Authors: Jenny Schwartz
He stood and watched as she reversed out of the parking bay.
She kept her gaze off the rear view mirror as she drove out. The strange interlude was over.
“You’re crazy.”
“Ssshh.” Rita attempted the impossible; silencing Sonya. She should never have confided in the other woman. If Sonya hadn’t made that one pithy observation about her and Ivan looking like someone had stunned them both, the truth wouldn’t have tumbled out.
The problem was that as soon as she spoke to Ivan or went to pass him papers or even looked at him, the memory of how he’d held and kissed her flooded over her and she froze, half aroused, half afraid. She needed time to bury the memory and get her treacherous body under control. Thank goodness Ivan had left for a meeting. But with Sonya perched on the edge of the desk, there was no chance of quiet reflection.
Now that Sonya had the story, she was relentless. “Rita, Ivan has been panting after you for a year.”
“Wha-at?” Rita’s chair wobbled as she jerked upright.
“She’s right.”
“Caleb.” It was a relief to find an outlet for her uncertain temper. “Could you stop suddenly appearing like a vampire? And shouldn’t you be sorting out Aaron Kai?”
“Uh huh. Nice try, but no avoiding the issue,” he said.
When she’d first joined the firm, the former military and police personnel had intimidated her, especially Caleb. Since then, she’d learned to stand her ground. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
Sonya snorted. Caleb’s specialty was surveillance.
“Well, not on me.” Rita defended her corner valiantly.
“Chickie, we’d leave you alone if you weren’t so dumb,” Sonya said.
Rita’s jaw dropped.
Sonya was on a roll. “Didn’t you hear me? Ivan is hot for you. He’s been hot for you forever.”
“No.”
Sonya silently appealed to Caleb.
“It’s true,” he said. “Why do you think none of the guys have asked you out?”
“Because I’m not in your league. You all date models and athletes and—”
“Oh man.” Caleb slapped a hand down on her desk. “Rita, you’re cute and caring, you make a guy feel good about himself. Any one of the single guys would be proud to date you, me included.”
She stared.
“But we all saw that you’re Ivan’s.”
Sonya’s annoyance switched targets. “Caleb, that is so Neanderthal. A woman is her own being. You could have asked her out. Maybe that would have stirred Ivan into doing something.”
Caleb scowled at her. “None of us thought he’d take this long. Besides, would you get between Ivan and something he wanted?”
“Uh. Probably not.”
They both turned back to Rita.
She stared blankly from one to the other, trying to process a revolutionary concept. She was who Ivan wanted?
Caleb’s scowl faded. “Second point, Sonya, we could all see that Rita only had eyes for Ivan.”
Oh boy. She’d been that obvious?
“Okay. I’ll give you that. In fact, Rita, you should have done something. A girl doesn’t have to wait for the guy to approach her. You should have given Ivan the green light.”
“Me?” Rita’s voice squeaked. “I wouldn’t know how.”
“When a man’s into you, it’s easy,” Sonya said confidently. “I read a magazine article that said men are always interpreting women’s actions as come-ons.”
“That’s true,” Caleb contributed.
“But I couldn’t. I mean, what if you were wrong?” Her stomach tied itself in knots.
“What if we’re right?” Sonya grinned. “And we are. Go for it.”
“How? What would I do? Aaargh.” She pulled at her hair, reverting to her teenage self. “I’m so not a risk taker.”
“You look cute when you’re panicked,” Caleb said.
“Caleb, have you spoken with Gordon Kai?” Ivan’s cold voice broke into the conversation.
Rita fell off her chair. She hadn’t meant to, but somehow she’d shifted closer and closer to the edge in her agitation, and Ivan’s unexpected appearance literally jolted her.
He rounded the desk in a flash and picked her up.
“I’m okay. Only my pride’s hurt.” She struggled to fit her foot back in the shoe that had fallen off, tug down her skirt and get herself out of Ivan’s hold. She managed to get the shoe back on.
Ivan tugged down her skirt and glared at Caleb.
“Yeah, I’ve spoken with Kai.” Caleb grinned. “It’s sorted.”
“Um, Ivan.” But Rita didn’t know how to ask how much of their conversation he’d heard.
