Secrets to Hide 2: Naughty Little Christmas (10 page)

“But we just got started,” she said, her pout back in full force.

Carefully he eased himself out of her hold. “There’s enough of me to go around,” he said, light and teasing, “but you have to share your toys too. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

Ignoring her pout, he slipped through the crowd, but it wasn’t Marc he headed for. Instead he made a beeline for the office he was certain Harley was hiding out in.

HARLEY CRINGED AT the sound of footsteps outside the office. She swiped a hasty hand across her wet cheeks, determined no one would know exactly how much her prick of a boss affected her. How much the sight of him grinding against another woman, a woman he’d obviously known intimately, affected her. Even she didn’t want to know how badly she hurt at the sight; she certainly didn’t want anyone else sharing that knowledge. So she sucked up her pain and anger, took a deep breath, and reached for her purse and coat. Time to call it a night. Her work was wrapped up anyway.

The footsteps barely paused outside the closed door before it opened and Damien stepped through. She knew it was him, even with her back to the door. His presence was like a live wire attached to her senses, shocking her body to life anytime he came in proximity. And tonight that shock hurt. She’d stood there and watched him, knowing her decision, knowing she was ready to take the next step—into his arms, into his bed—if he approached her, and instead she’d watched him rub his relationship with another woman in her face. Like he needed to prove something to her.

Whatever it was he needed to prove, he could shove it. She didn’t want to care. She wanted to escape. Preferably before she kicked Damien in the equipment he seemed to take such pride in using. Jerk.

“Going somewhere?”

The uptick of her heartbeat throbbed in her jugular. She could imagine him standing there, blocking the doorway, that broad chest outlined in his usual silk shirt, the deep V of skin he displayed every night like a tease.

Keep it together, girl
. She had her pride, if nothing else. “To the hotel. It’s late.”

The sharp slam of the door echoed the slam of her heart. She could feel the heat of Damien’s anger against her back, boring into her head, though for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why he was angry. If anything, that was her right, not his. But not much about the man was logical when it came to the two of them.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and the center of her being went soft and wet. She wanted to obey, to fall at his feet, so of course she squared her shoulders and refused to turn.

“What do you want, Damien?” she asked, watching her hand reach out automatically for her purse while every molecule held its breath, waiting for his response. It came before her fingertips met leather.

A rough hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her around. “What the hell kind of game are you playing here?”

“Me?” Now she was really confused, because that show out on the dance floor had the word
game
written all over it. His game, not hers. Indignant heat flushed her cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” he drawled. “That’s why you were practically devouring me with your eyes a minute ago when, this afternoon, you were practically fucking on the sidewalk outside, in front of God and everybody.”

“Practically—” What the hell? “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? Make sense, for God’s sake.”

Damien smirked like he’d caught her in a lie, which she knew was impossible. How could she lie about something she didn’t understand?

“Baldy’s that good, huh?”

Like a shaft of light hitting her brain, understanding struck, and with understanding came true, red-visioned, all-out freakin’ rage. The volume of her words dropped in direction proportion to the emotion filling her, coming out barely above a strained whisper. “Hank? This is all about Hank?”

A tantrum big enough to match hers gathered like storm clouds in the depths of Damien’s dark eyes, but his lips remained silent.

Harley squared her quivering shoulders and knotted her fists, fighting to hide the evidence of exactly how much she wanted to lay Damien out, right then and there. “Let me get this straight: you saw Hank kiss me good-bye out front this afternoon—a kiss that didn’t even involve tongue, much less ‘practically fucking,’” she said, her derisive tone twisting the words into actual cursing, “and you decided what? To get back at me with that show out on the dance floor with your little floozy? Like I would care?” She was breathing so hard her chest hurt, but she’d make sure she didn’t care and that he knew she didn’t. Even if it killed her. Shrugging out of his grip, she turned back to grab her purse. “Go back to your tart, Damien. You’re the one playing games. Go play with yourself and leave me out of it.”

