The CEO Daddy Next Door (14 page)

“I think you'll be very impressed with the taste,” Marcus said. He didn't enjoy having to sell it, but he had to. His father had been hesitant about Chambers No. 9 and the very notion of an American gin. Mr. Pruitt, being as old-school as they came, had the very same ideas.

“Your father calls it a modern interpretation of an old favorite. He seems to think its bloody brilliant.”

A wide smile crossed Marcus's face. His father's approval meant too much to feel anything but happiness. Marcus had made a leap of faith by leaving behind his lucrative career and sinking his own money into the company, but his dad had done even more. He'd allowed his son to tinker with a brand that hadn't changed since 1902.

“Of course, I told your father that I would determine that for myself. But I suppose I appreciate his bias. I always want to support what my children do.” Oscar removed a pair of reading glasses from the breast pocket of his suit coat and slid them onto his face, peering down his nose as Marcus opened the first bottle.

A side-by-side tasting was the best way to prove to Oscar that Chambers No. 9 represented a step into the modern age while keeping a firm grasp on the company's history. He filled two glasses with one ounce of the original Chambers, then did the same with the No. 9. He added an ounce of water to each, diluting the alcohol and releasing the aromas. “As I told you during the tour, for No. 9, we've expanded the mix of botanicals from seven to nine. The new additions are caraway and elderflower.”

Oscar's vision narrowed in on Marcus, the skepticism so clear, Marcus nearly asked him if he spent his entire life hesitating. He then raised the glass to his lips. “The flavor is indeed interesting. Surprising.”

Marcus felt a small measure of relief. Oscar hadn't spit it out.

Oscar then took a sip of the original and nodded at Marcus. “I have to tell you, Chambers. Having the two side by side, I can see what you were going for. It's not my inclination to use the word, but I'd go so far as to call it impressive.”

Marcus exhaled. His dad would get the story he'd waited for all this time. “Shall we finish up the interview?”

* * *

Ashley walked down the long hall leading to the private tasting room. The sound of her heels on the polished concrete floor echoed in the space, which was otherwise eerily quiet. At the very end, a small sign hung from the ceiling indicating the room with an arrow. The door was open, but voices stopped her just outside it.

“Please don't speak about her like that, Mr. Pruitt.” Marcus's words were polite, but his voice was cutting and surprisingly loud.

“It's a valid question. Are you leaving behind your homeland and your heritage for New York and disposable American culture?”

“That's not what you asked. You asked why I would choose to be associated with a woman like Ms. George, both personally and professionally.”

Ashley's heart thundered in her chest, all while the blood drained from her face.

“She's a reality television star,” Mr. Pruitt continued. “It seems as though you've cheapened your own image in order to garner success. Frankly, I'm shocked that a family as esteemed as yours would stoop to such lows.”

The corners of Ashley's mouth turned down. Was that really what people thought? Or was this guy just a pompous jerk? Her money was on the latter, but it wasn't much of a consolation. Marcus had been so excited about this interview, and it was all going wrong. Because of her. She pressed herself against the wall, right next to the door, listening.

“I can't believe you'd cling to such snobbery,” came Marcus's voice, “especially since you live in the US for half of the year. You don't even know her. She's one of the hardest working people I've ever met. She may be on television, but it's not an act. She genuinely loves to match people and find them love, and she's amazing at it. If there's any shame in that, it's of your making.”

Emotion welled up inside her—a distinct warmth and fullness in the vicinity of her heart. Marcus admired her for all she did. Even better, he'd stuck up for her.

Mr. Pruitt laughed, but there was no frivolity in the sound. It reeked of condemnation and superiority. “I'd say someone is too henpecked to think for himself.”

“That's it!” Marcus yelled. It was so loud, so abrupt, that she held her breath. “Get out, now, or I'll show you out myself.”

“You're kicking me out of my own interview? Your father has been hounding us for years to do a story on Chambers Gin, and this is what you do when the time comes? I can't imagine your dad is going to be pleased when he hears about this.”

No no no.
She closed her eyes, willing Marcus to take a deep breath and calm down. She knew exactly how he got when he was mad, as if he was possessed by his anger.