His gaze came back to her face and it was like standing in front of a heat lamp. If she’d been Sonya and Caleb, she’d have faded away. But they weren’t her. Instead, they held their ground, evidently wanting to observe the drama.
Were they right? Was Ivan ‘hot’ for her?
Rita touched her tongue to dry lips. “Ivan, Sonya didn’t mean anything by what she said.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did she say?”
Her stomach went whoosh. He hadn’t heard.
“What did you say?” He turned the question on Sonya.
Sonya shrugged and grinned wider, like the Cheshire Cat. “Girl talk.”
Ivan’s gaze travelled to Caleb.
“Don’t look at me,” the other man said. “I don’t listen to girl talk.”
Rita snorted.
Sonya choked on a laugh and grabbed Caleb’s arm. “We’re just going. Like I said, go for it,” she added meaningly to Rita.
Rita blushed.
Suddenly the outer office was empty.
“I thought you had a meeting at the Square,” she said inanely.
“It finished early. The chairman had bad prawns at lunch.”
“Eww.” Rita avoided Ivan’s gaze while being acutely aware that he still held her arms. Sonya had sounded convincing, so had Caleb, but could Ivan truly be interested in her? Her heart was beating madly in hope and in sheer reaction to his proximity. He smelled good.
He released her slowly, stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked devastating in the well-tailored suit. He also looked broodingly unhappy. Their gazes locked for a long moment, then he turned on his heel and strode into his office.
Rita remembered to breathe.
She sunk back into the chair that had so treacherously dumped her minutes before and stared at the door to Ivan’s office. What if she couldn’t trust her own judgement? Sonya and Caleb were paid to evaluate people and their motivations. They thought Ivan was into her. They’d certainly hit bulls-eye with regard to her interest in him.
What if he had truly wanted her last night?
It would be just like Ivan to be noble.
A scary, scary hope bubbled up in her. He hadn’t liked Caleb calling her cute and he hadn’t wanted to let her go when he’d picked her up from the floor.
He was unhappy. She was unhappy. A hundred butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Two unhappy people could equal a happiness explosion, if the right catalyst was added.
It was up to her to make things right.
“Go for it,” she whispered.
Ivan kicked his chair around, swivelling away from the view he’d been studying so morosely. He was as bad as a hurt dog, hiding away and licking his wounds. It didn’t help to know Rita was just outside the door, as impossibly distant as ever.
Last night—he clenched his fists. Last night he’d finally let her see some of the darkness in him and instead of running, she’d embraced him. No wonder he’d lost his head and tried to rush her off to bed. If he hadn’t seen her suitcase, that mute reminder that she was planning to leave, he would have taken her—and no nobility about her vulnerability.
But he didn’t think he could take her to bed, make her his in the most fundamental of ways, and then let her go. It would tear the heart out of him.
So he’d left her in the guest room, but too late. She was awkward with him now, uneasy. And she had every right to be. He was her boss. He shouldn’t be putting the moves on her.
He swore, got up and paced out to her desk.
She wasn’t there. The computer was off, the chair tidily tucked in. He checked the clock. She’d left early without telling him.
Early he didn’t mind. She worked countless hours of overtime without complaint and she needed to deal with whatever her burned out house threw up for complications. But leaving without telling him…
Dread clutched his guts and twisted. She could be looking for a new job.
Screw it. He wasn’t going to do any good, here. He’d go home, change and hit the gym. He had a lot of frustration to work out.
“Don’t hyperventilate.” Rita thought it was good advice, if she could only heed it. She was freshly showered, sweetly smelling of vanilla body lotion and wore the lingerie she’d made herself stop and buy on the dash back to Ivan’s flat.
If he really wasn’t interested in her, she’d die of embarrassment.
The heavy wine red satin clung to her breasts, swooped in along her waist and flared over her hips to swirl to the ground in a skirt that had four thigh high slits in it. When she walked, the skirt shifted and bared her thighs; reveal, conceal. It was the most provocative outfit Rita had ever worn. Her nipples were tight under the satin, excited by the thought of her own daring.
For someone who hated risks, this was the biggest of her life. She walked slowly around Ivan’s living room, trailing her hand along the cool leather of the sofa back and feeling the sleek, smooth wooden flooring under her bare feet.
