Controlled Response

But Lucas wrested something else from her. His gray eyes seemed to see deeper, want something for her, a key prepositional difference. Hell, maybe she should cross the line, take one of the others to a hotel, and dull the edge of the nonsense her mind was spinning.

She wondered if he'd cut his hair shorter for cycling. She'd read up on the sport enough to remember how his legs had been shaved, his chest bare. Of course that made her misbehaving mind wonder if his heavy testicles would likewise be smooth to the touch.

"He is just a man. What the hell is the matter with you?" Thirty minutes in afield. You didn't have sex, and the orgasm was short.

"If you just came out of a meeting with Matt and his strategy team, I expect any one of them could be causing that reaction."

Cassandra's eyes sprang open to find she wasn't alone as she'd suspected. She'd glanced at the stalls and noted no feet, but now as she stepped forward, she realized beyond the stalls, around the corner, was a retiring room, complete with a couch, magazines, and a coat rack. This woman had apparently been sitting in there before she'd risen to approach the mirror.

Savannah Tennyson. Mart's wife of just over a year, and the head of Tennyson Industries.

Her face and reputation were known to every businesswoman who'd ever aspired to join the ranks of the CEOs of the Fortune 500, because Savannah was one of them.

She and Savannah had similar coloring. Blond hair, blue eyes. Savannah was shorter, but the figure worked with the height. Slim, not as curvy as Cassandra, but she gave Cass the impression of an exotic princess. Refined and remote, though there was a faint smile on her lips now.

Never try to pretend a gaffe hadn't happened. Just move on as if it was of no consequence, and it would be forgotten, because you didn't make a big deal out of it.

Moving forward, Cassandra extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you formally, Ms.

Tennyson. I'm Cassandra Moira."

"I go by Mrs. Kensington since I married, but you're welcome to call me Savannah." A gleam of amusement crossed her blue eyes. "Now which one of them is driving you to distraction? If my husband has gotten a beautiful woman this agitated, he's going to be in a great deal of trouble."

"Oh . . . no." Cassandra managed a return smile, though remained wary of the woman's close scrutiny. Did everyone at K&A study visitors as if dissecting them under a microscope? Of course, that was her job as well. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline to answer.

I'd give up a tactical advantage if I divulged that information."

"So you would. And your statement supports your reputation, which is an excellent one.

We'll leave it an intriguing mystery, then. I just walked over from my building to see Matt for lunch." Crossing the room to the door, she looked back at Cass. "You're all done with them for a few moments, I assume?"

"Yes, we finished up the preliminary round. Mr. Kensington has ordered lunch just for Mr. Adler and me, because the two of us will be working out the specifics this afternoon."

"Good, then." Savannah reached for the door handle, just as it was pushed open, bringing her face to face with Lucas. His gaze shifted between the two women.

"Lucas." Savannah glanced at Cassandra, her lips curving. "A good choice."

Cass wasn't going to consider what that meant. She was too busy quelling the desire to grab hold of Savannah's sleeve to prevent her from leaving.

Savannah shifted her attention back to Lucas's inscrutable expression. "Lucas, are you confused about your whereabouts?"

Sliding a hand in one pocket, he held the door so it stayed open, nodding courteously but pointedly at the archway provided by his arm. "No."

"Hmm. I didn't think so." Savannah tilted her head just enough to pass under that human bridge, her body brushing with familiar affection against his hip and side, her hair grazing his elbow above her. As she passed, she gave him a firm poke in the side. "Be nice. Is Matt in his office?"

"Already wondering why you aren't there yet. It's pathetic, really. Ow."

Cassandra blinked as he flinched from the jab Savannah landed in his kidney before she breezed past and continued up the hall, the silky brush of her hose and the rustle of her skirt drifting back. A sound cut short, as Lucas let the door close behind him.

Three

He leaned on the door as Cassandra had when she first came in, but for an entirely different reason, she suspected.

"You're in the ladies' room," she said.

"Obviously." When he took a calculated moment to let his gaze rove over her, she forced her hands not to close into defensive balls. Relax. She felt the hold of the corset, remembered the significance of its support and restraint. The structure and rigidity of it, defining the boundaries of what she could and couldn't do.

"So you're an accountant." She gave him a dismissive glance as she moved to the mirror.

