“Can I ask you something?” he says, breaking the comfortable silence.
I answer him honestly. “Always.”
“Not that I’m complaining, and not that I do it all that often anymore, but I’m curious. Why doesn’t my stripping bother you? The only people I know who aren’t jealous over stripper significant others are strippers themselves.” Then, as though he’s submitting evidence to the court to back up his theory, he adds, “It almost came between Chance and Jane.”
“That’s true.” I spin my chair to face him, silently bemoaning the end of my massage. For now. “Honestly, I was a little surprised myself when I realized it didn’t bother me at the party. This just proves what a catch I really am. I mean, I know you’re well aware that I’m one-in-a-gazillion, but now you can brag that you have the coolest girlfriend ever to all of your stripping buddies at the next pole convention.”
He arches a single reproachful brow. “You know damn well male dancers don’t use poles.”
I mimic his eyebrow thing and ask in mock seriousness, “Or do they?”
He dismisses my silly retort and steers the conversation back onto the road. “Maybe it’s because we were in a group of your friends.”
He props an elbow on the arm rest and rubs two fingers over his chin as he contemplates this, like it’s one of life’s great mysteries. And maybe to him it is. Like he said, I’m the first non-adult-entertainer he’s met who hasn’t raged at the idea of him continuing to dance.
I channel my serious side and do my best to put his mind at ease. “No, I really don’t think that’s it. I tried picturing you at some sorority party where the busty co-eds are hanging on you and you’re putting them on the ground to grind your junk in their faces, and I felt nothing but smug amusement. As long as you’re keeping your hands to yourself, other than to flip them into different crazy contortions, there’s not even a hint of jealousy.”
He eyes me speculatively. “Even if we do the whipped cream thing?”
I got the low-down on that trick from Jane when she’d accidentally witnessed Chance—and Roman and Austin—at Julia’s twenty-first, spraying their torsos with dessert topping so the women could suck or lick it from their oh-so-hard bodies. I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Even if they do body shots off of me?”
If it’s a typical body shot, the alcohol is either in a shot glass balanced on, or poured directly into, his navel. They lick salt off of his body somewhere, drink the shot, and then usually retrieve a wedge of lime held between his teeth with their mouths. I don’t love the idea of their lips touching his, but it’s still not a kiss, it’s just a stupid drinking game. Again I shake my head. “Still in the clear.”
“So why do I feel like I’m stepping into a trap?”
I smile as I get up and sit sideways in his lap, loving the way his arms automatically slide around my waist to pull me close. “I promise it’s not. All that matters to me is that I’m the only woman you want and the only one you round the proverbial bases with. The rest of them can drool at the very sight of you and play grab-ass all they want because I know I’m the one who actually gets to have you.”
Roman’s smile lights up my world, and he leans in to kiss me, but I hold him back with a hand on his chest. “However,” I stress firmly, “let the record show that when I picture you with another woman sexually—even something minor, like when I remember Misty’s grubby little paws all over you…” I don’t realize I’m clenching my fists until I feel the bite of my nails digging into my palms. Forcing them to relax, I take a deep breath and say calmly, “I get super pissy. Like, Jerry Springer, ‘Bitch, you better back the beep off my beepin’ man before I claw your beepin’ eyes out’ kind of pissy.”
He chuckles and cups my jaw with one large hand. “I kind of like you jealous. You’re like an adorable, spitting-mad kitten.” I cross my arms over my chest, shooting him an unamused glare. Schooling his features into a semi-serious expression, he appeases me like the sweet man he is. “Sorry, baby, I meant a wicked dangerous honey badger.”
“Damn straight, you did,” I say, unfolding my arms. “You’re getting docked a blow job for that one.”
Ooh, there it is, ladies and gentleman, the alpha in the wild. I love how easy it is to flip his dominant switch. Instant Alpha: just add challenge. I can make him turn it on any time I want just by being my sassy self. But I’d never admit to such manipulation. I value mobility without complications, and I wouldn’t be able to walk right for a week if he even suspected I provoke him on purpose.
