Controlled Response

Of course, she couldn't ignore the voice in her head suggesting that, after the mother of all hot fudge sundaes, it might be difficult to convince herself she would eat salads for the rest of her life.

His door was open. As she stepped in, pushing the disturbing thought away, she saw he was on a call, wearing a headset. He waved her in without glancing directly at her, giving her the chance to look at the man and his office unexamined. She took the brief reprieve as a gift.

Same gray suit today. Silver cuff links, white dress shirt beneath. His tie was black with a thin blue stripe through it. He hadn't yet tied it, but there was a tie pin, which appeared to be a silver bicycle. Likely a gift from a young family member, she thought.

Corner office with lots of windows, of course. The early morning sun was turning the sky rose and gold on the Mississippi, outlining downtown Baton Rouge in a soft, midmorning light she particularly liked, more than the more urban-looking afternoon sunlight, which somehow always reminded her of the pollution and other things stirred up during a city's daily bustlings.

He had the bike she remembered on tracks, perhaps for workouts when he couldn't get free of the office. A large rock fountain in one corner gurgled and splashed water over smooth stones in a pleasing display. She walked the perimeter, indulging in a slow, casual perusal out the windows that took her behind his desk, between his chair and credenza. Sleek flat-top monitor, keyboard tray neatly tucked beneath. He apparently liked those silver puzzle things. They were scattered over his desk, a lot of them the metal bicycles that could roll from one track to the other to prove some law of physics. A family photo. Parents, she could tell. A sister with a feminine version of Lucas's good looks.

The office was very sparse, but it didn't feel impersonal. The fountain, bike, and picture were carefully chosen. He didn't collect or display carelessly. There was a sofa, chair, and coffee table arrangement, minifridge and microwave. Printouts scattered across the table suggested it had been a late night for him. Had he gone home, or was that closet she spotted holding extra clothes?

While he was on the phone, she had an advantage. He was apparently just going over a point of tax law with one of his offshore counterparts. He'd turned slightly toward her and was now taking a more thorough look. In a moment of abandon, the same feeling that had gripped her when she chose the clothing, she stepped into the narrow opening between him and the desk, took a seat on his knee, and began to tie his tie for him, sliding the silk strips through her fingers.

It was worth the surprise on his face, even as it was a tremendous effort to keep her expression casually amused, while she performed what she realized quickly was a very domestic task. Something Savannah might do for Matt in the morning.

She tied the tie, straightening his collar to adjust the accessory beneath it, so when she folded it back down, her nails were grazing his hair, the curves of his ears. She had no idea what he was saying to the offshore manager, because all she could think about was the taut muscle in his thigh, beneath her bottom. His fingers grazed her back, as if he intended a grip to keep her there. While she didn't look into his face, she felt his regard as if he were branding her flesh, making it his.

A quick tightening, an adjustment of the pin, and she was done, demonstrating she was as efficient with a tie as he was with a corset, a quid pro quo. Keeping control of herself, she rose and moved out of his reach, passing behind his chair. But as she did, she let her hand slide along the top, brushing his shoulders and across his neck with her long fingernails, raking lightly. He turned to follow her direction, but she pretended to ignore him, already moving on to look at the wall art. Black-and-white photos, a cyclists perspective of the environment in which he trained. Speed, blurring techniques, but also nature scenes, a bike poised on the edge of a canyon, as if the rider were contemplating making that leap, being limited by nothing, like the Bob Seger song title scrawled across the bottom in someone's handwriting.

Roll me away . . .

She didn't find evidence of a limousine liberal here. He obviously liked having the money to play, liked to work hard for that money, and so didn't have guilt over the having of it.

He also gave generously to others. After she'd checked homework, gotten everyone fed and tucked in, Nate fast asleep with stories of adventurous bears, she'd done some more searching and confirmed what she'd already heard about them. The K&A team were well known both for their corporate and individual giving. In fact, rumor was that they ran bets among themselves all the time for the most peculiar things, and whoever won got to donate the proceeds to the charity of his choice.

She passed his weight training set, then reached the closet. As she opened the door, she knew she was in his line of sight, but she continued to ignore him.

Several suits, which meant he could have been here all night. A four-drawer unit built into the closet was likely for toiletries, socks, underwear. What kind did he wear, and did she really dare to look, with him watching her? Her lips curved, satisfied, as she heard him correct himself on a fairly straightforward calculation. How do you like having your focus disrupted, Lucas?

