you know me, Shannon?”

She looked down at his hand on the sleeve of her satin crepe blouse. “I used to know you quite well. A lot has changed since then.”

Why did he get the feeling she was afraid of him? “Yes, it has,” he agreed with a softer tone. “Despite that, we’ve been friends for a long time. Don’t make it awkward now.”

When her gaze returned to his, it was still a bit closed off. “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

This was not how he’d expected things to play out. As he thought this, he noticed Brooke heading back toward her desk with that same afterglow on her cheeks. Damn. If her good mood hadn’t been acquired at his expense, he’d be tickled by it.

“Come on,” he said, nudging Shannon backward. “In your office.”

“But I—”

“You can do that later.”

Once behind closed doors, he was finally able to think straight. Shannon backed up against her desk but refused to relinquish her armload of files. “So why do I get the feeling you’re avoiding the subject,” he said with his hands on his hips.

She shrugged. “If you tell me what the subject is, I’ll follow along better.”

“Don’t play coy with me. What happened in that darkroom deserves a little recognition, don’t you think?”

Her laugh came out a bit smokier than usual. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

What the hell? Since he’d known her, Shannon had never been shy about the subject of sex. Something was off. He’d sensed it during his private reverie in the restroom, but figured it was all part of the shock and awe. His look narrowed. “The darkroom. You suggested we meet there, remember?”

A gleam of recognition entered her eyes. “Oh…yeah. About that.”

Just then her phone rang. In no mood to wait, he dove for it as she moved toward the handset. “Let voicemail get it,” he snapped. “Talk to me.”

Her slender face masked over with disbelief as she pulled her hand out from beneath his. “Jeez, Ethan, I’m sorry if you’re pissed, but a girl has a right to change her mind.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Hugging the files closer to her chest, an air of faux innocence surrounded her. “Maybe I decided you were right about us after all. Why should we complicate things with sex when there are plenty of others out there willing to play?”

A sense of dread unfurled within him, swallowing him whole in the time it took to flinch. His gaze moved over her clothing, desperately searching for clues that they’d been shed once already that day. “Tell me this change of heart came after the darkroom,” he said with deathly calm, “because if you’re saying you never showed up, we’re dealing with more than just a simple misunderstanding.”

But he didn’t need her to voice it when the truth was in her eyes. The threat she’d made at the bar siphoned through his brain.

Fuck you, Ethan. Some day you’ll come crawling to me and I’ll treat you like an asshole. See how you like it!

She’d set him up. For the love of God, how could he have not known whom he was having sex with?

Locked in a trance, Ethan ran a hand through his hair and backed away from her. The need to commit violence was roiling below the flow of memories that plagued him. Whispered moans, warm curves that felt like silk, a hint of lavender as he ran his tongue over those curves, downward, and between parted legs, an insane need to join while voices surrounded them, a torturous mixture of agony and delight when he’d first slipped inside.

“Shannon,” he whispered, his eyes glazed over with alarm. “Who the hell was I with?”

When the awkward silence finally registered, he noticed that Shannon was experiencing her own jolt of disbelief. The woman slowly put down the folders, covered her mouth with a slender hand. “No way,” she whispered back. “You actually had sex in there, didn’t you?”

Ethan noted the genuine dismay in her countenance, but she definitely knew more than he did. After all, what were the odds that another woman would be waiting for him in the darkroom at the same exact time? In measured degrees, his anger boiled to the surface despite the voice in his head that told him to cool down. “Who was she?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Who did you set me up with?”

“I didn’t set you up.” Her voice wobbled a bit like a child fearful of punishment. “All I did was….” A burst of insane laughter broke from her chest. “I can’t believe this. How could you mistake her for me?”

“Who?” When his outburst forced her to back away, Ethan relaxed his fists and took a moment. Then another flash of reality hit, burning the truth into the back of his eyes like a hot poker. It was the picture of Brooke emerging from nowhere with messy hair and a suspicious afterglow.

