Authors: Tracey Livesay
“What?”
Had she said that aloud?
He lifted his head. “What did you say, Chelsea?”
Damn. She had. “Nothing.”
“You think I care about the floor?” His tone implied only an idiot could believe the statement was true.
Annoyance flared through her. “I’m trying to help you!” She removed her hands and held them in front of her. “A little rain, some oil. I’d hope you’d consider the big picture and conclude a spot on your floor or the ruination of your precious ‘talk nerdy’ T-shirt would be worth it.”
The muscles bunched in his shoulders as he turned over and rested on one elbow. His stare immobilized her. “I don’t care about the floor. You’re wearing a beautiful outfit and I was concerned the oil would stain your clothes.”
She glanced down at her garnet-red slacks and black sweater.
Oh.
Wait, what? He thought she looked beautiful?
“And I didn’t give a damn about that T-shirt. I told you I didn’t wear it, so you could do whatever you needed to for you hair not to end up looking like a ‘ball of frizz.’ Your words, not mine.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. What could she say? Oops, my bad? Could she really be blamed for thinking what she did based on what he’d said?
Who was Adam Bennett? Was he the cold and distant computer genius she’d seen on the video of his press conference, or was he actually thoughtful and considerate, as his recent admission seemed to suggest? It bothered her that she couldn’t get a grasp on him. She prided herself on quickly sizing up people and situations, yet this man refused to be defined.
Not knowing how to respond, she placed a palm on his shoulder and pushed, indicating he should resume lying flat. He resisted briefly, the muscles in his back flexing, before submitting. Once again, she was treated to the view of his broad, powerful back. She shifted her weight onto her hands and leaned forward, slowly gliding her palms down his skin in one long stroke. Each time she touched his strong, well-built body, a heady flush of power tingled through her. She repeated the motion several times more and a moan of pleasure rumbled from him.
She stilled. Should she stop? No. He was benefiting from the massage, and recalling this feeling of relaxation on the day of the launch would be valuable. So she had to continue . . . and attempt to ignore the deafening cacophony of her pounding heart.
Her fingers danced over his skin, sliding down his lower back and then up the sides of his rib cage and back to the base of his neck. She massaged, in broad circular strokes, from his hip joint to the base of his spine, up along his spinal column, and to the base of his neck. His back was a series of mounds and valleys that ended at a firm ass that teased her from the waistband of his pants. Over and over, she kneaded, rubbed, and smoothed his glorious body. She alternated the pressure of each stroke and by the time her hands fell from his hips, her touch had lost the firmness of a massage and was more of a light caress.
“We’re done.” She was breathing heavily and her body trembled with need. She moved away from him, grabbing a nearby towel and wiping her hands. This wasn’t what she’d intended when she’d begun this exercise.
“Chelsea?” She turned and found him sitting up on the table, his legs over the side. His eyes burned into hers and he held out his hand. “Come here.”
Her nostrils flared and, unable to refuse, she took his hand, letting him pull her into the space between his thighs. She was so close she could see the streaks of black that radiated out from his irises. The heat from his body warmed hers. Still, she couldn’t help the shiver that rocked her body from his nearness.
“I’m not relaxed.”
She knew it, could tell from the muscle ticking in his cheek, the flush on his cheekbones, the feverish glow in his eyes. His hand released hers and settled against her hips, his fingers flexing into her skin and pulling her forward. Her body melted, reacting to the desire that flowed off him in waves.
“Social interaction can be difficult for me.” His voice was low and her gaze dropped to stare at his lips as they formed the words. “Facial expressions and tones of voice act as a second language, one in which I’m conversant but not fluent.”
“Okay,” she responded, unsure of his intention.
His finger dipped an inch beneath the waistband of her pants and trailed back and forth against her skin. She trembled.
“If one isn’t careful, one can act on flawed knowledge.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, with all the coherence she could manage.
He licked his bottom lip. “The last thing I want is another misunderstanding similar to the oil and T-shirt situations.”
She nodded, her body as tight as a flexed bow.
“So let me be clear,” he whispered. “I want to kiss you.”
She swallowed.
“Not only am I informing you of what I want, it also serves as notice of my intent. I’m going to kiss you.”
It was the sexiest notice she’d ever received.