Between one breath and the next, she found herself pinned face-first against the nearby wall, Damien’s arms sandwiching her between his hard frame and the unyielding surface. “I’d rather you played with me,” he whispered, the sound rough, raspy in her ear. When she raised her hands to grip his, to tear him away, he forced them out to the sides and leaned in, grinding the engorged length of his shaft against her lower back. Harley squirmed, pinned like a butterfly beneath his heavy weight. Damien’s curse was harsh and explicit.

“Damien.”

Hot, heavy breathing seared her skin; then his mouth brushed the juncture of her shoulder and neck. The sting of his teeth nipping her skin pulled a squeak from her trembling lips.

“Just shut up, Harley. Shut up and let me do this.”

Why, you sweet talker, you
. But she bit down on her bottom lip, trapping in any sound that might seek escape. Because as much as her mind screamed at her to fight, to flee, her body had gone cooked-noodle limp and desperate for his touch. The one thing she wasn’t willing to do was take him from behind. He could fuck her into the wall all he wanted—all
they
wanted—but he’d do it facing her. Looking into her eyes.

With a quick step back and turn, she found her spine pressed into the wall and Damien aligned perfectly, pressed to her front. Face-to-face, breasts to chest, and pelvis to pelvis thanks to her stiletto heels. Harley groaned at the delicious sensation, a groan Damien swallowed with the first ravaging touch of his lips to hers.

His kiss was rough and punishing and perfect. Harley instinctively opened her mouth, and his tongue forced its way in, marauding, pillaging, taking what he wanted without asking permission. Everything feminine in her melted in surrender. His taste was dark and hot, chocolate with a zing of peppermint, and she sucked at his tongue in wonder. Nothing she’d ever tasted had been nearly so good.

She was drowning in the scent and feel and sheer sexual energy of him. She felt herself go under, and panic choked her. She began to fight—him, herself, the sense that she was surrendering something she could never reclaim. Damien backed off, and she forced her eyes open, forced herself to meet his gaze. Whatever he saw there softened the hard, hungry edge of his need, and he returned to her lips with softer, sweeter kisses, his caresses now soothing instead of punishing.

And oh, so much more devastating.

The sweetness of his touch brought tears to her eyes. They escaped down her cheeks, tingeing their mouths with salt, but still Damien kissed her. He kissed her until she was arching into him, until she dug her fingers into his hair and gripped tight, intensifying the pressure of their lips and bodies against each other. Only then did Damien stop, though his body continued to force her into the wall. He settled his forehead against hers, his swollen mouth a mere breath away.

Harley hiccupped softly. “I thought you said this was a bad idea.”

The speculation that hit his dark eyes hurt. “Is it?”

Falling back on the familiarity of sarcasm, she bumped her pelvis against the hard ridge of his penis. “What, do you want me to sign a waiver or something?”

“Would you?”

Damien knew how to hide what he felt, and in that moment Harley cursed him for it. As she considered his words and what they might mean, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Damien’s breath hitched at the act, and his reaction refilled the well of her wavering confidence. “Whip it out, big boy.”

“I plan to,” he assured her, voice as rough as the hands he shoved behind her body, catching her to him, lifting so that her legs naturally curved around his hips. Without missing a beat, he walked over to the mostly empty desk and laid her out like a feast for his ravening hunger. His hold tilted her hips to align perfectly with his erection, which slid against the thin crotch of her slacks with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. Harley moaned, arching her back, relishing the long expanse of Damien’s body, his heat, the hard, rough rubbing of his muscles against hers. His mouth drew a whimper as he left her lips and licked his way down to her naked throat. The nip of his teeth against the sensitive ridge of muscle sizzled in her nerves, and she bucked against his tight hold. Hunger and fear created a maelstrom in the center of her being—hunger for what he could give her, fear that he would stop. He couldn’t stop. She’d never felt anything like his hands and mouth on her, his body against her.
Please, God, don’t let him stop.

He didn’t. His mouth slid lower, sucking bits of her skin between his teeth, soft little love bites that trailed from her shoulder to the loose neckline of her shirt and beyond. When those ruthless teeth took her rock-hard, bra-covered nipple between them and pinched down, she came up off the desk with a wail.