But as she reached out and fingered the suit, discarding the gauche, prurient idea of checking out his underwear preference, she did move a couple steps forward so she could inhale the cologne-and-Lucas smell that lingered on his clothes. It wafted over her like a caress all its own that tingled along her nerve endings.

Her father had worn a suit to work, she remembered, before he'd disintegrated into a worthless drunk. She recalled how she'd seen her mother and father in the kitchen one night, right after he got home. Her mother had run her hands beneath the coat to link them around his waist, pressing her face into his shirt. He'd teasingly enclosed her in the extra folds of the coat before nudging her head up for a kiss. They'd been so young. She'd been so young. It was one of the few good memories she had of them. It made her wonder what it would be like to do that with Lucas. Slide into his embrace, be surrounded by the comforting smell of broadcloth and aftershave, all the trappings of a businessman in charge of his destiny, at the top of a castle with thirty-nine floors.

She suppressed the urge to bury her face in the suits, hug them to her like some cliche movie heroine, but of course, every woman she'd ever known had that impulse, to smell her man's clothes, wear his shirt. The man she loved. Or was falling in love with.

It was a cold shower reminder she was playing a dangerous game, because her heart was involved in this, ridiculously more than it should be. Play games for a couple days she could do, but she couldn't go places like that. Too many competing responsibilities.

Closing the door with a snap on that nonsense, she moved on to the fountain, delighted to find koi with long white and orange whiskers. Three of them, swimming lazily over shells and rocks that might have come from a variety of his travels. At the bottom, a small metal treasure chest opened and closed, revealing plastic pearls, uncut gems, and gold doubloons that spilled out on the skeleton lying beneath the weight of the trunk. She wondered if that was to remind him money wasn't everything.

As she leaned over to take a closer look at the fish, she knew the tight skirt would be inching up, up until he glimpsed the lace at the top of her thigh-high, the strain of the fabric over her hips. Settling one hand on the rock ledge, her pink nails tapping the stone, she reached forward with the other to try and coax the koi to nibble at her fingertips. One of her shoes left her heel as she stretched forward. She stifled a chuckle when Lucas asked the caller to repeat himself.

A moment later, she drew in an exhilarated and startled breath as his hand slid around her waist, the other catching her hair as he turned her in his arms, holding her over the water, his knee braced on the wall just inside her thigh.

When he'd turned her, she of course had to catch on to his shoulders, though his hand went to the center of her back, holding her securely.

He was still on the phone, the headset having made it possible for him to cross the carpeted office on silent feet. Now, as she heard the tinny distant voice of the caller, he tilted her head back with a thumb, denying her hungry, parted lips to kiss her throat just below the line of her jaw. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, feeling the hard biceps flex against her forearms.

When he lifted his head, his gray eyes were molten steel, his mouth wet. This close to the water, her face had been misted by the light spray of the fountain, though it did little to subdue the heat he'd stirred. She realized his courteous hold on her hair was to keep it from trailing in the water. So careful with her, even as he wrecked her defenses with ruthless abandon.

"That'll work, Joel," he said. "I've got a visitor. I'll get back to you later on the rest."

Then he dragged his mouth lower, nuzzling beneath the pearl and cashmere collar around her throat, and clamped his lips there. Suckled, hard.

High-voltage lightning speared down her belly, straight to her pussy, her nipples becoming aching points. Somehow, she now had the stretched-out leg wrapped behind his calf in automatic reflex. He gripped her hair harder, curling his other arm around her back, hand braced between her shoulder blades.

When he lifted his face, her breath was shallow, quick. He examined her neck, then nudged the fabric back in place, hiding it. "I think you'll carry that mark awhile."

"A mark of ownership?" While she tried for a mocking tone, her voice quivered at the look in his eyes.

"As you like." Cocking his head, he gave her a leisurely perusal. Because he'd taken all her weight and balance, she realized she was in this position as long as he wanted her there, unless she wanted to attempt an ignominious wiggle that could land her in the pool with the koi. So she relaxed, as much as was possible, trying not to be impressed that he seemed to have no difficulty bearing her weight like this.

"Do you think you could use all this manly strength to let me up?"

"In good time. Good morning." He flexed his fingers against her back, stroking the line of the corset. "This one is new."

"Mr. Adler, I know you're not making a comment about what's under my sweater. That would be sexual harassment." ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">