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And she scares the crap out of you, an honest little voice chimed deep inside him.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted, however, when he passed that taunting white rectangle an hour later. Fortuitously, he had his portable phone in hand, and he almost dialed her number. Almost.
It was exactly because he wanted to call her so much that he didn’t. There was something different about Claire, about the way she made him think and feel. And it was distinctly unsettling.
No, she was best set to one side and avoided. Too much at stake, too hard. Too daunting and demanding. Repressing a small pang, he tossed out her card.
He decided to organize some assignments that would take him out of the office, but then the memory of his recent meeting with Morgan rang in his mind. Damn it, he was expected to be on hand to play macho man for old man Hillcrest. How was he supposed to resist having his way with Claire when he was supposed to be her associate editor?
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, catching sight of himself in the mirror as he paced. He paused, leaned in to look himself in the eye. Could he trust himself to work side by side with Claire and not give in to the impulse to touch her?
Not a chance. Unless certain parts of his body came with an off switch he hadn’t been aware of previously, the only way to stop himself from making a fatal mistake was to pull back as far as he could go.
It wasn’t as if it was a tough decision, anyway. In many respects, getting to see Claire a lot was the only attractive aspect of the whole arrangement Morgan had proposed.
Who in their right mind would want to be the token anything on a project? Not Jack Brook, that was for sure. He’d been too taken by surprise to put up a good fight when Morgan had sprung the idea on him and Claire today, but he wasn’t hot to put his hand up for credit on a project he’d had no involvement with. It was unethical, and unfair to Claire.
He padded into the bedroom, his decision made. First thing tomorrow he’d call Beck and make his position clear.
CLAIRE FORCED HERSELF to go for a run, despite the burning urge to sit by the phone and will it to ring. She had an answering machine, and it would take a message if Jack called while she was out. She only had to repeat this to herself five times before she could force herself out the front door of her apartment. All other considerations aside, she had only two more weeks of training until the finals and she hadn’t done all this hard work to blow it off because she and Jack Brook had had wild animal sex in the elevator at work. Every time she thought about it she battled a wash of embarrassment, closely followed by a rush of desire. She was going crazy pacing around her apartment, second-guessing herself, staring at the phone.
So now she was ignoring the burning muscles in her thighs and pushing herself harder up the hill. She forced herself to go past the car dealership where she usually turned for home, then stopped in her tracks for a beat as she caught sight of a red Mustang convertible holding a place of pride in the center of the yard. Well, hello, old friend, she thought, remembering the ad that had kept her entertained for a full fifteen minutes that afternoon. The car looked much better in real life—shiny and red and fun. Pity she wasn’t a convertible kind of girl, she mused a little wistfully as she pushed on up another hill, her mind almost immediately reverting to its default position of wondering what Jack was doing right now, if he’d called, and what would happen next.
For a second she allowed her mind to flash back to the elevator. A surge of heat swept through her. She could almost feel his mouth on her skin again, feel the wet thrill of his tongue on her breasts. Her body tightened at the memory, and she realized that in a split second she’d undone all the good work her nice, mind-numbing run had done. She briefly considered pushing herself to do another few miles in an attempt to regain some control over her wayward body, but she suspected it would be futile. She’d tasted Jack Brook, and she wanted more—it was as simple as that.
How could a few hours change the way she felt about someone so much? How could she go from thinking someone was incredibly egotistical, cocky and overly confident to wondering if he lay awake at night thinking about his brother?
She had no answers, but she knew that something had shifted forever in that elevator car, and even though in her more rational moments she regretted having given in to the crazy urge to make love to him, and then giving him her home number, she was also glad.
When she got home and saw that no one had called she had to quell a wash of disappointment.
Maybe he had something on this evening.
Like a date.
With another woman.
She pushed the thought away all through her quick post-run shower. There was no way he could turn his back on what had happened between them in the lift. It had been so hot, so intense—surely he was aching to explore what they’d discovered in the same way that she was? Or even, on a more basic level, come back for seconds?
Determined to believe, Claire dumped the entire contents of her underwear drawer onto her bed and searched through the tangle of silk, satin and cotton until she found her best set of underwear—a deep aubergine lace bra with matching panties, very elegant but understatedly sexy at the same time.