“We’ll see about that,” he says, his voice as smoky as the whisky he drinks. His eyes are now steely gray, and his expression issues commands before he ever says a word. And it’s making me all tingly in all the right places. Or wrong ones, considering we’re at work and we have a conference call with a client in—I check my phone sitting on the table and curse the fickle gods—about five minutes.
Keeping up the pretense of indifference, I return to my chair, scoop up a stack of papers and tap the edges on the table to straighten them for absolutely no reason. Withholding the eye contact I know he wants, I say, “I guess we will.”
Before I can process why the world is suddenly imitating a shaken snow globe, Roman has me back in his lap. One hand easily restrains both of mine as his free one starts to glide up the inside of my thigh, passing the hem of my sheath dress. “Roman,” I protest weakly, my eyes fluttering closed as his fingertips graze over my panties, “we don’t have time for this.”
“We might not have time for sex.” He applies more pressure and runs his fingers down the seam of my pussy, causing my juices to transfer to the thin silk. “But I have plenty of time before our call for a fun game of orgasm denial.”
My jaw drops. “I won’t be able to focus. I’ll be a mess.”
“Should’ve thought about that before denying my cock of your sweet mouth, Ms. Paige.”
Roman circles over my clit, and I groan from the friction of my panties on the sensitive bud. I drop my head back on my shoulders, ready to give in to whatever he wants, pleasure or punishment, as long as he touches me a little bit longer. I think I feel him stiffen for the span of a heartbeat, but then he rubs me with a single knuckle and I forget my own name.
The conference phone in the middle of the long table beeps and I jump out of Roman’s lap like it set my ass on fire. Maggie’s voice comes through the speaker. “Just a reminder that your conference call starts in two minutes.”
I clear my throat and try to put myself back together, even though Roman never had the chance to take me apart, and even if he had, the people on the other end of the call won’t be able to tell if I’m wearing a business suit or a toga. “Thank you, Maggie. I’ll dial in shortly.”
“Your phone went off earlier.”
“What?” I’m still a little dazed as I glance over to see Roman pulling up the information we’ll need for reference on his laptop. He nods in the direction of my cell on the table between us and says, “It’s on silent, but I think the screen lit up earlier.”
“Oh!” I say, grabbing it up faster than usual and hitting the button to display the notifications on the lock screen.
Shit shit shit. I hope Roman didn’t see who sent the text. I hope he was as focused on touching me as much as I was on being touched. But considering our established phone etiquette, it’s unlikely.
Most people guard their phones with their lives, but we’re not like that. If I’m in the kitchen and my phone goes off on the coffee table in front of him, he’ll glance at it and say, “Your mom’s texting you,” to which I always reply, “What’d she say?” and then he reads it to me, or vice versa. Neither one of us worry about the other seeing whatever pops up on our phones because neither one of us is hiding anything.
Until now. And if Roman sees that Austin is contacting me in secret, I have a feeling things will get real ugly, real fast. I hate keeping this from him, but I don’t have a choice. I’m hoping I’ll only have to meet
with Austin a couple of times, and then our business together will be concluded and I won’t have to sneak around anymore after that.
I don’t want to read the text in front of Roman, so I dump my phone into my purse sitting at my feet.
“Everything okay?” he asks absently, still absorbed in scrolling through files.
“Oh, yeah, it was just Janey. I’ll call her tonight.” He stops what he’s doing and turns to look at me, his expression almost somber, and I start to panic, acid churning in my gut.
But then he smiles at me and says, “Chance is probably getting on her nerves about having another party. He liked dancing for her with the energy of the crowd around. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
I return the smile as my stomach settles. “I think we can make that happen. I’ll call Aunt Martha and the girls, you call all the boys.”
“Deal.”