“If you don’t want that to happen, tell me to stop or move away.”
His hands continually grabbed and released her hips. Moisture pooled between her thighs, her body sensitive to his touch and the images his words were forming in her mind. Her nipples hardened against her thin sweater and his flaring nostrils told her he’d noticed her reaction.
“Time’s up.”
His mouth covered hers and he kissed her with a mastery that left her breathless. His lips were firm and her knees went weak when his tongue swept inside and tangled with hers. She held on to him, stunned by the strength of her reaction. God, he was an excellent kisser. He was passionate and commanding, nothing like she expected. And he smelled so good . . . like soap and fresh laundry, mixed with her body oil and . . . him. Adam. His kiss, his scent, his touch—the combination made her dizzy and she leaned into him. He held her tightly to his chest and the hardness pressed against her breasts, abrading her aching tips. She wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but she needed more.
She shifted her weight onto the table and turned, forcing him to lie back on it. She straddled his hips and pressed her aching femininity against the rock hardness of his cock. She cradled it, rubbing her body against it. She wanted this man at this minute more than she’d wanted anyone. Ever.
He massaged her breasts, his thumb and forefinger plucking her nipples, sending arrows of pleasure straight to her core. She moaned and arched into his palm. Their breathing was harsh as they groaned and writhed against each other. She felt him at the button of her pants and she lifted her hips to make his access easier.
His fingers slid in and then under the waistband of her panties to twirl in the crispness of her hair. She shivered as his lips left her mouth and trailed down her jaw to her neck, licking and nibbling at the pulse there. The softness of his beard swept against her sensitive spot and she moaned again, holding his head to her, not feeling that it was possible to get close enough. She was on fire, sensation flowing through her blood. Her brain had shut down, leaving her body in charge, and it wanted to feel.
In this moment, she didn’t care that her goal of partnership might be in jeopardy, that she found him demanding, or that she was lying to him. She just wanted to keep kissing him.
She shifted and the table almost collapsed.
Adam’s shoulders tensed beneath her fingers and they broke apart, breathing heavily. He clasped an arm around her hips and, shaken, she looked over the side of the table. She clutched hold tighter and when she looked back at him, their gazes locked. She could see the haze of lust that clouded his normally clear gaze. Unable to help herself, she brushed her lips against his. Once, twice. Their lips clung. She couldn’t stop kissing him.
The table shifted again and common sense intruded. Reluctantly, she inched off him, untwisting their arms and legs and climbing backward off the table. Adam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table. Reaching down to adjust the thick evidence of his arousal, he reached out a hand to her, his intent clear in the direct heat of his eyes.
She wanted to go to him. She wanted to take his hand and let him draw her into his embrace again. She pressed the heels of her palms against her closed eyes and mentally pressed the Rewind arrow on the cosmic DVR remote. She pictured the table re-steadying itself, Adam lying back down, and her climbing back on top of him, re-twining their limbs. Then she’d press Play and lose herself in his frenzied embrace.
She exhaled and dropped her hands. She couldn’t. Dammit. Life wasn’t a movie she could direct. And even if it were, becoming sexually involved with Adam would be a mistake. She wanted to be a partner. She’d worked her entire adult life toward that one goal. It wasn’t about the money. She already made a great living. It was what the job represented. It meant that she, Chelsea Grant, was not like her mother. She would never be poor, used, and disgraced. That she couldn’t be defined by the circumstances of her birth. She wasn’t on the outside. She was the ultimate insider. People needed
her
to make
them
acceptable. And making partner meant she was one of the best at it.
Then there was the lie that hovered between them. It had seemed harmless in the beginning. It hadn’t mattered who’d hired her—him or Computronix. The job was the same: get the client ready for the launch. Now, knowing the absolutist position he held on any falsehood, hiding the truth from him was beginning to bother her, a sliver of censure beneath the surface of her skin.
All of these conflicting emotions swirling around in her head were enough to tamp down the desire that had torn through her body, leaving a guilty conscience in the cold light of day.
He stared into her eyes, the passion from a minute ago still blazing bright in his. He captured her hand, but when he tried to pull her to him, she resisted, standing her ground. He was more than strong enough to pull her to him, but he hesitated, his eyes waiting to see what she’d decided.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Me, too.”