She pulled them on, sprayed her wrists and cleavage with her favorite perfume, and spent some time creating a smoky, seductive look with eyeliner and mascara. Surveying herself in her bathroom mirror, she felt a surge of confidence. She was ready for him, ready to pick up where they left off, ready to explore the animal attraction that had sprung to life between them.
The sound of her doorbell buzzing jolted her out of her lust-filled musings, and she dragged on a pair of jeans and a handy T-shirt before padding her way to the door.
“I’m coming,” she called out as she approached the door, then felt a little kick of adrenaline in her belly as she wondered if it possibly could be Jack on the other side of the door.
Her breath caught in her throat as she reached for the door handle. Maybe he’d looked up her address, and hadn’t bothered with phoning because he just hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind, the way she hadn’t been able to put him out of hers…. Between her legs, her muscles tightened and she clenched her thighs together, reveling in the thrill of desire that raced through her. If Jack was here, in a few minutes she’d have him inside her again, the firm, delicious pressure of his erection satisfying the ache that had already started at the centre of her.
“Hey there! I’ve brought champagne and chocolate, and I want to hear all the details,” Katherine said as she breezed past Claire.
Claire tried to ignore the leaden disappointment that had replaced the buzz in her blood. Forcing a smile, she went to fetch champagne glasses.
“So, three hours in a lift with Jack Brook. I want a blow-by-blow account of every minute,” Katherine said, rubbing her hands together in mock anticipation.
Claire stared at her friend for a horrified second, praying that she wouldn’t blush. The last thing she wanted was to dissect what had happened with Katherine—or anyone, for that matter. This was between Claire and Jack, and she wanted to find out exactly what it was before letting the world know anything at all.
Painfully aware that she probably looked as though she’d just sat on a cactus, Claire attempted to shrug nonchalantly. “Nothing happened. We argued, then we talked, then we got rescued. It was an exercise in boredom more than anything.”
Katherine sipped her champagne, her pale blue eyes sharp as they quizzed Claire over the rim of the glass. Claire fought the urge to squirm guiltily.
“You realize that half the building was on fire with jealousy? Stuck in the elevator with Jack—my God, it’s a whole new genre of erotic fantasy.”
Claire took a huge gulp of champagne and wrenched her eyes away from the damned phone.
“Sorry to disappoint, but it was hot and airless and dull. Very dull.”
Unbidden, an image of Jack sliding his pants down his hips popped into her mind, the length of him proud and hard and ready for action. She felt a blush stealing into her cheeks, and she shot a look at her friend. Fortunately, Katherine was studying the lid of the chocolate box, trying to make a selection.
“I like the hard-centered ones—something to chew on,” she muttered as she plucked her selection from the box.
Claire took advantage of Katherine’s distraction to broaden the conversation.
“Do you know who else was trapped? Anyone we know?” she asked, sitting back in her chair and pretending she had all the time in the world.
All the while her mind was working overtime—what if Jack called while Katherine was here? What if he wanted to come over, and she couldn’t get rid of Katherine?
“One of the lifts had ten women in it. Can you imagine? Apparently they took turns hyperventilating and freaking out.”
Claire forced a smile.
“Wow.”
Her eyes strayed to the wall clock over Katherine’s shoulder. Eight o’clock. When was Jack going to call?
Two and a half hours later, and she knew the answer to that question: never. Katherine was full of champagne and chocolate, and Claire had sore cheek muscles from forcing smiles she didn’t believe in.
Moaning about having eaten too much, Katherine finally rubbed her stomach one last time and called it a night. Claire closed the door on her and turned to contemplate her empty apartment.
It was 10:30. So much for her hot night. The empty champagne bottle and almost-empty chocolate box mocked her.
She felt heavy, a bit dazed. Vaguely she realized she felt humiliated. She dragged off her clothes, and moved into her en suite to prepare for bed. The sight of herself decked out in her very best underwear was a slap in the face.
What had she been thinking, for Pete’s sake?
And what on earth had she been thinking when she tore her clothes off and climbed Jack Brook like a cat on a curtain? Had she lost all semblance of self-respect in that tiny, airless space? Suddenly she groaned as she recalled pressing her business card into his hand. She never did stuff like that, ever. All of her life she’d been careful, modest, demure. And now she’d just blotted her copybook spectacularly.
Worst of all, while she’d been sitting here all night, wrapped up in some fantasy world where hot sex equaled spiritual meaning, he’d probably been thinking of the hot blonde he was no doubt taking to dinner.
