Part 10 (1/2)
I almost ask if she was listening when I described the whole phone-s.e.x-in-the-limo thing, but I wisely keep my mouth shut.
”And honestly, I don't think you're just a notch. I think he really likes you.”
I raise a brow. ”And you base this on your extensive knowledge of the man gleaned from five minutes on the Internet?”
”I gleaned it from what you told me,” she says. ”He wanted your opinion on a painting. He got all alpha male on Ollie's a.s.s. He made you come, for Christ's sake. And let's not forget the foot ma.s.sage. Holy c.r.a.p, girl, I'd totally f.u.c.k a guy who gave me a foot ma.s.sage. h.e.l.l, I'd probably marry him.”
I can't help but smile. Sadly, Jamie probably isn't exaggerating.
”Not every guy is an a.s.shole like Kurt,” she says, and for Jamie her voice is surprisingly gentle. ”You can't keep pretending you're wearing a d.a.m.n chast.i.ty belt.”
I cringe. ”Just drop it. Please.”
She looks at me, then bites out a sharp, ”Dammit.” She draws in a breath. Her eyes are sad, and I can see that she knows she's gone too far.
She stands up and moves to the fireplace. Since a fireplace in the San Fernando Valley is an absolutely idiotic concept, Jamie has converted it to a bar. Bottles instead of logs. Gla.s.ses on the mantel. She grabs the bottle of k.n.o.b Creek. ”Want some?”
I do, but I shake my head. I've had enough of alcohol for the night. ”I'm tired,” I say, pus.h.i.+ng myself up off the sofa.
”I'm really sorry. You know I wouldn't-”
”I know,” I say. ”And it's really okay. I just need sleep.”
A sly smile touches her mouth, and I know that we're okay again. ”I guess so. You have a meeting tomorrow, don't you? And who's that meeting with, exactly?”
”Give it a rest, Jamie,” I say, but I grin as I head toward my bedroom. She's right. I do have a big meeting. With Stark. In his offices. With my boss standing right there with the two of us.
I think back over the events of the evening.
I dwell on the panties I left in the limo.
And as I collapse facedown on my bed, only one thought goes through my mind: What the h.e.l.l have I done?
10.
My arms are stretched above my head, my wrists bound by something smooth but firm. My naked body is stretched out on cool silk. I cannot move my legs.
My eyes are closed, and yet I know what binds me. A red ribbon twined around my wrists. Wrapped tight around my ankles. I struggle, but there's nowhere to go, and I don't really want to escape anyway.
Something cool brushes my erect nipple, and I arch up in surprise and pleasure.
”Hush.” His voice seems to brush over me like a caress.
”Please,” I whisper.
He doesn't answer, but once again I'm sweetly a.s.saulted by a burst of cold. This time, he doesn't pull away. It's an ice cube, and he traces it over my nipple, down the swell of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I feel the trickle of water down my cleavage as the ice melts. He traces patterns on me with the melting ice, his hands never touching me, just the cold hardness that's melting against my skin.
”Please,” I whisper again. I arch up, wanting more, but am stopped by my bindings.
”You're mine,” he says.
I open my eyes, needing to see his face, but everything around me is gray and out of focus. I am lost in an imagined world.
I am the girl in the painting. Aroused and on display for all the world to see.
”Mine,” he repeats, his body a blurred gray shape above me.
His hands on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are calloused and strong, yet so tender I want to cry. He eases them down, touching every inch of me, tracing my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my rib cage, my belly. I tense as he approaches my pubis, suddenly afraid, but his hands lift and settle again on the outside of my thighs. I am in heaven from his touch. Lost. Floating. Dancing in a haze of pleasure.
But then his hands s.h.i.+ft. He takes my knees and gently forces my legs apart. And slowly, so slowly, he glides his palms up my inner thighs.
I tense, and it's no longer a pleasurable dance but a frightening maelstrom. I try to pull away, but I'm trapped, and he's coming closer to my secrets. To my scars.
I struggle more. I have to get away, and warning bells are ringing, echoing through the room like red-hot klaxons- Away, Away, Away, ”-awake?”
I'm jolted out of my dream by the sound of Jamie's voice. ”What? I'm sorry, what?”
On the nightstand beside me, my phone is screeching. Outside my doorway, Jamie is shouting.
”I said, 'Are you awake?' Because if you are, you need to answer your d.a.m.n phone.”
Frazzled, I reach for it, and see Carl's name on the display. I s.n.a.t.c.h it up, but the call's already rolled over to voice mail.
With a groan, I slide my legs off the bed and stretch, then glance at the phone again to check the time. Six-f.u.c.king-thirty.
Seriously? I mean, is the sun even up yet?
I'm about to call him back when the phone rings yet again, and Carl's name flashes like neon.
”I'm here,” I say. ”I was just about to call you back.”
”Jesus Christ, Fairchild. Where've you been?”
”It's practically dawn. I was in bed.”
”Well, get down here. We've got a s.h.i.+tload of work to do. I can't get the f.u.c.king PowerPoint to work right, and we need to print out PDFs of the specs and get the proposal packages bound for Stark and his staff. I need you on it, p.r.o.nto. Unless you already signed him to the deal last night? Or was there a nonbusiness purpose for his late night phone call to you?” There's a lascivious tone to the last that I really don't appreciate, but at least now I know how Damien got my phone number and my address.
”He called to make sure I got home okay,” I lie. ”But next time I'd appreciate it if you didn't give out my cell number without asking me first.”
”Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Get dressed and get down here. We'll go from our office to Stark's at one-thirty.”
I frown, because C-Squared occupies one corner of the eighteenth floor of the Logan Bank Building, and Stark Tower is right next door. In fact, the two buildings share a courtyard and an underground parking garage. ”Isn't the meeting at two?” A snail could make the trek in thirty minutes. We should be able to manage it in five.
”I'm not leaving anything to chance,” Carl says.
I know better than to argue. ”I'll be there in an hour. Tops.”