“My father would expect me to come to a lady's defense. If you can't see the propriety in that, there's no point in an interview.”

“Well, then. Ms. George has really done a number on you.”

Ashley wasn't sure what she should do, but if she hesitated for even ten more seconds, all would be lost, and she'd come face-to-face with the man who'd just said horrible things about her. A tiny part of her thought she should retreat back down the hall. The rest of her was going to march into that room, save Marcus, and take it like a woman.

A distinct look of surprise crossed Mr. Pruitt's face when she sauntered into the tasting room, swiveling her hips and smiling sweetly.

“Oh, hello. You must be Mr. Pruitt,” she leaned forward, letting the dress do some of her bidding. She took his hand, holding it firmly. Even when his demeanor made her a bit ill, there was sweet satisfaction in witnessing his bewilderment. “I'm Ashley George. It's
so
nice to meet you, sir. I've heard so many wonderful things about you.” She laid it on with the Southern charm, her accent so saccharine it made Ashley's cheeks hurt. She looked up at Marcus, her smile unflinching.

“Ashley,” Marcus said. “Were you just out in the hall?” The pure concern on his face was so endearing. The man could be a handsome pain in the butt, but he had a heart as wide as the sky.

“I was. Not for long,” she replied. “I heard Mr. Pruitt say that I've really done a number on you.”

Marcus blinked. Mr. Pruitt cleared his throat. Her mind scrambled for a way out of the corner she'd just painted herself into. She didn't want to let Mr. Pruitt off the hook, but she also wanted to save the interview.

“Which I thought was just the sweetest way to put it,” she said, exaggerating her accent and taking a seat next to Oscar at the tasting bar. “Marcus and are I quite taken with each other. There's no doubt about that.” She slapped the bar with her hand. “Now let's talk gin. I, for one, could really use a drink.”

Fifteen

B
y the time Oscar Pruitt walked out of that tasting room, Marcus was certain the man had no idea what had hit him. Marcus knew very well that there was no preparing for Hurricane Ashley—she made things happen and all you could do was hold on for dear life. Ultimately, Oscar had been completely won over by her. One minute, Oscar had been spewing venom, and the next minute, he was declaring Ashley the most charming woman he'd ever met, referring to Chambers No. 9 as “simply sublime” and admonishing himself for not being a more regular viewer of
Manhattan Matchmaker
. When he parted, Oscar had gone so far as to assure Marcus that the cover story in
International Spirits
would include one of the most glowing reviews he'd ever written. Ashley had saved Chambers Gin from utter disaster.

More important, she'd saved Marcus from himself, which meant she'd kept him from gravely disappointing his father. In the process, he couldn't think of a time he'd been more turned on by a woman. Because of her performance, her mind-numbing dress and the profound relief of having the interview behind him, he wanted only one thing—her, naked, in his bed.

“I need to get you back to the city, and my apartment, now,” he said, collecting his suit jacket.

“But your party...” she started, but he held his finger to her lips. That one touch made his blood circulate wildly and warmly.

“Jo can take care of it. I need to take care of you.” He decisively flipped off the light in the tasting room. “Let's get out of here.”

They hurried to the limo after Marcus convinced his sister to take the reins for the rest of the night. He loosened his tie as soon as they were on the road. “You were amazing tonight, Ashley. Absolutely amazing. I'm not sure I could say anything to you that could match the performance you just gave.” He turned and took her hand, his vision drifting over her. She was so beautiful, inside and out, and hell if she didn't manage to surprise him at every turn.

“I couldn't stand out in the hall and let you ruin your interview because of me. I had to do something.”

He rubbed her fingers with his thumb. “But you heard those things he said about you. How did you keep from flying into a rage?”

“People have said far worse things about me.”

“But people love you. They adore you.”

“Believe me, not everyone loves the Manhattan Matchmaker.”

“The Manhattan Matchmaker didn't save me from myself. You did. You walked into the room and faced Oscar's ugly attitude. You turned everything on its head by being yourself.” The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, begging to burst forth. But would this be too fast for her? Considering her past with her ex, it might be too soon to tell her that he was falling for her, hard. He was falling in love with every last thing about her.

