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FINALLY. HER WORK WAS done. Victoria Carstairs sighed heavily as she pressed the button for her floor in the lush Excelsior Hotel, the site of the annual Vegas tech conference her boss insisted on attending. She grimaced and lifted her foot and massaged her arches as she waited for the car to usher her up to the top floor.
Though her room was up in the ether with the rich and famous, she was neither. And though the top floor was speckled with fancy suites, she had a regular boring old room, one designated for the servants of those titans, so they could be close. So their masters never had to wait for service.
Not that she was bitter.
She wasn’t. Not really.
She loved her job working for Mr. Savage—pronounced in the French form if one wanted to avoid a lecture from the owner of the company. As Mr. Savage’s executive assistant, she enjoyed many perks, including exceedingly interesting tasks, parties in the stratosphere (though she attended to oversee the events, not enjoy them) and frequent trips in his personal jet. The only downside was the fact that she had to spend a lot of time with him.
He was a harsh taskmaster, treated her like a medieval serf, and when he didn’t need her, acted as though she did not exist.
Though she could hardly blame him for that. Early on—when she’d been working her way through the ranks—she’d realized that to advance with the company, she needed to play a very specific part. A woman completely dedicated to her job. So dedicated to that work that she could not be bothered to make herself more than a Dowd.
Hence the black horn-rimmed glasses, tight bun and sartorial camouflage. Not a whit of her true self was represented in her bland gray suits and unattractive shoes. She restricted her passion for beautiful things to her private life. Silk chemises, lacy underwear and sexy nightclothes—all kept tightly under wraps.
It made her soul wail a little bit each time she donned her mask, but it was better this way.
She’d seen what could happen to a woman Mr. Savage noticed.
The elevator dinged and the door opened to a long, thickly carpeted hall. Tori nodded to the concierge as she slipped off her shoes and padded barefoot to her room.
It had been a hell of a day. She’d started before six a.m. to set up the conference and had been going nonstop since. Her boss had left at the end of the event—beaming at his success—but Tori had stayed to clean everything up. Now she was exhausted.
Damn.
Resolutely, she willed herself to shake off her malaise. She was in freaking Vegas. Her work was done. It was time for her to enjoy herself, by God. She’d take a nice refreshing bath, dress up—as herself—and go out on the town. She deserved a wild night of fun.
She did.
Of course, when she got into her room and flopped on the bed, she dozed off. Not for long, but when she awoke she was annoyed with herself. This was her only night in Vegas. She should be drinking cocktails, flirting with hot guys and winning millions on the slots.
But all she wanted was to curl up and sleep.
Not that her boss worked her to the bone like his own personal nerdy Cinderella, but she could really use a pumpkin and a fairy godmother about now.
A pity there were no such things. No magical wands. No enchanted shoes. No singing forest creatures.
But she could make her own magic. She would have one thrilling night of excitement and adventure before she packed her bags and returned to her desultory existence.
Determinedly, she made her way to the bathroom and turned the taps.
Tonight was her night.
She would have a wonderful time... or die trying.
She nearly fell asleep in the bath, but when she got out, the cold touch of the air-conditioning snapped her awake. She let down her hair, reveling in the thick curls she’d liberated. She loved the way they cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, but mostly she loved the release of the pinch of the bun. Her life was a pinched existence of late. More and more so each day as her spirit rebelled against the part she played.
Ah, but when she let down her hair... It was as though she had declared her freedom from Mr. Savage. The thought made her smile.
Thusly encouraged, she put on her face. She loved watching the transformation as she added highlights to her lids, thickened her lashes and painted a rich red on her lips.
It was like coming alive again.
And the dress... The dress she’d bought just for tonight. Short and sexy with a flirty skirt, it highlighted the length of her legs, the nip of her waist and the swell of her bosom. It made her feel like a sexy woman.
Oh, she knew she was a sexy woman, but she was so used to playing down her true nature, it felt like an awakening.
She twirled before the mirror and flashed herself a wicked smile.
Yes.
She was ready for whatever fate had in store tonight.
And whatever it was, she would grab it with both hands.