Then he presses a chaste kiss to my lips and turns his attention to the meeting. As I dial in to the conference, I let out a slow exhale of relief. Crisis averted. All systems are GO.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roman
She did it. Addison absolutely killed it today. Seven hours straight of questioning from both sides. Bit by bit, she tore the VP of LevelUp apart, leading him to trip up and admit things that would destroy him in front of a jury. Bill Reeves used every tactic in his book to shake her, to befuddle and confuse her, but Addison persevered with confidence and poise and irrefutable arguments for her line of questioning. She never once cowered, never once showed fear.
It didn’t show on Bill’s face, but I saw it in his eyes; my father was impressed, and maybe even a little awestruck.
We worked damn hard preparing for today, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous going in. If she failed, it would have been bad all around—for the firm, our client, and, I suspect, me and her. Because if she’d started to truly struggle, I would have had to jump in and take over, and despite her claiming to understand and promising to not get upset if things came to that, it wouldn’t have gone over well with her. Thank Christ it hadn’t been necessary.
In the end, opposing counsel will have no choice but to advise their client to settle, and everyone in this room knows it. My father might be a shark, but it turns out my girl is every bit as cutthroat as he is. In time, I might not be the only one around here with the nickname of Ruthless.
As soon as Maggie sees the clients out of the conference room, the rest of us begin to pack up our things. Addison stands and I retrieve her black, fitted jacket from the back of her chair and hold it up for her as she slips her arms in. She turns to face me while she fastens the button, her face radiant with the rush of a win, but her smile subdued with professionalism.
Fuck, this woman makes me hot. I do my best to school my features into a look that says “Well done, I couldn’t be happier with the outcome,” and not “I want to fuck you where you stand.”
My father closes his briefcase with a snap, effectively reminding me that now is not the time to indulge in my office sex fantasies. “Well, Ms. Paige,” he says, donning his suit jacket, “I have to say it was a pleasure losing to such a competent young attorney, such as yourself. I enjoyed watching you work immensely.”
Addison’s attempts at downplaying her emotions have come to an end as she beams at him. “Thank you, Mr. Reeves. That means a great deal coming from you. But I can’t take all the credit.” She spares a glance in my direction. “I’m learning from the best.”
I try not to actively puff out my chest with the swell of pride I feel at hearing her say those words. “Doesn’t matter how good the teacher is if the student can’t execute the lessons,” I say.
“He’s right about that, Ms. Paige.” My dad walks around the table and holds out his hand. I grip it in a firm handshake, foregoing the hug I usually give him in more casual settings. When Addison offers her hand, he takes it in both of his like he’s saying farewell to a dear acquaintance. Though it probably shouldn’t, it gets under my skin. I’m territorial as fuck when it comes to this woman and affection. “If you’re ever in the market for a new job, I’d be honored to have someone like you at Reeves, Rotier, & Davis.”
He winks at me to soften the blow of his half-joking faux pas, but it doesn’t do any good. The very thought of losing Addison—whether personally or professionally—makes me want to put my fist through the nearest wall. “Did you seriously just try to poach my employee, right in front of me, no less? That’s bad form, Bill.”
Shrugging, his smile firmly in place despite my obvious displeasure, he counters, “As a young man once said to me after informing me he was striking out on his own, ‘It’s just business.’”
Before I have the chance to rebut, Addison steps in. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Reeves, but I’m very happy here.”
“Please, call me Bill, and I understand completely. I didn’t mean to infer otherwise, only to let you know you have options if things ever change.” He pats her hand gently—since he hasn’t let it go yet—and gives her an almost fatherly look. “Roman’s very lucky to have you.”
Addison blushes, confirming my suspicion. That my dad’s no longer talking about her role as my junior attorney. She peers up at me, the question of whether I told him about us in her eyes. I give her the barest shake of my head to let her know I didn’t betray her confidence. Not that we’re being secretive among our friends and family, but my dad falls into a gray area because he’s also in our professional circle, so I kept our relationship status to myself where he was concerned.