Knowing that he accepted her decision and wouldn’t push her, she moved closer to him and leaned her forehead against his. “It’s too much. As good as you feel, as good as this feels”—she stroked her hands up and down his arms—“you’re my client now, and I’ve always believed it was a bad idea to mix those relationships.”
“Then you’re fired.”
She pulled back and stared at him, her stomach contorting into knots, only to straighten and calm down when she saw his lips quirk at the corners.
“Another joke, Mr. Bennett? You can’t fire me, I’m having an effect on you.”
“You most definitely are,” he said, his voice smooth as warm maple syrup. “Want to feel?”
Not about to take that bait, she leaned in and gave him one final kiss before grabbing her purse and rushing out. She couldn’t risk allowing that wonderful feeling of lethargy to steal her common sense and convince her to change her mind.
L
E
T
T
I
N
G
H
ER GO
without pressing the issue was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
Even now, hours after she’d left, he stared unseeingly at his computer screen, recalling in minute detail every sigh, every moan, every caress. Before her, every other kiss had been a waste of breath. It seemed God had been on a sabbatical when he’d asked for the strength to keep his focus on his work and his hands off of Chelsea. Anytime he was in her presence, he was touching her.
In his closet.
At the store.
Here, in his great room.
Though he couldn’t be blamed for today. No man could’ve resisted after thirty minutes of her hands roaming all over his body. Or of deciding between the twin tortures of glancing up and seeing her breasts suspended over him, so close he could flick her fabric-covered nipples with his tongue, or closing his eyes and drowning in the heightened sensation of her touch. In fact, if
she
hadn’t resisted, he would’ve carried her to his room and fucked her until they both passed out from exhaustion.
But then what? Once he’d taken the edge off his hunger for her, he’d still need her help with the presentation, and she’d told him she preferred not to mix business with pleasure. Even if he’d managed to leap that hurdle, he’d find himself in a situation where he was spending a lot of time with a woman, both in his bed and out of it, thereby granting her an intimacy he vowed to never again offer. Awareness and familiarity followed intimacy, and it wouldn’t be long before she left.
Like everyone else.
So he should keep his distance, sexually, at least until the presentation was over. Sounded easy, except he recognized his burgeoning fascination and knew he’d have a difficult time staying away from her.
He sat up and rolled closer to his desk. Clicking on the appropriate icon, he pushed several keys on his computer. The center monitor blacked out and five seconds later, Mike’s image filled the screen.
“How’s it going?” Mike asked, his voice low and raspy. Several Starbucks cups littered his desk and he’d removed his jacket and tie.
“Good. The video testimonials from the beta testers of the new phone look phenomenal. A/V did an exceptional job.”
“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll make a note to pass along your praise.” He tapped on his iPad. “And the presentation?”
Adam sighed. “You know this launch is important to me. If you believe my being involved in the presentation is the HPC’s best shot, then I’ll do what’s necessary.”
Even try to stay away from the one woman he wanted more than anyone else.
Mike pushed back from his desk, waving his arms wildly. “I can’t believe it. This isn’t the Adam I know. What happened to you?”
I met a tall, gorgeous woman with smooth, dark skin and the softest curls I’ve ever touched.
Mike didn’t wait for his response. “You won’t regret doing this.” He consulted his iPad. “I have the perfect person to help you—”
“No. I’ll do it on my own.”
He would not be dealing with another PR firm after the last one. The overly cheerful, too familiar representative had made his skin crawl. Besides, he had Chelsea.
Mike frowned. “Come on, Adam. There are people who specialize in public relations and we can get them to help you.”
“Don’t push me on this.”
“Fine. But you have to do a better job than the press conference. We’re all depending on you.”
Adam was aware of his obligations. The company was depending on him. People whose salaries they paid, their benefits and retirement. All were betting on the HPC being the success Adam knew it would be. He owed it to them to focus his considerable intellect on the presentation and not the lovely woman who had been dominating his thoughts.
That’s why he was surprised when he heard himself say, “Remember my neighbor?”
“What?”
“My neighbor. The one I met during the storm last week?”
“Right. The ‘agreeable’ one,” Mike said, laughing.
“She works in entertainment.”
Mike cocked his head to the side. “You’ve spent time with her?”
“Some.” Not enough.