The weight of Damien’s body was the only thing that kept her in place. She thrashed beneath him, unable to be still, desperate for more of the ecstasy he was giving her. Of their own accord her legs squeezed down on his thrusting hips, driving him hard against her needy center. She could feel the moisture wetting her panties, her pants, knew he must feel it too, yet she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed. He felt too fucking fantastic. She was too close to flying apart. Nothing registered except the feel of his rutting body atop hers until the sound of music, loud and blaring, cut through the symphony of heavy panting and grunting in the air.

Damien startled, his head lifting from her breast. Their eyes met, his as dazed as she imagined hers were. She couldn’t hold back her whimper. “Damien, please,” she begged, digging her fingernails into his arms like claws in her effort to bring him closer, to bring him back to her.

The music began again, and Harley finally recognized it as a ringtone. “No,” she cried when Damien stepped back, prying her hand off his arm so he could reach for his phone. As he drew it from his pocket, he turned his back on her, clearing his throat before speaking.

“Hello?”

Harley’s pleasure backlashed, cramping her muscles so that she curled onto her side, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to breathe her way through the agony of denial. She’d spent hours kissing boys as a teenager without the buildup of need Damien had inflicted in a few short minutes. Her body protested the absence of fulfillment, knotting her belly, lashing her sensitive nipples until she wanted to cry. At the sound of Damien’s returning footsteps, a tear slipped her control, sizzling down her hot cheek despite her best efforts. She hurt, and the man who’d driven her to such need was barely breathing heavy as he came to stand next to the desk.

“I have to go.”

The words switched her brain online. “What?”

Damien avoided her gaze. “I have to go. My sister’s at the hospital.”

As she sat up gingerly, she vaguely remembered him telling her his family lived here in LA. “Oh, Damien, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

He flashed her a quick, uneasy grin before returning his gaze to his phone. “She’s having a baby.”

“Ah.”

Damien fidgeted, actually fidgeted, with the device in his hand. “So…can you make it back to your hotel?”

Not
Do you need anything?
Not
Can I drop you off on my way?
She could feel his regret from three feet away, his tense need to escape, and somehow she didn’t think it had anything whatsoever to do with his sister. “Sure.”

He nodded, but he was already at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The doorknob turned under his hand, and he was in the hall before she had a chance to respond.

“Sure,” she whispered again, knowing he was too far away to hear.

Chapter Five

Outside the door to the L&D waiting room, Damien took a deep breath and held it until he felt the pressure in his head approach the about-to-pop stage. Then he blew the air out, letting the memory of Harley’s face as he’d left her on the desk in his office go with it. Telling himself he could worry about it later, he squared his shoulders, firmed his jaw, and stepped through the door.

“It’s about time you made it here, Brother. Shaw could’ve had ten babies in the time you took to get here.”

“Given the way she seems to pop them out, you’re right,” Damien said as he caught his brother Garrett up in a surprise-attack bear hug. The man winced, either at Damien’s rough hold or his reference to actual childbirth, Damien didn’t know or care. That he’d gotten in some retaliation from his brother’s opening salvo made the moment sweet either way. Anything to crawl up his stuffy brother’s ass. “Traffic’s a bitch tonight.” He’d actually made better time than he’d expected to, in fact.

His oldest brother, Leo, walked up in time to hear that last bit. He slapped Damien between his shoulder blades, hard enough Damien had to take a step forward to keep from popping a vertebra. “Tell the truth, D. You were having difficulty untangling yourself from a bevy of young, sexy women, weren’t you? Were they blondes or brunettes? Maybe a redhead or two? Come on, share with your less lucky brothers.”

Damien gritted his teeth, refusing to let his brother bait him. “Hello, Leo. I missed you too; thanks for asking.”

“But the girls—”

Garrett elbowed Leo to silence as Damien’s dad walked over to greet his youngest son’s arrival. Curtis Adams would never tolerate commonplace bickering among his boys. That said “bickering” had been a part of their relationship for decades was a fact he remained oblivious to, just as he had when Damien was a child. It helped that his brothers had been smart and sneaky even then.