“I couldn't let you down,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can't imagine you letting me down.” His hand went to her jaw and he kissed her softly.

“Are you sure you aren't saying all of that because of the dress?”

He laughed quietly. “There might not be much defense for that dress, but I'm sure it's not that.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. She turned into him, wrapping her arm around his waist. She gazed up into his face with those welcoming sable eyes of hers. She made him lose all sense of place when she looked at him like that. He committed every electric flicker in her eyes, every bat of her lashes to memory. Perhaps it was his brain's way of distracting him from the way her presence resonated in his body, with a tremor and a low hum.

She's so incredible. And I'm a goner.
His breaths became shallow. There was no way to suck in enough oxygen. Ashley was taking all there was to be had. Staying composed while he had her this close was a titanic task, but he didn't want to start something salacious in the back of a car. He wanted to take her home, take off that dress and make love to her all night long.

The lighter traffic at this late hour made it a quicker trip home. They rushed into the building and onto the elevator. The doors slid closed and Ashley practically flattened Marcus against the wall. “The way you were rubbing the fabric of this dress against my skin was killing me. Did you have to do it for the whole car ride?” She kissed him, tugging on his lower lip with her teeth at the end, drawing a guttural groan from the depths of his throat.

He kissed her back, breathlessly. One hand dragged her dress up the length of her leg, craving the chance to touch her thigh. “Sounds like I'm in trouble.” His other hand was at her rib cage, caressing in circles, desperate for the moment he could take off her gown and have both hands all over her breasts.

The elevator ding heralded their arrival on the eleventh floor. Even though the moment he'd been waiting for was hurtling at him, getting Ashley into his bed wasn't happening fast enough. His pants were so tight he wasn't sure how he was still breathing, let alone still upright. He grabbed Ashley's hand and took impossibly long strides to get to his door. He hunched over, fiddling with his key. She rose to her tiptoes, chin nearly on his shoulder, breathing hot air against his ear and driving him insane. Finally the key went in.

He wasted no time sweeping her into his arms, their lips tearing into each other. He turned her in circles, much like he had on the dance floor the night of her party. They twirled through the foyer, into the great room, down the hall as they worked at undressing him first—his tie, jacket and shirt were easily gone, left behind on the floor. He had her dress up around her waist by the time they were in his bedroom. Everything about Ashley had his body primed and hungry. He had to have her, body and soul, now. Heat raged inside him, his erection fierce and insistent.

She raised her arms and he lifted the dress above her head. It felt as though he was revealing his reward, a prize he wanted all for himself. He gathered her wrists in one hand, her arms high, part of the dress bunched up around her hands, part of it draping down her back. Even in the near-dark of his room, her skin had its usual soft glow. He drank in her magnificently round beauty, all woman, all feminine mystique. He backed her to the bed and laid her down, clutching her wrists above her head.

“Are you alright?” he asked, stealing a kiss.

“Perfect,” she replied.

He cupped one of her breasts, her velvety skin nearly melting into his hands, conforming to his fingers. Her nipples were an inviting rosy pink, pert and tight and sensitive. Every time his fingers got close to them, her skin flooded with warmth.

He stood. “Don't move. Keep your hands where they are.”

She clutched the satin dress in her hands. “Whatever you want.”

He shucked his pants and boxers, watching her as she watched him.

“You're magnificent with no clothes on. You know that, right?” she asked.

“I'd say the same thing of you, darling.” He'd never craved a woman the way he did her, as if he could spend his lifetime exploring her, unlocking her mysteries, learning and admiring. “Can we keep your shoes on?” He stood with his knees pressed against the side of the bed and lifted her leg, holding her ankle, trailing the back of his other hand along her inner thigh.

“You do realize they pinch my toes, right?”

“They do?” he frowned.
Damn. Next time.
“We can't have that.” He undid the tiny silver buckle and removed the shoe, placing it on the floor. He did the same with her other foot, then stretched out beside her.

“I want to touch you,” she said, raising her head and craning her neck as if she was reaching for him with her lips. “Can I move my hands yet?”