"Accountants tend to be stunningly uncreative, if useful."

"Really?" Unruffled, he crossed his arms across his chest. "Next time I get my mouth between your legs, I'll take care not to bore you as much as I did last time."

Deliberately, she checked her makeup, hair. She looked fine. Damn good. Nothing to touch up. Everything in place. Pivoting on her heel, she summoned a bland smile. "So you recognized me. I'm surprised, as brief as that shared moment was."

"You recognized me," he pointed out.

"It took a few moments. I probably wouldn't have, except there was a mention of cycling in your bio workup. Next time I'll be sure and screen the men who drop in on me in the woods."

"That might be wise." When he flipped the latch on the door, the click made her heart skip several beats.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you, that day in the Berkshires." Shrugging out of the coat, he hooked it over the edge of a stall.

"I don't recall that day very well." Cassandra fought to keep a note of panic out of her voice. "But I'm fairly sure when Mr. Kensington said we would work together today, he meant in the board room after lunch. Not now, locked in the executive women's room."

"You remember every word I said, particularly what would happen when we met again."

Loosening his tie, he drew her eyes to it as he slid it free, the gray and yellow silk. As he moved, he countered what she'd hoped had been a subtle movement to get between him and the door.

The white shirt stretched over his shoulders fit his upper body so well, tucking into the slacks. She didn't dare look below his belt, knowing he'd catch that instinctive desire to check out his groin. He was already seeing far too much. Was he wearing the silver medallion? He was getting close enough to smell him, the light cologne and aftershave fragrance making it hard to resist a deep breath.

"I don't want this. You need to leave. Now."

He came to a halt, several feet between them. She realized then she'd backed up against the counter holding the sinks.

"You're a student of body language, Cassie, same as me. What I see is a woman who's put her hands behind her back." His gaze shifted up toward the mirror. "Grasping the edge of the counter, hard. It suggests tension, and nervousness, but you put your arms behind you. Not crossed defensively in front. As if you were restrained, in order to be open to my touch."

His gaze heated as he made the last step and his hands closed over her breasts, long fingers on the lifted curves, thumbs on the stiff fabric and underwiring of the corset. Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn't help it—she shuddered, moved into that touch, even as she was shocked at her inability to move away.

His reaction stunned her even more. He let his hands slip to her sides, fingers tucking into the intimate crevice just below her armpits, the heels of his hands still pressed against the sides of her breasts. Closing his eyes briefly, he rested his forehead on the crown of her head, his nose brushing hers. "Jesus, can you believe this? When you came in this morning, I thought I was hallucinating. You can't imagine how much I've thought about you, touched you a million fucking ways. Kissed your mouth. Taken you hard, easy, felt you come against my mouth and my cock, until you were exhausted and slept in my arms, all that golden hair spread across my chest."

She'd dreamed of him almost nightly, in much the same way. Hellfire, what were they doing?

"As appallingly inappropriate as that is, I'll let it pass." She tried to slide away from his body, despite the shriek of protest from her own. "It was just a moment. It shouldn't feel like that. If it does, it's because we didn't finish. That's all."

"You think so?"

When she nodded, he considered her, eyes gone dark and dangerous. "Then let's finish it.

I prefer having a couple hours to feed on a woman's pussy, making her come six or seven times, but we'll see what we can do with a short lunch break."

"No." She shook her head. "Even if I wanted to, I can't. I. . ." She let her gaze drift significantly to the feminine products basket, even as she despised herself for using the female escape hatch.

"First, you're lying. Second, you think that would bother me?" Lucas moved with her, and now she was in a less favorable position, in a corner formed by the counter and the wall, his body blocking any motion. Though in truth, all he seemed to need were his words and those eyes to keep her standing here, grasping at her fleeing sanity. Oh, God, all those dreams she'd had. He'd had to remind her. Her nails digging into his bare back, his body between her legs, her feet crossed over his hips, his jaw brushing her skin.

"I'd love to know you intimately enough to know when it's your time of the month. When I'd need to handle your breasts more gently because they're swollen." His hands passed over them again. "Know when your stomach might hurt and bring you chocolate to make you feel better, less cranky. Rub your feet." He put his mouth to her ear. "Women at that time are stimulated by the very . . . lightest . . . touch." 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">