She slipped on her favorite shoes, a pair of heels festooned with blinding rhinestones and, after one last makeup check—or two—she grabbed her clutch and headed for the door, her heart light, anticipation sizzling in her veins.
With a deep breath, she stepped out into the hall, determined to—
Her thoughts scuttled as her gaze locked on a man standing in the hall.
In his underwear.
It took her a moment to realize who it was, because she’d left her glasses off—on purpose—and, of course, because she’d never seen Mr. Savage in his underwear. The sight made her brain fizzle and pop.
She’d always thought he was an insanely handsome man, but she’d never realized how broad his shoulders were, never witnessed the bulge of his biceps, never dreamed his abs were so ripped. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, as though he often relaxed, mostly naked, in a hotel hallway.
And he was, mostly naked. Except for his skivvies—boxers, which she found somewhat fascinating—and socks.
His eyes opened and she was, as always, stunned by that deep and dreamy blue. His lips quirked.
“Well, hello,” he said. There was a thread there in his tone, one she’d never heard before... at least not directed at her. Something pleasant.
And... predatory. In a good way.
She tucked her clutch under her arm, but just to have something to do. Not that he made her skin prickle as he stood there like that, looking far too delicious. “Um... hello.”
He nodded to his door. “I’m locked out.”
“I see that.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Have you told the concierge?”
He blew out a breath. “He’s not there right now.”
“Well, that’s a pity.” She flashed him a smile and turned on her heel. This was her time, after all. “Have a nice night.”
“Wait!”
Tori stopped short. She’d never heard a thread of panic in Mr. Savage’s voice. It was... titillating. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you going to help me?” Aww. He sounded like a little boy, all pouty like that. Too bad she wasn’t on the clock.
“I can let the front desk know you are out here.”
He put out a lip. “Can’t you at least lend me something to wear while I wait?”
She surveyed his person. “You look fine.” He did.
“I’m half-naked.”
“A little more than half,” she suggested.
He set his hands on his hips—which made her lungs lock because his pecs rippled—and affected a glower. “Surely you are not going to leave me here like this?”
“I am. And don’t call me Shirley.”
It was an old joke, but he laughed at it. Whether that was a reflection of his humor or his desperation, she wasn’t sure. “You can lend me your robe at the very least,” he said in a pleading tone.
“I doubt my robe would fit you,” she said.
“Still...” He shot her a piteous look, one that was so out of character for him, it made her blink in surprise. “You must have something that would work.”
She did. As his assistant, she had a key to his room, but she had no inclination of letting him off that easily. Seeing him ill at ease was too tempting an opportunity to pass up.
So she turned back to her room and unlocked the door, though beyond anything she wanted to be on that elevator now, heading out for a night of sin, not rifling around in her suitcase for something her annoying boss could wrap around his dangly bits. But again... she could not pass up this chance to torment him. At least a little. She would give him her robe, wish him well and leave him there in the hall.
In her robe.
She hadn’t expected him to follow her inside, but he did. She whirled on him and gasped. He filled the room with his presence. And he stole all the oxygen, the bastard.
She grabbed her robe and she tossed it to him.
He caught it and stared at it as though she’d just given him an aardvark. He held up the pink bundle of silk and lace, something frothy and luxurious and absolutely, utterly and diametrically opposed to the role she played in her working hours. It hardly reflected the prim and proper executive assistant who never made a mistake. A woman he called the “Ice Princess” or, on occasion, by her proper name, Carstairs. Typically in a bark.
Though when he said it, it was generally with a slight twist of his nose. As though she smelled bad.
She did not.
“What is this?” he asked.
“That, sir, is my robe.”
His lips worked. “I can’t wear this—”
“I think it suits you.”
“What about the one that comes with the room?”
She nearly snorted. “This is a normal room. We don’t get fancy goodies like robes and slippers.”
“I didn’t ask for slippers.”
“Just take it and go. I have plans for tonight.”
“Do you?” He had no right to look so petulant. But at least he did as she bade him, pulling the frilly robe on. It barely fit over his muscular arms and most certainly didn’t close, but it was fun to look at that incredibly manly man dripping with pink lace.