“In the middle of prepping for the launch? That’s . . . unprecedented.”
“I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.”
Mike frowned. “We don’t have time for you to think about her.”
“I’m well aware of our timetable, Mike. How can I forget when you bring it up every fucking day?” He shoved his hand through his hair.
“Sorry,” his friend said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have you told her?”
He didn’t attempt to feign ignorance. “That I have Asperger’s? No.”
He wasn’t sure if he ever planned to tell her.
“In the time you’ve spent together, she hasn’t noticed your literalness, your difficulty deciphering social cues, and your rigid adherence to routines?”
“They’ve manifested, but she attributes them to my being an asshole.”
Mike laughed. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Neither is being a charming bastard,” he said, confident enough in his friendship with Mike to engage in this conversation.
They’d met in college, when Mike worked at the local video game store. It took several visits and quite a few stilted conversations, where they learned they were both attending Stanford, before they’d managed to become friends. The bonds of that tentative friendship were strengthened during an awkward Christmas dinner with Mike’s family when Adam finally had to explain his behavior. Adam knew that being his friend wasn’t easy, but over the years Mike had proven his trustworthiness and his loyalty.
And speaking of trustworthiness and loyalty . . .
“Telling Birgitta was the beginning of the end of our relationship,” he said.
“Relationship? I thought you’d just met. Now you’re talking a relationship?”
“There’s something about her. She gets me, and gets to me, in a way I’ve never experienced.”
“So this is more than a ‘hit it and quit it’ scenario?” Mike asked, using Jonathan’s term of choice for a one-night stand.
“It’s a strong possibility.”
Mike thumbed his ear. “Maybe you should wait until the launch is over. Not just for Computronix’s benefit, but for yours. You’ll have more time to weigh the pros and cons of getting involved with her.”
“That’s what I decided, except—”
“That other wonderful Aspie trait of yours, single-minded fixation. Fuck, man, your timing couldn’t be worse.”
“Again, something I already know.”
“This could backfire against you. Big-time.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything distract me from the product launch.”
“Suddenly, it’s not the launch I’m worried about.”
A
DAM OPENED HIS
front door and came face to back with Chelsea’s enticing rear. She spun around and her curls tumbled over her shoulder.
“It’s about time. We have to . . .” Her gaze wandered from the base of his neck to his bare feet. “I’ve seen your closet, and this ensemble,” she said, gesturing to his sweatpants and faded Stanford University T-shirt, “would be considered too scruffy even for your wardrobe.”
She brushed past him and her scent tickled his nose. He smiled and closed the door in her wake.
This was going to be fun.
Chelsea stood before him in a white button-down shirt, brown pants that molded to her legs, and high-heeled ankle boots that created the optical illusion of unbelievable length. She looked glamorous, professional, untouchable. Gone was the woman with soft, parted lips, who’d gazed deeply into his eyes and trembled in his arms.
But that’s the Chelsea he wanted.
And that’s the Chelsea he’d have.
It had come to him during the night, when he should’ve been working. His attraction to Chelsea had been quick and intense, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. And when that happened, didn’t he owe it to himself to figure out what was going on? It’s possible it could have been exacerbated by the storm and the intimacy of their surroundings, but he wouldn’t be able to focus on his presentation until he knew the answer. Achieving his goal wouldn’t be easy, but he’d never allowed a problem’s level of difficulty to prevent his attempts to solve it. She’d expressed her reluctance to combine work and play. In order to test his theory, he needed her to see that playing with him could be pleasurable
and
not affect their work. Then he could determine if what they were responding to was based in the isolation of their circumstances or on an actual connection.
“Hello? Adam?” She waved her hand, palm side out, in a vertical motion. “You can’t stay in your own world, you have a guest. That’s what we’re working on today. Lesson Three, engagement.”
He narrowed his eyes. Did she believe they could return to the status quo of two days ago? Before they’d kissed? Before he’d jerked off to the remembered sounds of her moaning in his arms? That was no longer a viable option for him. He grabbed her wrist. “I’m well aware of your presence, Chelsea. And I’m prepared.”
Her glossed lips parted and her pulse fluttered against his hand. He smiled. Further evidence the desire that soared through him was reciprocated.