She stared at her reflection for a beat, forcing herself to face the brutal facts. A sophisticated guy like Jack—he knew the rules. He knew that what had happened in the elevator was a one-off, never to be repeated. He must have been amazed when she gave him her number. She closed her eyes against the wash of humiliation that threatened.
Why, oh, why had she been so stupid?
By the time she’d cleansed and brushed and flossed and crawled into bed, she’d convinced herself it was good riddance to bad rubbish. The man had disaster written all over him. He was a self-confessed commitaphobe with a very short attention span. He was so closed off and protected, she doubted he’d ever let an emotion stronger than pleasure or satisfaction breach his defenses.
Yes, the physical attraction between them had been hot, but that wasn’t the only thing in life, right? It certainly wasn’t worth humiliating herself over, that was for sure.
Nope, she was very, very lucky he’d never taken her up on her stupid, ill-informed, ill-considered, impulsive, deranged invitation. She thumped her pillow decisively, determined to put the whole experience behind her.
But then she started thinking about work tomorrow. About seeing Jack for the first time. About looking at him, and remembering, and knowing. Her eyes popped open and she stared at the ceiling.
What if he told someone else at work what had happened? What if she walked into the building tomorrow and people stopped talking as she approached? She had a vivid picture of her business card taped up in the men’s restroom—For a good time, call Claire Marsden.
For a moment she felt sick to her stomach, but then reason returned. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew—absolutely—that Jack wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened between them while they were trapped. The realization calmed her. No matter what else she’d managed to misinterpret between them, she knew that she had this right—what happened in the elevator, stayed in the elevator.
And long might it stay that way. Relieved, she rolled onto her side and willed herself to sleep. She was just drifting off when she remembered that she was supposed to work with Jack for the next few weeks or however long Beck deemed it was necessary to salve old man Hillcrest’s ego.
That was something of a stumbling block. An Everest-size stumbling block. She sat bolt-upright in bed. If she was honest, she wanted very badly to tell Morgan Beck to shove his stupid arrangement. But that wasn’t the way she worked. What Beck had asked from her was wrong, and unfair, and she was still deeply ashamed about sitting through that initial meeting with Jack and Beck without making her feelings clear.
But innate self-honesty forced her to admit that even if she’d had prior warning about the agenda of the meeting, she wouldn’t have kicked up a fuss. Her philosophy in her working life had always been to give her bosses what they asked for. While there were limits to this philosophy—both moral and legal—it had held her in good stead until now.
But did her ethos stretch to swallowing this blatant vote of no confidence without voicing an objection?
She shook her head in her silent apartment.
“No. I don’t have to just lie down and take it,” she told her darkened bedroom.
Tomorrow she’d let him know in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t accept Jack on her project.
She tried to imagine herself stalking into her boss’s office and laying her cards confidently on the table. And failed. Miserably.
Perhaps if she really talked it through with Beck, they could come up with another solution. As grown adults, seeing eye to eye. Discussing the issues rationally.
This felt much more her style. It still made her feel nervous, but it was doable.
Of course, sticking up for herself would mean that she didn’t have to work with Jack anymore, too. How convenient. She could simply ignore him for a few weeks in the car park and editorial meetings and the elevator, just like old times, and pretty soon he’d forget that Claire Marsden had ever torn his clothes off and had sex with him.
And that was absolutely what she wanted.
So, she was decided. First thing tomorrow, she’d make an appointment with Morgan and see if she could regain control of her life. It should have been the last thing she thought of before she drifted off to sleep. But instead, just as she gave herself up to sleep, memories from the elevator came back to haunt her. The firm, knowing pressure of his clever fingers as he circled her swollen wetness; the sweet, addictive tug of desire between her thighs as he suckled on her breasts; the deep satisfaction of having all of him inside her, and his strongly muscled body tense and passionate above hers.
She moaned frustratedly into the pillow and rolled over. But the memories kept on coming: the wet velvet sweep of his tongue on her neck. That first thrill as he pressed the palm of his hand against her damp mound. The rising excitement as they taunted each other with what they really wanted….
Claire thumped a pillow with her fist. “Get out of my head, Jack Brook,” she muttered.
But it was no good. She was too turned on to sleep. Despite every rational reason for disliking the man, her body had other ideas.