Well, maybe not fun, per se. Because, damn it all anyway, he was still hot.
How was it possible?
He was, without exception, the most aggravating man in existence.
He was hardly the kind of man she wanted, at least in any forever sense. One night might not be bad. In fact, she’d probably fantasized about one night with him. Hard to tell because when his face emerged from the foggy wasteland of her lust, she exiled it.
“Yes,” she hissed. “I am going downstairs to party like a wild woman finally free of her bonds.”
He seemed oblivious to the sarcasm in her tone. “Surely it can’t be that horrendous.”
She leaned closer. “My boss is something of a slave driver.”
He blinked. “That is horrendous. Why do you work for him?”
Tori opened her mouth to respond, but just then, she realized the stunning and exasperating truth of it.
He had no idea who she was.
Did she really look so different with makeup and a pretty dress that he didn’t recognize her? Or was he just that oblivious? Both prospects filled her with a mix of fury and... something else. Something she dared not acknowledge.
The sweet, bitter desire for vengeance though—that she acknowledged.
He didn’t have a clue who she was.
Why not have a little fun?
She crossed her arms, knowing what that did to her cleavage, and indeed, his eyes tracked her movements. “He pays well.”
“Ah.” His Adam’s apple worked. “I see.” He cleared his throat and met her gaze. “I pay better.” A whisper. And it was infused with a seductive timbre. It sent a shiver up her spine. And pissed her off.
Tori sucked in a breath, battling that tangled mix of outrage and lust. “I am not a hooker.”
A red tide crawled up his cheeks. “That’s not what I was suggesting.”
“Really? You have no idea who I am or what I do, yet you are willing to offer me a job? One that doesn’t involve quid pro quo?”
He had the temerity to look outraged. “I am not that kind of man.”
Oh, he was. How many women had left his employ in tears? “It hardly matters. I have no intention of changing jobs.” Sad, but true. It was far too much effort to make such a shift, to start over again, and she’d worked damn hard to get where she was.
“Ah, well. There’s a pity.” He smiled at her. Some charming monstrosity with dimples and sparkling eyes. It was truly horrifying, because it very nearly made her forget everything. Including why it was a terrible idea to tangle with Mr. Savage.
He would chew her up and spit her out.
He would break her heart.
Even worse, if she did as she was so tempted to do, if she seduced him, it would be impossible for them to work together in the future.
It would be a disaster of monumental proportions.
Except... he didn’t recognize her.
The temptation grew, tangled, twined with her resolve, pulling it down, deep into the well of her soul, drowning it. She felt the last gasp of it, felt the sad release of its final breath.
Why not?
Why not toy with him? Just for tonight?
Why not take what she wanted from him, rather than the other way around? How delicious would it be to return to her normal life knowing at least some of his secrets? Especially when he had no idea they’d been together?
The prospect was positively scrumptious.
***
“WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?” he asked, tossing himself into the chair by the window without so much as a how-do-you do.
So like him.
And no! Hell to the no. She was not telling him what she was thinking. Not in a million years. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Your expression is... “
“Is what?”
That provoking smile returned. “Intriguing.”
She huffed. “All right. I was thinking about offering you a drink.”
His brow rose. It annoyed her how perfect it was. “Were you? So you’re going to let me stay until they come unlock my room?”
“I might.” It was important to note that neither of them had suggested calling the front desk, so it might be a while before they came. But she didn’t bother mentioning that tidbit. “Would you like a drink?”
“I very much would. But you know what I would like more?”
The heat in his gaze made her a little wobbly. “What?”
“Spending time with you.”
Ah.
She’d always suspected this. That he was a man of lethal charm. But she’d never experienced it before. If she was to spend the night—or part of it—with him, she needed to remember that this was only a game. Only a tryst. That there could be no expectation of anything more.
He was a heartbreaker incarnate. She knew it for damn sure. She’d sent a garden full of roses to the bleating women he’d dumped. Racked up thousands of points on her company credit card purchasing diamond parting gifts. She’d spent hours attempting to pacify his weeping castoffs.