The apartment door opened suddenly, catching her unawares. She whirled around, the split skirt of her gown swirling around her.
Ivan’s gaze cut to her. His head went back, as if from a blow.
Agonised regret stabbed her, but no guts no glory. She’d absorbed the ethos of Tamerlane Security. Now she had to live it. ‘Go for it,’ echoed in her mind. She forced herself away from the sofa and walked forward.
Ivan swung the door shut behind him and watched her come.
The panels of the satin skirt stroked along her thighs. They were a statement of intent all by themselves, but she also had to give him the words. He needed to know that this was right. It was her choice. “I’m not as vulnerable as you think, Ivan. I shouldn’t have let you stop last night. I want to make love with you.”
“Yes.” That was all he said, but the intensity in his eyes made up for everything else. He stopped her just shy of his body and ran his hands slowly up her arms.
She shivered because it felt like the prelude to an erotic claiming, and yet, there was nothing indecent about arms.
He bent and kissed the pulse beating fast at the base of her throat.
“I’m hyperventilating.”
He pulled back just enough to study her face, then he zeroed in on her mouth. “I have a solution.”
And then she was breathing Ivan. Her panic, her doubts, fell away and there was just the rightness of being with him. He was seriously over-dressed, so she helped him with that. He helped her retrace her steps all the way to the guest room and beyond, into his room. He sat on the bed and positioned her between his thighs. His shirt was long gone.
He started at her knees and drew his hands up, the satin skirt parting for him. Up and up.
“No knickers.” He sounded huskily gratified at the discovery.
She had both hands on his shoulders, trying to keep her legs steady. Otherwise, she’d melt all over him.
He released her hips and slid his hands up to massage her breasts. “And I know you’re not wearing a bra.” Her nipples were hard points beneath the satin, pressing into his palms. “But let’s check.”
Her gown vanished and she found herself naked, on her back, in Ivan’s bed.
Colour darkened over his cheekbones as he studied her. “I’ve imagined you here.” He touched her breasts in a light caress, then moved suddenly, stripping off the last of his clothes.
He was so stunningly masculine that just looking at him commanded a response. Her back arched fractionally, pushing up her breasts, and her legs moved restlessly, caught between the instinct to welcome him and her innate shyness. She’d fought her shyness to get this far, she wouldn’t give in now. She caught his wrist and pulled him down over her.
Her belly sucked in at the pleasure of skin to skin contact. She brought his hand to her mouth, kissed the palm and unleashed a whirlwind.
It was incredible. The passion of his need freed her to demand everything, to be greedy about the sensations his touch aroused, and to tell him and show him what he did to her. And the more she gave him, the more he returned to her. His self-control and his strength brought her into a world where frustration was agonisingly sweet and satisfaction more necessary than breathing. They were both shaking by the time he pounded into her one final time and their shared climax rippled through them.
She fell asleep, barely aware of him tucking her into the frame of his body.
Later she’d wonder if things would have been different if she hadn’t woken up first the next morning. But the truth was, it would have been just as devastating and final whenever it happened. Life had a way of making you pay for your mistakes.
She woke facing Ivan, their legs entangled, his arm keeping her close. She surfaced slowly, not thinking, simply feeling. And it felt wonderful. She pressed her lips to his shoulder. The smooth wrongness of scar tissue jolted her out of sleep. Her fingers replaced her mouth and she traced the shape and position of the scar.
Only the littlest bit lower, and he’d have died.
She jack-knifed out of bed.
Ivan woke, silent and immediately alert. He sat up and the blanket fell to his lap.
In the early dawn light, she saw the evidence of violence and suffering on his body. “I can’t do this. I can’t. It was a mistake.” Hysteria had her blood pulsing frantically. She could feel it beating against her skin. She wasn’t thinking any more. She was in survivor mode, traumatised survivor mode.
“Nothing which felt that good can be a mistake. Come here and I’ll remind you.” Ivan sounded warm and satisfied, indulgent and inviting.
“No!” She scrambled for clothes. The gown she’d worn last night was no good. She hadn’t thought this through. She was naked and vulnerable in front of him. Her suitcase was in the guest room. She hadn’t had the nerve to leave it in Ivan’s. She ran for the door.
He swore and ran after her. He snagged her around the waist and drew her back. “What’s wrong with you?”