“Hey, let’s all go out for sushi,” he says, abruptly changing the subject. “It’s Friday. No work tomorrow means we don’t have to worry about having too much sake. Dinner’s on me, what do you say?”
Addison tucks her hair behind her ear and licks her lips as her eyes dart back and forth between us. “Oh, that sounds great, and it’s so generous of you to offer, Bill, but I’m afraid I have dinner plans with my cousin.”
We hadn’t made any definitive plans other than spending time together tonight at my place, but I didn’t realize she had other things going on. Then again, it’s entirely possible my dad’s making her uncomfortable and she’s trying to get out of dinner with a white lie. I raise a brow, but play the part of polite colleague. “That sounds nice. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
“I’m sure we will. Sam travels a lot for work, so we don’t see each other very often. H—um, she’s only in town for a couple of days, so it’s kind of a last minute, impromptu thing. She texted me earlier, and I called her back during one of our breaks and we made plans. Otherwise I would gladly join you for dinner.”
She’s over-explaining, bordering on babbling, and Addison doesn’t babble. I can only assume the idea of my father discovering our relationship over some sake and dragon rolls is what’s making her more nervous than a con in front of a parole board. I need to get him out of here so she can breathe. “No problem, Addison, we can do it another time. Like the next time you kick Bill’s ass.”
That makes my dad and Addie laugh and at least relieves the tension around her eyes. My dad refuses to take no for an answer from me, and since I apparently won’t be seeing my girl until later tonight, I accept. Since starting up Reeves & Cooper, I haven’t had a chance to really visit with him. It’ll be good to catch up with each other.
He tells me he’ll head over to the restaurant and wait for me in the bar, unknowingly—or maybe knowingly—giving me time to talk with Addison before we go. I walk her down to my office under the pretense of discussing the day’s results.
As soon as the door is shut, I press her back against it. “I’m so goddamn proud of you, baby.” I grab her face, slam my mouth on hers—the one I’d watched challenge my father all damn day, her intelligence and cunning turning me on like she was sitting there naked—and kiss her long and hard and deep.
Her hands slip inside my jacket and fist the front of my shirt, then open flat to rub over my chest. When
we come up for air, she has a goofy kind of grin on her face. “What is it?” I ask.
She opens her mouth but then closes it and shakes her head. “You’ll laugh.”
“Possibly. Say it anyway.”
“Why don’t you have your nipples pierced?”
She was right. I laugh. Addison playfully twists my nipples in retaliation, which I answer by pinning her wrists by her head. “I’d say it’s my turn to pinch yours, but I’d rather wait for when I have you naked. I’ll make up for it later tonight.” My promise makes her breath hitch, satisfying me that she’ll be thinking about that all through dinner with her cousin. “Why do you ask? Disappointed they’re not accessorized like the rest of me?”
“Not that I would complain if they were, but no, I’m not disappointed. More curious as to why they were spared when, as you said, the ‘rest of you’ wasn’t.”
I chuckle and dip my head to kiss and nip the side of her neck as I answer. “Every mod and tattoo I have can be hidden or removed. I don’t like the way nipple rings look on men, and you’d be able to see barbells through my dress shirts.”
“Mmm,” she says in understanding. The delicious vibration of her hum sinks into my lips and travels straight to my dick, bringing it to full-fucking-attention. “Then, are you also against the way rings look on women?”
I stop what I’m doing and pull back to gauge her expression. If there’s a fucking God, she’s asking for a very specific reason. “Are you referring to anyone in particular?”
She pulls free from my hold to unbutton her jacket, then shrugs it off and lets it drop to her feet. Smoothing her hands over the front of her tits, she peers up at me with a coquettish grin. “Maybe I am.”
“Fuck me, Addie,” I growl, my gaze now helplessly riveted to where her nipples are already straining through the thin silk of her sleeveless dove-gray dress. Imagining them adorned with small, gold hoops, I brush my thumbs over the hard nubs. A shiver rolls through her, and I want to chase it with my tongue, all the way to where I know it gathers between her legs.