He rubbed her stomach. The parts of him driven by testosterone wanted her hands all over him. But his brain wanted her under his control for a few more minutes. “Not yet.”

* * *

Ashley's heart was in her throat. Marcus was so hot when he was like this—taking charge, even bossing her around a little bit. It was probably why she'd never completely written him off when they'd had their spats.

His hand went under the waistband of her black satin panties, but his eyes stayed glued to hers. With every passing second, with every pump of blood through her body, he further occupied her heart. He could have had absolutely anything from her at that moment. Absolutely anything.

Now that she was completely naked, both physically and mentally, he shifted above her, planting his knees on the bed between her legs, his hands on either side of her waist. He covered every square inch of her belly with his warm lips, traveling in circles that radiated outward. When he reached her breasts, he gathered his lips around her nipples, sucking, then flickering his tongue against the tight skin. He kissed the tender undersides of her breasts, then the stretch of skin between them. Every subtle thing he did felt so essential to her being, as if he was coaxing her breaths out of her.

He traveled down her midline with his lips, the kisses becoming deeper, longer, wet. She sucked in a sharp breath when he palmed her thighs and spread her legs wide. Then he kissed her apex and the whole world fell away. He took control, exploring her most delicate places with his tongue and lips, with the patience of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Her hips bucked off the bed as his tongue traveled in circles. She couldn't stand not to touch him anymore. She tossed the dress aside and dug her hands into his hair. The intensity was building so quickly in her center that she didn't think she could take it much longer. She felt as if she might explode. She was legitimately concerned that if he made her come as hard as she thought she might, she could end up pinning his head on both sides with her knees. “Marcus. I need you. I need you to make love to me.”

He took a few more passes, just enough to make her dizzy, then pressed his lips against her lower stomach. She took a deep breath, willing the pleasurable pressure to recede. She wanted this next part to last.

He removed a condom from the bedside drawer.

“Let me do it,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed.

“Gladly.” He handed it over, standing before her, a vision of muscle and masculinity—a very happy vision judging by the way he felt in her hands. A low, guttural breath escaped his lips.

She stroked him, watching his reaction as she tightened her grip. Then she switched to a lighter touch, and that seemed to drive him even crazier. Her fingers traveled his length, slowly, carefully. It felt as if he became even harder with every pass. She couldn't fathom how he could take much more, so she opened the foil packet and rolled on the condom.

He lowered his head, cupped the side of her face, and drew her into a deep kiss. It was as if he was drinking in her very being, and she did the same to him, relishing every heavenly sensation of his touch. She eased herself to her back and bracketed his hips with her knees. “I want you, Marcus. Make love to me.”

“I need you, Ash. More than you'll probably ever know.” He positioned himself at her entrance, still standing, raising her hips off the bed, carefully driving inside as he did.

She went higher, he went deeper and their bodies were fully joined. He cradled her bottom in his hands. She wrapped her legs around his hips, struggling to make sense of how impossibly good he felt. He was so deep it made her light-headed. He increased their pace, making small but powerful thrusts, keeping their bodies as close as possible.

He had her right back where she'd been a few minutes before, poised on the edge of release, her breaths shallow, almost insignificant. His were coming hard and fast, his lips parted, his eyes closed as he seemed lost in a trance of pleasure. She wanted those lips. She wanted his face in her hands when he gave way. She had to have that closeness.

“Kiss me,” she gasped, clutching at the sheets, realizing just how close she was to release.

He reached down and slipped his arms around her, pulling her chest to his as he rolled onto the bed until they were facing each other, on their sides. Their lips were on each other, tongues swirling. Marcus bucked his hips against her, thrusting deep, while the angle brought her a perfect friction. Her insides were wound tight, and there wouldn't be much more she could take before she would have to give in.

The peak sprang on her like a tiger attacks its prey, consuming her. Marcus quickly followed with his own release, holding her close, quieting the movements of her hips with his hands. Their breaths slowed, falling into synchrony. She caressed the side of his face, feeling his stubble against her palm, feeling his smile in their kiss. She couldn't think of another place on earth she'd rather be.
I love him.

If only she could be certain she wouldn't let him down.