He destroyed every woman he touched, if she dared remain close for long.
Surely Tori knew better than to succumb. Surely she could enjoy a few hours with this man without paying for it with her soul.
One night would be enough. It had to be.
Before she could talk herself out of this tantalizing insanity, she said, “What’s your poison?”
“Do you have scotch?” he asked.
She didn’t have a full bar, like he did in his suite, but she did have a minibar. After a quick scan, she pulled out a tiny bottle of whisky. “Will this do?”
“Perfect.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke from right behind her; his breath caressed her neck. “Neat?” The word had to be choked out, past the knot in her throat.
“Rocks.” God, his voice was sexy like that, all low and rumbly.
She forced herself to step away. “Shall I go get some ice?” She made the offer because he was wearing a frilly pink robe. Not that she wouldn’t love for him to be caught by one of his business associates in the hall, but she had other fish to fry at the moment. She could humiliate him later, once she’d had her way with him.
“That would be wonderful.”
He watched her as she took the ice bucket to the door. Not that she had eyes in the back of her head, but because she felt his perusal. His heat scored her.
She made her way down the hall quickly, probably because her thoughts were racing furiously as well. On the one hand, she knew better than to continue with this course. On the other, she was blinded by what could be.
When she reached the ice machine and noticed that the concierge had returned to his post, she realized that she was at a crossroads. The decision before her was mind-numbing.
She could, with one sentence, end this now.
Or not.
The concierge nodded to her. “Do you need anything, miss?”
The words locked in her throat. She swallowed them down. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said, and with it, sealed her fate. Such as it was.
Excitement, hot and seething, whipped through her, making her woozy. She was going to seduce the man who had driven her crazy for three years. She was going to take him and enjoy him and use him as rapaciously as he had used her.
And he was going to like it.
Biting back a wicked smile, clutching her bucket and her resolve to her chest, she hurried to her room. She stopped short to find him still lounging in the chair, but holding her Kindle. Well crap. Why hadn’t she thought to hide it? It was full of her secret fantasies and really naughty stories.
He glanced up at her and, shit, the expression on his face was horrifying. His wicked lips quirked. The little hairs on her nape prickled. “You read this stuff?”
“Give that back.” She stormed over and snatched it from his grip. His grin only widened. He’d stop smiling if she dumped the bucket of ice on him, that was for certain, but before she had time for the thought to manifest, he took the bucket from her and set it on the dresser.
“You are a deeply sensual woman.”
“I’m hardly sensual.” She was a nerd, first and foremost. He should know. He paid her to be a nerd.
“I beg to differ.”
“Beg all you want.” Yeah, he was her boss, and they were on a business trip, but this was her room. Her own time. She didn’t feel the need to play the part of his faithful, invisible minion. Not here at any rate. She whirled on him. “Do you want that drink or not?”
He put his hand to his chest and gave a tiny bow. “I am at your mercy, my lady.”
A quote from one of her favorite books, damn it all anyway. She frowned and glanced at her Kindle. “How much of that did you read?”
“Enough.” He picked up a glass and filled it with ice. “Do women really want to be ravaged by Highlanders?”
She screwed off the lid to his whisky and filled his glass. “That depends on the Highlander, I imagine.”
“I suppose so. Still...”
She glared at him. “Still what?”
“You have a lot of books on that thing. I only scanned one. It makes a man wonder...”
“Wonder what?”
He took a sip of his drink and then gestured to her. “Aren’t you having one?”
“Do you often get women drunk to seduce them?”
“Oh. Am I seducing you? I didn’t realize. I thought we were having drinks.”
Her ire flared, mostly because of his nonchalant tone. She hated nonchalant tones. Especially as foreplay. “You and I both know there’s more to this than a few drinks.”
Well hell. She shouldn’t have been so forthright. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. In that instant he went from being a slightly sarcastic visitor with a drink in his hand to a simmering, beguiling beast.
Though, to be fair to him, he’d always been a beast.
