Beautiful Bastard

  “Of all the asinine, chauvinistic—who in the hell do you think you are? Just because we’ve had sex does not mean you get to make decisions in my life. We aren’t a couple, we aren’t dating. Hell, we don’t even like each other!” she yelled.

  “You think I don’t know that? It doesn’t make any sense, okay? But when I saw those flowers . . . come on, they were fucking roses!”

  She looked as if she were ready to have me committed somewhere. “Are you on some sort of medication? What does the fact that they were roses have to do with anything?”

  “You hate roses!” When I said this, her face fell, eyes soft and dark. I rambled on. “I just saw them and reacted. I didn’t stop and think about it. Just the thought of him touching you . . .” My fists clenched at my sides and my voice trailed off as I tried to regain my composure. I was getting angrier by the second: at myself for being weak and letting my emotions get out of hand, again, and at her for having this fucking inexplicable hold on me.

  “Okay, look,” she said, taking a calming breath. “I’m not saying I agree with what you did, but I understand . . . to a point.”

  My eyes flew to her in shock.

  “I would be lying if I said I haven’t been feeling similarly possessive,” she said reluctantly.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Did she actually just admit to me that she felt this way too?

  “But that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me. You lied right to my face. I might think you’re an arrogant asshole most of the time, but you’ve always been someone I trusted to be honest with me.”

  I flinched. She was right.

  “I’m sorry.” My apology hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure which of us was more surprised by it.

  “Prove it.” She looked at me so calmly, not an ounce of emotion visible in her features. What did she mean? Then, it hit me. Prove it. We couldn’t speak through words, because words only led to trouble. But this? This is what we were, and if she would give me this one chance to make up for what I’d done, I’d take it.

  I hated her so much in that moment. I hated that she was right and I was wrong, and I hated that she was forcing me to make a choice. I hated how much I wanted her, most of all.

  I closed the distance between us, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck. I pulled her to me, meeting her gaze as I drew her mouth to mine. There was an unspoken challenge there. Neither of us would back down or admit that this—whatever this was—was beyond our control.

  Or maybe both of us just had.

  The moment our lips touched, I was overtaken by a familiar buzz coursing through my body.

  My hands fisted deeply into her hair, forcing her head back, to take everything I pressed into her. This might be for her, but I was damn sure going to control it. Pressing my body to hers, I groaned at the way each of her curves fit against me. I wanted this need to go away, to be satisfied and move on; but each time I felt her, it was better than I remembered.

  Falling to my knees, I grasped her hips and pulled her closer, my lips moving across the waist of her pants. Lifting her shirt up, I kissed each inch of visible skin, enjoying the tensing of her muscles as I explored. I looked up at her, hooking my fingers into the waistband. Her eyes were closed and she was biting her lower lip. I felt my cock harden in anticipation of what I was about to do.

  I pulled her pants down her thighs, goose bumps breaking out over her skin as I trailed my fingers down her legs. Her hands went to my hair and pulled roughly, and I groaned as I looked back up at her. I traced the edge of the delicate satin of her lingerie, stopping at the thin straps on her hips. “These are almost too pretty to ruin,” I said, wrapping one strap around each hand.

  “Almost.” With a quick tug they broke easily, allowing me to pull the pink material away and stuff it into my pocket.

  A sense of urgency took over me then, and I quickly freed one of her legs, placing it over my shoulder and kissing along the soft skin of her inner thigh.

  “Oh, shit,” she said on an exhale, running her hands into my hair. “Oh, shit, please.”

  As I first nuzzled and then slowly licked along her clit, she gripped my hair tightly, moving her hips against my mouth. Unintelligible words fell from her lips in a hoarse whisper, and seeing her come undone so completely made me realize she was as helpless against this as I was. She was pissed at me, so pissed that part of her probably wanted to hook her leg around my neck and strangle me, but at least she was letting me give her something that was, in many ways, so much more intimate than simple fucking. I was on my knees, but she was vulnerable and bare.

  She was also warm and wet and tasted just as fucking sweet as she looked.

  “I could fucking consume you,” I whispered, pulling back enough to glance up at her expression. Kissing her hip, I murmured, “This would be so much better if I could spread you out somewhere. A table in a conference room, perhaps.”

  She tugged on my hair, pulling me back to her with a smile. “This is working just fine for me. Don’t you dare stop.”

  I almost admitted aloud that I couldn’t, and I was starting to abhor the thought of even trying but soon was lost in her skin again. I wanted to memorize every curse and plea that escaped her mouth and know that I was the reason for it. I moaned against her, causing her to cry out as she twisted her body closer. Sliding two fingers inside her, I pulled on her hip with the other hand to urge her to find her rhythm with me. She began rolling her hips, slowly at first, pressing into me, and then faster. I could feel her tense: her legs, her abdomen, her hands in my hair.

  “So close,” she panted, her movements faltering, growing jagged and a little wild, and fuck if I didn’t feel a little wild myself. I wanted to bite and suck, bury my fingers inside and completely unravel her. I worried I was growing too rough, but her breaths turned into little pants and tightened into pleas. When I twisted my wrist and pushed in deeper, she cried out, legs shaking as her climax overtook her.