She rolled over again, her nipples brushing against the cotton of her sheets. They wanted Jack’s touch, the heat of his tongue and mouth, and they sat tight and proud, waiting for something that was never going to happen. Claire slid a hand over each breast and pressed them into her chest.
Stop it, she urged her body. Forget him.
But instead of calming her overheated body, the pressure triggered a pulse of desire between her legs. Claire’s eyes flickered open, and she glared at the ceiling.
“Damn you,” she told an absent Jack Brook.
Then she gave in to her desire and slid a hand down the length of her body and between her legs. Closing her eyes as she slicked a finger over her own wetness, she imagined it was Jack touching her, and that any moment now she would feel the warm, velvet nudge of his erection against her outer folds. As her body thrummed tighter and tighter with tension, she remembered the taste of Jack, and the strength of Jack, and the feeling of being filled by him. The way he’d tugged so tightly on her nipples. The way he’d run his hands over her body as though he couldn’t get enough. The feel of him beneath her hands, the hard, smooth power of his body.
She gasped out her release, her orgasm an echo of the one she’d shared with him earlier. It should have been the end of it, but she lay awake for a long time afterward, angry with herself for wanting a man who clearly didn’t want her.
7 (#ulink_8397f109-ca55-565f-845c-d5df0bb8930b)
“HE SAID WHAT?”
Claire stared at Morgan Beck, aware that she’d crouched forward in her chair and placed one hand imperiously on his desk.
“You heard me, Claire. I know this whole arrangement sticks in your craw but I flatter myself that after thirty years in the business I know what I’m doing. I don’t care what sort of a disagreement you and Jack have had, but you’re just going to have to sort it out.”
Morgan was cranky, his voice hard and his posture aggressive as he glared across the desk at her.
“I just don’t understand it. Yesterday the two of you seemed to be in perfect accord, and now this,” he said.
You have no idea, she thought. And she tried very hard to get the image of her and Jack doing the wild thing on the elevator floor out of her mind as she held her boss’s eye. Now was not the time to get turned on by rogue memories. This was her career she was talking about here. Jack and his perfect penis could go hang as far as she was concerned.
“Wait a minute—are you telling me that Jack Brook has refused to work with me?” she asked, still trying to get a grip on this concept.
“Have I been talking to myself for the last five minutes, Claire?”
She fought back the impulsive urge to tell him to keep his pants on, then blanched that any such urge had even crossed her mind. What was wrong with her? When she’d first entered his office, she’d found him seated with his feet up on his desk. She’d had trouble hiding her smile at his aggressive, I’m-the-boss posture. She’d got control of her unruly mouth, but she’d been appalled at herself—when had she ever felt anything but respect and a faint tinge of fear for Morgan Beck?
“Mr. Beck, this comes as a complete shock to me,” she assured him now, neatly sidestepping the fact that she’d come to work this morning with the single-minded intention of finagling her boss into removing Jack from her project. It was one thing for her to reject him…
“Really?”
The single word dripped disbelief. She found herself glaring back at her boss, her temper well and truly firing on all cylinders now. Before she could stop herself, hot and angry words were pouring out.
“Yes, really. Do you truly think I’m so pathetic that I’d get him to do my dirty work for me? I assure you, if I didn’t want to work with Jack Brook I’d let you know in no uncertain terms.”
Okay, that was a lie, because she’d spent the whole night trying to come up with subtle, nonaggressive ways of suggesting Jack be reassigned. But Morgan didn’t seem to understand that she’d spoken out of anger—his eyebrows were rising up, his expression one of pure shock. She tried to remember if she’d ever come close to speaking to him like this before.
No, probably not. Mostly she concentrated on smiling and sounding competent and on top of things when she met with him. Mostly she’d been way too aware of his power and her own desire to win his approval.
But today she was too annoyed to remember any of that. Today she was outraged that not only had Jack left her dangling all night, he’d also pipped her at the post on the work front, too. To top things off, this balding little man in front of her thought she was so wimpy that she’d use someone else as her front man.
“You know, I was prepared to wear all this rubbish about placating Mr. Hillcrest, but I’m beginning to wonder if I wouldn’t be better off stepping aside and letting you simply replace me with someone better qualified,” she heard herself saying silkily.
Good grief. Give a girl a little rush of power to the head, and suddenly she was the Genghis Khan of office politics!
Morgan had gone pale, but she bit down on the apology that sprang to her lips the moment she uttered her challenge. Instinctively, she understood that much hung in the balance right now.