He set his glass on the table and stalked her—no other word for it. Never once breaking his hold on her gaze, he crossed the room and yanked her into his arms. “I am glad to hear it,” he said as he lowered his head. And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t a sweet and tender thing—but then, she didn’t want that.
It was hot and questing and blatant.
And good.
She couldn’t stop herself from leaning into him, from encouraging him, from goading him to kiss her more passionately. And he did.
His taste on her tongue, a mixture of whisky and man, was dizzying. The heat of his nearly naked body scorched her. His hands roved, tangled in her wild hair, scudded along her curves, over her pretty frock and down to her flirty skirt.
She shuddered as he reversed his direction and eased up under that skirt.
The feel of his palm, broad and hot, on her ass was scintillating. She held her breath as he traced the band of her panties and then, to her horror and delight, he eased them down. Slowly, so slowly, he brought his hands around to the front and scraped her sensitive flesh with a knuckle.
“What... what are you doing?” she asked, ignoring the wobble in her voice.
He immediately stilled. Pulled back. Met her gaze. “I apologize. I thought this was where we were going.”
The thought of him stopping, when he was so close to heaven—when she was—made her gut clench. “Well yes, but you’re moving pretty quickly.” And she wanted him to suffer. She wanted him to ache.
“I cannot help myself. I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman.”
Oh. That infuriated her. Beyond bearing.
Looks were everything to him. All his women were exquisite and perfect and weak.
She was none of those things, and she knew it.
And he did too, whether he recognized her or not.
Without thought, she pushed him away, hard enough that he fell back onto the bed.
Excellent.
She pounced. “This is my room,” she said to him, bracing herself on the mattress and hovering over him, staring at him through the curtain of her hair. “I will take the lead.”
It was amusing the way his Adam’s Apple worked as he gulped. And then he smiled, though it was nowhere near as confident and cocky as it had been a moment ago. He nodded. “Do your worst.”
Oh. She would.
She leaned back, sitting on his upper thighs, and surveyed him, considering her options.
He was stunning, lying there on her bed, nearly confined by her robe and nearly exposed as his erection pressed against the slit in his boxers.
How she longed to taste it. Tease it.
“Put your hands over your head.” A command.
She was surprised that he complied with such alacrity. She wouldn’t have thought him a submissive sort. But then, some men would submit to anything if they thought there might be sex in the offing.
With a sniff to herself at that, she traced the band of his briefs. He flinched, but only when her finger wandered near the entrancing bulge.
“You are hard,” she said, teasing the tip.
He huffed a laugh, one twined with panic. “Did you expect otherwise?”
She flattened her palms on his perfect belly and scudded them upward, over his pecs. God, he was hard and warm. His skin was like velvet. “Mmm,” she said.
“What’s your name?” The question came out in a croak, as though lust had clogged his throat.
She glowered at him. “No names.”
“No names?”
“We’re just ships, passing in the night.”
“Like barges?”
She smacked him. “Just regular ships.”
“But I don’t know what to call you.”
“Make something up.”
His lips quirked. “Lusitania?”
“Seriously?”
“Andrea Doria?”
“What?”
“Edmund Fitzgerald?”
She wanted so badly to laugh, but she forced her features into a dour expression. “You cannot name me after shipwrecks.”
“Why not?”
“That is hardly a good omen.”
“You’re probably right. How about I just call you Beautiful?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t like that name either.”
“Why?”
“Because I am hardly beautiful.”
“You are very beautiful.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” He pulled her down, onto his chest, and kissed her, probably just to shut her up, it worked.
It did other things too, like raise her blood pressure and make her heart palpitate. God, he was a sexy man. Sexier than any man she’d ever known... when he smiled.
He never smiled at work.
Never.
Not ever.
In three years she’d never seen the like of it.
For some reason, it annoyed her. She shifted up, until she was sitting on his cock. Until he was wedged there, against her tender flesh. He stared at her, and when she began to rock slowly back and forth, his nostrils flared.
She braced her hands on his chest and rode him like a pony, reveling in the scrape of his cock over her clit, reveling in the heat of his body where they connected. She teased him for a while but couldn’t withstand it for long, because she was also teasing herself. But his groans were so delicious, she didn’t want to stop.