  Rubbing her hip, I slowly lowered her leg and watched her feet just in case she decided to kick me after all. I ran a finger across my lip and watched her eyes return to focus.

  She pushed me away and quickly righted her clothing, looking down at where I kneeled in front of her. Reality crept back as the various sounds of people dining on the other side of the door combined with the sound of our heavy breathing.

  “You’re not forgiven,” she said and reached down for her purse, unlocking the door and leaving the room without another word.

  I stood up slowly and watched the door close behind her, trying to sort out what had just happened. I should have been furious. But I felt the corner of my mouth lift in a smile and I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

  Damn her, she did it again. She was beating me at my own game.

  My night had been hell. I’d hardly slept or eaten, and I’d suffered a near-constant hard-on since leaving the restaurant yesterday. I knew I was in for it as I headed to work. She was going to do everything she could to torture and punish me for lying to her; the sick thing was . . . I was kind of looking forward to it.

  I was surprised to find her desk empty upon my arrival. Strange, I thought, she was rarely late. I continued into my office and began getting things in order for the day. Fifteen minutes later, I was distracted from a phone call when I heard the outer door slam. Well, she certainly didn’t disappoint; I could hear drawers and files slamming and knew this would make for an interesting day.

  At ten fifteen I was interrupted by my intercom. “Mr. Ryan.” Her cool voice filled the room and despite her obvious annoyance, I found myself smirking as I pressed the button to respond.

  “Yes, Miss Mills?” I answered back, hearing my own grin reflected in my tone.

  “We need to be in the conference room in fifteen minutes. You’ll need to leave at noon to make the lunch meeting with the president of Kelly Industries at twe
lve thirty. Stuart will be waiting for you in the garage.”

  “Are you not accompanying me?” Part of me wondered if she was avoiding being alone with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “No, sir. Management only.” I heard papers rustling as she continued to speak. “Besides, I have arrangements to make for San Diego today.”

  “I’ll be out in a moment,” I let my finger slide off the button, standing to adjust my tie and jacket.

  When I stepped out of my office, my eyes landed on her immediately. Any doubts I might have had about her making me suffer were confirmed. She was leaning over her desk in a blue silk dress that showcased her long lean legs perfectly. Her hair was piled on her head, and when she turned in my direction, I saw she was wearing her glasses. How was I going to manage to speak coherently with her sitting next to me?

  “Are you ready, Mr. Ryan?” Without waiting for an answer, she gathered her things and began walking down the hall. There seemed to be more sway to her hips today. The sassy bitch was taunting me.

  Standing in the crowded elevator, our bodies were unintentionally pressed together and I had to stifle a groan. It could have been my imagination but I thought I saw a hint of a smirk as she “accidentally” brushed against my semierect cock. Twice.

  For the next two hours, I was in my own personal hell. Every time I looked at her she was doing something to bring me to my knees: sly glances, licking her bottom lip, crossing and uncrossing her legs, or absentmindedly twirling a tendril of hair around her finger. At one point, she dropped her pen and casually placed her hand on my thigh as she bent down to retrieve it from under the table.

  At the lunch meeting that followed, I was both grateful for the reprieve from her torment and desperate to get back to it. I nodded and spoke at appropriate times, but I was never really there. Of course my father had noticed every second of my surly, quiet mood. On the drive back to the office, he started in on me.

  “For three days, you and Chloe will be together in San Diego without the buffer of office doors, and there won’t be anyone there to run interference. I expect you to treat her with the utmost respect. And before you get defensive,” he added, holding his hands up as he sensed my quick rebuttal, “I’ve already spoken to Chloe about this.”

  My eyes widened and flashed to his face. He had talked to Miss Mills about my professional conduct?

  “Yes, I’m aware that it’s not just you,” he said, leading us into an empty elevator. “She’s assured me that she gives every bit as good as she gets. Why do you think I suggested you as her program mentor in the first place? There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she could hold her own with you.”

  Henry stood silent next to him, a smug smile stretched across his face. Asshole.

  I frowned slightly as the realization hit me: she had spoken in my defense. She could have easily made it sound like I was a tyrant, but instead she accepted some of the blame.

  “Dad, I’ll admit that that my relationship with her is unconventional,” I began, praying that no one understood how true that statement really was. “But I assure you, it in no way interferes with our ability to conduct business. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Good,” Dad said when we arrived at my office suite.

  We walked in to find Miss Mills on the phone, speaking almost inaudibly. “Well, I’m going to let you go, Dad. I have some things to take care of and I’ll let you know as soon as I can. You need to get some sleep, okay?” she said softly. After a brief pause she laughed, but then didn’t say anything else for a moment. Neither I nor the two men beside me dared say anything. “I love you too, Daddy.”

  My stomach tightened at the words, and the way her voice shook when she said them. When she turned around in her chair, she startled to find us standing there. Quickly she began gathering the paperwork on her desk.