I’m just glad to see you two so…agreeable.

Yes, Letreece definitely believed they’d had sex together. Why wouldn’t she? Now that the pieces were fitting into place, Ethan realized Brooke’s afterglow wasn’t suspicious at all. It mirrored his own, from his improved mood to his flushed face.

“No!” It came out a desperate sort of roar as he mentally made the comparisons between Shannon’s slender form and Brooke’s. They had a similar-enough shape, especially in the pitch dark. Shannon’s breasts were a little bigger. Brooke was a little taller. Their hair was completely different, but it had been tied up, and the room was totally dark. Then he realized that there had been no perfume or lip gloss to distract him from the natural scent and textures of woman.

And Brooke didn’t wear any of those things.

“She was there to meet Roger,” Shannon offered from a safer place behind her desk. “I heard them making plans and I—I stopped him before he could go. Ethan, I never thought you would—”

“Shut up!” Ethan snarled. He had to think, figure out what to do. He had to get out of there before he killed her. On his way to the door, he turned and pointed. “I advise you to steer very clear of me, Shannon. Do you understand?”

When she didn’t answer right away, he sent her a look that forced a reaction. Her eyes welled up and she nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

Later, Ethan found it impossible to focus with Brooke’s happy humming floating through the air. Knowing just how much he’d contributed to her happiness forced him to relive every moment of that darkroom tryst. She was the one he’d screwed. She was the one he’d tasted. She was the one who’d gasped when he bit her.

And she’d loved every moment of it.

But he was supposed to have been Roger. The whole thing was so fucked up, Ethan couldn’t get past it enough to even pick up the phone. How could Brooke have confused him with Roger? They may be similar in height and size, but Ethan was in way better shape. Roger couldn’t find a muscle beneath that doughboy exterior, let alone flex it.

But as much as he wanted to hate her for it, Ethan knew that Brooke had been just as duped as he’d been. She’d ignored obvious clues, just as he’d done. The only difference between them was that he was painfully aware and she was still living in blissful ignorance.

But what really messed with his head was that he wanted her again. Despite the attitude, despite the lies, despite his suspicions of her…his dick responded with every relived moment they’d spent together.

“Hey, Brooke, you have a moment?”

That was Roger’s voice. Just as Ethan registered what could be happening, Bill Knight showed up at his desk with a confrontational look.

“Ethan.” Their lead illustrator threw a stiff, puny shadow. “We need to talk.”

Ethan strained to hear the conversation next door.

“You can tell your Romcore client to kiss my ass.”

“Huh?” he responded with divided interest.

“My time is not a bargaining chip. If Ken expects me to do his cover art for free in order to keep his business, I’ll take my talent elsewhere.”

It was the same song Ethan had heard before, and Bill’s complaints couldn’t have come at a worse time. Just as the man dropped his little bomb, Roger left. Frustrated and angry, Ethan shot from his chair, making Bill jump backward. He leaned in with a snarl. “I’ll look into it,” was all he said before storming toward the break room.

“And don’t throw that commission business in my face,” Bill yelled after him. “If you can’t keep a client, it’s hardly my fault!”

Since Bill was salaried, Master Ink owned the work he produced for them, not the other way around; therefore, Ethan couldn’t give two shits if Ken decided to give his work away for free. Let Bill quit. There was other secret-weapon-caliber talent out there that would welcome Ken’s fat paycheck.

Face to face with the vending machine, Ethan wanted to kick it. The few bits of conversation he’d picked up between Brooke and Roger revealed little, but it was probably better that way. If he could just take back the entire day…forget all about it…maybe he could enjoy a little blissful ignorance too.

An irritating blade of guilt wedged its way into his soul. He fought it back, told himself Brooke didn’t need to know. Leave it up to fate. If she was meant to go on thinking she’d just experienced a beautiful thing, then he was perfectly willing to let her. Because if he had his way, she’d never find out it wasn’t.