He grabbed her hands in a warm cuff, gentle, but not. “Enough of this,” he growled. “I want to fuck you.”
Hell yes. She wanted that too. Her mind was awhirl, her body aflame.
“Wait,” she said on a sigh.
He froze. “What?”
“A condom. We need a condom.” She knew her boss and his profligate ways. This was not happening without protection.
His brow puckered. “Shit. I don’t have one.”
“You don’t?” she asked in a teasing tone.
He huffed a sigh. “I was in my underwear.”
Well, that was true.
She smiled at him. “I have one.”
“Oh, thank God,” he gusted as she scooted off the bed and riffled in her suitcase. It took a minute because, to be honest, it had been a while since she’d needed such an item and she’d forgotten where she’d tucked them.
When she found one, she whirled around and flourished it like a winning Powerball ticket.
“Ah.” His eyes glimmered. “You are a perfect woman, aren’t you?”
“Working on it.” She tossed the condom onto the bedside table and sauntered toward him but he held up one hand, stopping her before she reached the bed.
He flicked a finger at her. “That dress?”
“Yes?”
“It’s adorable.”
“Thank you.”
“Take it off.”
His tone scorched her. His intent did too. She folded her fingers and rocked from side to side like an ingénue. It was a ploy to arouse him. She was hardly an innocent. “Take it off?” A steamy pout.
Apparently he had a thing for ingénues. Or resistance. “Take it off. Now.”
Ooh. She loved the commanding bite of his tone. Maybe because she really wanted to obey. Usually, when he used that tone, she rebelled. Inwardly, at least.
She put out a lip. “But then I’ll be naked.”
His eyes narrowed. “Off.”
With a sigh, she turned her back on him and undid the zipper, but she made it a point to watch his reaction in the mirror. Because it was delicious. He tracked each and every move she made like a feral beast awaiting a banquet.
It was glorious, having his full and complete attention. For once.
The dress fell away, pooling on the floor, and she crossed her arms over her breasts and turned back to him. His attention locked on her panties, a taunting scrap of red lace, and he swallowed. His gaze raked over her bare belly and up to her bra. “Hands to your sides.” His voice was raw.
Slowly, she lowered her arms, revealing the matching bra. She made it a point to caress herself, tentatively, teasingly, and was pleased with his reaction.
His lips parted and he breathed one word. “God.”
She batted her lashes. “You like?”
In response, he lurched off the bed and grabbed her wrist, yanked her hard against him and cradled her face in his palms. “God.” A prayer. And then he kissed her.
It was hard, hungry and raw, a scorching scourge of her lips, an invasion of his tongue.
A madness.
He walked her back to the bed and pressed her down, chest to chest, groin to groin. Everything in her hummed at his nearness. Her nerves awoke and sang. He was glorious and warm and tasted divine. All she wanted was more. More, more, more.
And he gave it to her.
In the flurry of the kiss, his hands roved, finding and cupping her breasts. He grazed her hard nipple with a nail and she groaned as ecstasy danced through her. Then he yanked the lace down and took her with his mouth, sucking, nipping, laving her into a mindless tumult. His other hand skimmed her abdomen, down and down, and she shivered in anticipation as he neared the crux of her thighs, where, at the moment, the entire universe was centered. And throbbing.
When he touched her, softly, reverently, scraping her sanity through the lace, she shuddered.
“Please.” She did not intend to beg, but he was killing her. Killing her with his slow, deliberate and agonizing exploration.
“Oh.” He lifted his head and shot her a wicked smile. “So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”
“Fuck you,” she snapped, digging her nails into his scalp and pulling him back down to her breast.
She felt his smile against her flesh. “I intend to,” he quipped.
God, he was aggravating.
She thrust up her hips and rubbed against his cock. It was hard and full and damp at the tip. “Come on,” she urged.
“Not yet,” he said, shifting downward. “You’re not ready.”