  “How did the meeting go?”

  “It went smoothly, as always,” my father said. “You and Sara really do a superb job taking care of things. I don’t know what my sons would do without the two of you.”

  Her eyebrow lifted slightly and I could see her struggling to not gloat in my direction. But then her face transformed into a puzzled expression and I realized I’d been full-on grinning at her, hoping to see some of her trademark sass. I put on the best scowl I could manage as I walked into my office. It only hit me when I closed my door that I hadn’t seen her smile once since we’d come back and heard her on the phone.

  Ten

  My head wasn’t in the game. I had a few things to show Mr. Ryan before he left for the day, had to get some documents to legal for signatures, but I felt like I was walking through wet sand, the phone conversation with my dad looping endlessly through my thoughts. As I walked into Mr. Ryan’s office, I stared down at the papers in my arms, realizing how many things I’d need to organize today: plane tickets, someone to pick up my mail, maybe even a temp for while I was gone. How long would I be gone?

  I registered Mr. Ryan was saying something—loudly—in my direction. What was he saying? He came into focus in front of me and I heard the end of his rant, “. . . barely paying attention. Jesus, Miss Mills, do I need to write this down for you?”

  “Can we skip this game today?” I asked, tired.

  “The . . . what now?”

  “This asshole-boss routine.”

  His eyes widened, brows drawing together. “Excuse me?”

  “I realize you get your rocks off on being an epic dick to me, and I’ll admit that sometimes it’s actually kind of sexy, but I’m having a horrible, awful day and would really appreciate it if you would just not speak. To me.” I was close to tears, my chest constricting painfully. “Please.”

  He looked like he’d been blindsided, blinking rapidly as he stared. Finally, he spluttered, “What just happened?”

  I swallowed, regretting my tantrum. Things were always better with him when I kept my wits. “I overreacted to being yelled at. I apologize.”

  He got up and began walking toward me, but at the last minute he stopped and sat down on the corner of his desk, fiddling awkwardly with a crystal paperweight. “No, I mean, why is your day so horrible? What’s going on?” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it outside of sex. Except this time, he wasn’t quiet to keep a secret; he was quiet because he seemed genuinely concerned.

  I didn’t want to talk to him about this because part of me expected him to mock me. But an even larger part was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t. “My dad has to have some tests. He’s having trouble eating.”

  Mr. Ryan’s face fell. “Eating? Is it an ulcer?”

  I explained what I knew, that it had started suddenly and an early scan showed a small mass on his esophagus.

  “Can you go home?”

  I stared at him. “I don’t know. Can I?”

  He winced, blinked away. “Am I really that big of a jerk?”

  “Sometimes.” I immediately regretted it, because no, he’d never done anything to make me think he’d keep me from my sick father.

  He nodded, swallowing thickly as he stared out the window. “You can take whatever time you need, of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stared at the floor, waiting for him to continue with the list of the day’s tasks. But silence engulfed the room instead. I could see in my peripheral vision that he’d turned back and was watching me.

  “Are you okay?” He’d said it so quietly I wasn’t even sure I heard him right.

  I considered lying, wrapping up this most awkward of conversations. Instead, I said, “Not really.”

  His hand reached up, dug into his hair. “Close my office door,” he said.

  I nodded, oddly disappointed to be so quietly dismissed. “I’ll bring the notes from legal for—”

  “I mean close the door, but stay.”

  Oh.


  Oh.

  I turned, walking across the plush carpet in complete silence. His office door closed with a heavy click.

  “Lock it.”

  I turned the lock and felt him move closer until his breath fanned warm across the back of my neck.

  “Let me touch you. Let me do something.”

  He understood. He knew what he could give me—distraction, relief, pleasure in the face of surging panic. I didn’t reply because I knew I didn’t need to. I’d closed and locked the door after all.

  But then I felt his lips, soft and pressing against my shoulder, up my neck. “You smell . . . amazing,” he said, untying my dress where it fastened behind my neck. “I always smell like you for hours afterward.”

  He didn’t add whether that was a good thing or a bad thing and I found that I didn’t care. I liked that he smelled me even when I’d gone.

  With his hands sliding to my hips, he turned me to face him and bent to kiss me in a single, smooth movement. This was different. His mouth was soft, almost asking. There was nothing tentative about the kiss—there was never anything tentative about him—but this kiss almost felt more adoring and less like a battle being lost.

  He pushed my dress from my shoulders and it pooled at my feet as he stepped back, giving just enough room to let the cool air of his office wash his heat from my skin.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Before I could process the soft delivery of these new words he threw me a smirk and leaned to kiss me as he grabbed my panties, twisted and ripped them.

  This, we knew.

  I reached for his pants but he stepped away, shaking his head. He moved his hand between my legs, found smooth, wet skin. His breath grew faster on my cheek and his fingers were somehow careful and hard, his words coming out deep, filthy, telling me I was beautiful, I was so dirty. Telling me I was a tease, and how good I made him feel.

  He told me how much he craved the way I sound when I come.