“Then why are you dressed like this?” she asked, pulling from his grasp. “We’re supposed to head down into the city. What should I infer from this outfit?”
“That I have no plans to leave the house. It’s hump day and I’m playing hooky.”
“You can’t play hooky. You have to prepare for the launch.”
“I managed to complete a great deal during your two-day absence. I’m due for a break.”
She looked away from him and shoved her hands in her back pockets. “I wish you would’ve told me that before I came over. I wouldn’t have disturbed you.”
“You aren’t disturbing me. I’ve been waiting for you. I have something planned for us.”
She leaned away from him. “We talked about this. I can’t get involved with you.”
“I wasn’t referring to sex, although I’m not averse to it.” He smiled. “I’m talking about enjoyable, non-sexual fun.”
He headed up the stairs and his tension dissipated at the click of her heels when she followed him. He retrieved the bag from the counter and held it out to her.
“What’s that?”
“A gift for you. I couldn’t expect you to participate if I didn’t provide you with the proper gear.”
She held up her hands, palms facing out. “This isn’t a good idea.”
He cupped her cheek with his left hand and stared into her eyes. Her curls brushed softly against his fingertips. “I’m not asking you to engage in an afternoon orgy. Trust me.”
Her agreement didn’t come instantaneously. She pulled in a deep breath and released it in a long, steady stream. Pressing her lips together, she snatched the bag from him and closed the guest bedroom door behind her.
He put his hands on his hips and lifted his gaze skyward. He’d been correct—this wouldn’t be easy. But it’d be worth it.
He’d placed the cooler on the floor next to the coffee table when the bedroom door opened. Chelsea stood in the doorway, twisting the thin gold-and-garnet ring on her right hand, refusing to make eye contact. He couldn’t catch his breath, a sensation similar to the one he felt after an eight-mile mountain trail run. She was so appealing in the sweatpants and T-shirt that it required every ounce of patience he had to remain where he was and not rush over to her and crush those soft, full lips beneath his own.
“Hi,” he said, stunned to find his hands trembling. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hi.” She bit that plump bottom lip and he noticed the gloss was gone. He considered her face.
“You removed your makeup?”
She applied it sparingly, unlike Birgitta, who’d never appeared in his presence without it, and always managed to get the heavily caked cosmetics all over his clothes and hers. Now he could see that Chelsea didn’t need an abundance of artifice. Her creamy complexion was smooth and clear, her brown eyes wide and bright.
She shrugged and pulled at the hem of her white “Girl Gone Gamer” T-shirt. He thought she’d appreciate it, given her response to his “Talk Nerdy . . .” shirt the night of her arrival.
“Where did you get the clothes?” she asked. “I don’t remember these in your closet, either.”
“I drove down to San Mateo and bought them yesterday.”
“But . . . you’ve been busy with the presentation.”
He
should’ve
been busy with the presentation. “It was important.”
Her lips quirked. “They fit perfectly . . . almost like you knew my size.”
The memory of his close contact with her curves sent blood rushing to his dick. “A couple of days ago I had the opportunity to survey your body thoroughly. I interpreted what I felt to figure out your approximate size.”
She dipped her head, but glanced up at him through her lashes.
“Come here,” he requested, holding out his hand. When they touched, sensation trailed up his arm. She twined her fingers with his and followed him to the couch in front of the television.
“What’s all this?” She gestured to the coffee table.
“An assortment of apples, grapes, fresh pineapple, chips, various beverages, two game controllers, and a PlayStation 4 system.”
She laughed. “Yes, I know what each item is. They’re some of my favorites. Why are they here?”
“They were in your supplies the night of the storm.”
“Let me try again. What are we doing with them?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “We’re going to play video games.”
“Seriously? Sweet.” She rubbed her hands together. “I kick ass at Wii Sports.”
He snorted. “Laudable for a teenage boy who depends on his parents for gaming gear. We’re playing a third-person shooter.”
She frowned, taking a couple of steps back. “A shooter game? I don’t play those.”
“It’s not hard. You can learn.”
“I don’t want to learn. And speaking of learning”—she smoothed her hand down the side of her pants—“we really don’t have time for this. You still have lessons for your presentation.”
He studied her, noticing the tense set of her shoulders and the downward turn of her lips. “There’s no shame in trying something you may not excel at.”