Not ready? What the hell did he know about not ready? She opened her mouth to spit some profanity, but before she could think of one appropriate to the situation, he eased down her panties and placed his mouth on her... and fuck.
The sensation of that velvet warmth, the nuzzling drag on her aching nub, nearly sent her into the stratosphere. Absolute glory flooded her. She reeled with the impact of her orgasm, but only in the most delicious way. When he slid two thick fingers into her, and he touched that spot deep at her core, it took her again.
And oh, he toyed with her, that bastard. Made her come again and again, made her weep, made her writhe and beg. By the time he reached for the condom—with a supremely smug expression on his too-handsome face—she was like a flan, boneless and battered, lying there on the bed barely able to move.
Thank God he left her something, some sprig of energy, because when he levered up and over her and positioned himself at her entrance, she wanted to give as good as she got. She wanted to punish him.
His gaze burned into hers. His breath danced over her cheeks. “Are you ready?” A whisper.
She lifted her knees, dug her fingers into the tight globes of his ass and glared at him, dared him. “Do it.”
And he did.
Not soft and gentle. Not slow. Not careful in the least.
He came in hard and deep, taking her more completely than she’d ever been taken, touching her where she’d never been touched. It was magnificent having him in her, tightening on his cock, making him wheeze with pleasure. She never wanted him to withdraw, but thank heaven he did. Because not only did he sink in again with exquisite precision and attention to detail, he did so repeatedly, pummeling her with a dizzying succession of mind-numbing thrusts.
Glorious.
Each plunge pushed her harder, lifted her higher, forcing her closer and closer to that blazing light she knew so well and craved. Maddened and wild, she scored his back with her nails and then, annoyed that he hadn’t removed the robe, scored his chest as well. She snarled encouragement into his ear, nipped at his delicious neck and strove to drive him crazy by clutching at him with her internal muscles, until he growled.
His speed increased along with his ragged breath. The sound of flesh slapping flesh rounded the room, twined with their frantic cries as, together, they fought, battled, drove to completion.
She knew when his orgasm was nigh. She felt it in the tension of his body, the fullness of his cock, the tenor of his gasps. She was close too. Too close to stave it off.
But then, she didn’t want to. Not really.
When it came, she welcomed it, opened herself to it and him, and succumbed utterly.
It was so sweet, the blossom of that delight. It swelled slowly, rose up and took her ripples of ever increasing intensity. It blinded her, this bliss. Filled her with a sense of well-being and belonging that made her heart tighten and pulsate in her chest.
When it receded, that frenzy, it left her floating on a cloud of supreme contentment.
And him? He collapsed at her side with a sated groan, but he did not cease his nuzzling. As though, like her, he didn’t want this to end.
But it had.
And now that it had, now that her lust had been quenched, now that her lunacy of want had been silenced, sanity returned.
He was who he was. She was who she was.
Nothing could be between them. Not ever.
And this could never happen again. This would be her secret treasure. A memory he could not share. She simply couldn’t allow it.
She stroked his hair, nudging it from his face. “You should go,” she said.
He flinched. “So soon?”
“Mmm. I have plans tonight, remember?” She did. She planned to lock herself in this room and blubber for a while. “You gotta go.”
“But... I was hoping—”
She pulled herself from his embrace and plodded to her dress and pulled it back on, covering herself, shielding herself. Protecting herself. She forced a smile. “But it was fun,” she said in a credible facsimile of a cheerful voice.
“You’re really asking me to leave?” He sat up and raked his fingers through his silky hair. His wounded expression made her ache, but she hardened her heart.
“Yes.” She turned away so she wouldn’t have to see it, walked to the door and opened it. “The concierge is back at his station.”
He stood slowly and made his way across the room, stooping to pick up one of her sparkly heels. “You sure?” he asked, stroking the arch of the shoe with a mournful finger.
In response, she waved toward the hall. “Go.”
“All right,” he said with a glower. “But I’m taking this as a souvenir.” And he removed himself from her room, with her favorite shoe in his hot little hand.
She didn’t even protest. She didn’t have the strength.
She used all she had slamming the door behind him.
***
IT WAS HARD GETTING up the next morning, but she had to.
Still, the alarm on her phone went off three times before she could drag herself out of bed. Every inch ached... but in the most pleasant of ways.
It would be hard facing Mr. Savage today, knowing what she knew now. Knowing that whatever had happened between them, however glorious it had been, wouldn’t happen again.
Couldn’t.
After she showered, she made an effort to make herself look as dowdy as she’d ever been, hiding herself and her true feelings behind that dull gray suit and those thick glasses. And the heinous bun. When she had completed her disguise, she picked up her briefcase and headed down the hall to Mr. Savage’s suite and knocked.
She waited for a while for him to respond, as she usually did. He always made people wait.
She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to tolerate it after last night.
But then lots of things would be difficult to tolerate after last night, she supposed.
And then, when he opened the door and looked at her, a brief dismissive glance, her supposition morphed into a howling certainty.
Yeah. He hadn’t recognized her last night. He had no idea he’d spent a rapturous few hours with his frumpy assistant. In fact, he seemed even colder than usual.
“You’re late,” he clipped, then presented her with his back and returned to the table by the window overlooking the Vegas Strip.
“Sorry,” she said, though it was a lie.
“There’s coffee and pastries.” He nodded to a tray. “Shall we get to work?”
“Yes, sir. But I thought we were leaving today.”
He ceased flipping through the papers on the table and frowned at her. “Something has come up. We’re not leaving today.”
Really? Okay...
“I’ve been offered an opportunity I want to pursue.”
A tiny flame lit in her breast. Could he be talking about... her? Them? Dare she dream?
But then, as she surveyed him, sitting there in his three-piece suit sipping his coffee and re-flicking those poor, abused papers, she had a sudden epiphany.
She didn’t like this man.
Yes, he was physically attractive and wealthy and successful. But more often than not, he was surly, demanding and driven by ambition. He was cold to the core. He had no sense of humor and the personality of a Vulcan in perpetual pon farr.
That was not what she wanted.
Even though she’d seen a side of him last night that she had really enjoyed, one she really wanted to get to know better... there was also this side.
“Carstairs?”
She jerked at his tone as he yanked her from her dark thoughts. “Yes, sir?”
“We have much work to do. Are you ready to begin?”
She was not. “Of course.” She reached down and pulled her pad from her briefcase. If she knew Mr. Savage—and she did—they would be here for a while. Hours. She poised her pen over the paper and waited for him to begin.
But deep in her heart, she mourned.
Mourned what could have been, had he been another man.
Mourned the job she once loved, and realized, only now, when it was too late, that she could never stay in his service.
Mostly she mourned the fact that she had allowed herself to do the one thing she’d sworn she would never do.
Fall for him.
Well, not him. Not the man sitting before her with that icy expression and frigid blue eyes.
Her gaze flicked over his face, taking in the details of his beauty. Even the scar over his right eyebrow somehow made him even more—
Her heart stalled. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. He’d had that scar last night, hadn’t he?
Of course he had. He had to have. But when she envisioned his face as he took her, when she remembered his cries and his sighs... she couldn’t see it there.
How...?
“Is that coffee? I’m parched.”
Tori dropped her pen on the carpet but didn’t bother to pick it up.
She was far too stunned. She stared at the man who had just emerged from the bathroom. He was dressed in baggy sweats and nothing more, except for a towel looped around his neck. His hair was wet and wild and his body stole her breath.
And he was the spitting image of her boss.
He caught sight of her and grinned. Dimples blossomed. “Well, hello, beautiful,” he cooed.
Her jaw dropped. Her gaze raced from this man to Mr. Savage and back. Her mind spun.
Mr. Savage waved in the general direction of the interloper. “Carstairs, this is my brother Max. We’ll be working with him for the next several months. You especially.”
“Me?” A squeak.
Max grinned. And damn.
She knew in an instant, he was the one she’d invited into her room last night. He was her wild stallion.
And he wasn’t her boss.
Excellent.
Most excellent indeed.
She couldn’t hold back her wicked smile. Her heart fluttered when he returned it.
And then, he winked.