Beneath the Surface (3 page)

He decided he was a special brand of sick, and he definitely needed therapy.

Growling in frustration, Kyran quickened his pace, pushing himself a bit more on the treadmill. His calves ached, his shins screamed for him to stop, but he continued. Pushing his body to the extreme was the only way to bury the desire. He would swamp it underneath a shitload of exhaustion.

His cell phone chirped and vibrated, diverting his attention. He stumbled but managed to steady himself. Pressing a few buttons, he slowed to a gentle jog to cool down before stopping completely and getting off the treadmill. It was impossible to hear the music playing through the gym speakers because his ears were filled with the sound of his blood thundering through his veins.

Kyran had pushed himself hard and it was all because of one annoying woman he’d talked to for twenty minutes.

The door to the gym opened, and a tall blonde entered the room. She wore tight leggings and a formfitting cropped top. Until recently, he would have stayed and talked to her, maybe even flirted a little. Kyran enjoyed the thrill of the chase. In the past it didn’t matter if they worked for him or not.

He would have talked to her, flirted, and turned on the charm. However, now he didn’t even crack a smile.

Kyran wasn’t interested.

He turned his back to her and grabbed his phone, scrolling through the various messages and e-mails while he caught his breath. Sweat trickled down the valley of his spine, pooling at the base of his back before soaking the cotton of his T-shirt. The fabric clung to his heated skin, irritating him enough to take it off.

After ripping his shirt over his head, Kyran tossed it on top of his gym bag, and reached for a towel to pat dry. Looking at the mirrored wall, he watched the blonde cock a brow, her eyes following the tattoos that adorned both of his arms. She didn’t grimace in the way most people did when they saw how heavily inked he was. Instead, she licked her lips and drank in every inch of his skin.

Her reaction intrigued him. Very few people in the office knew of his artwork because it was concealed by his business attire. The tattoos also went against his well-known professional persona, but then there was more to him than the Reese Corporation.

Kyran stroked his hand up his left arm and stared at the series of random letters and numbers. The dark digits stood out sharply against his pale flesh, an odd code etched from shoulder to wrist.

He stared at her reflection, hoping to unnerve her enough to stop looking at him, but she was shameless. The woman’s gaze trailed over his chest and down to his tight abs before focusing on his right arm. Although the ink still covered the same amount of skin, the design was different.

Waves lapped from his shoulder, forming a small whirlpool on his elbow and ebbing back down to his wrist. Both arms had taken a series of sessions and time away from Metro for a while. The pain of the tattoos was a good exchange for the pain of the club.

“Nice,” the woman said, moving closer to him, and it was clear from the glint in her eye she was impressed. Kyran turned to face her. “That’s some amazing work you have there.”

“I know,” was Kyran’s blunt response as he squatted down, pushing his belongings into the gym bag. He hoped she’d take the hint. When she hunkered down next to him, dragging her long, manicured nails along his arm, he understood hoping was futile.

Shooting her a cool glare, he stood up and hauled his bag over his shoulder. The woman clearly had no idea who he was, and touching him uninvited would get her fired.

“They must have cost you a fortune. The artwork is perfect.” She stood up, cocking her hip.

He took a long drink of water from his sports bottle, wondering if he wanted to get into this with her. It wasn’t that she was unattractive. His issue was more to do with rules, and it would be wrong for him to start anything with someone who worked for him. That issue remained with the curly-haired brunette who was right now settling into his brother’s office.

“Money isn’t a concern,” he replied, shaking his head and trying to forget Dale. “And, yes, the artwork is perfect.”

She flashed him a lip-glossed smile, licking her bottom lip again. He wondered if the gloss was flavored because she couldn’t seem to leave the damn thing alone.

“I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?”

“No.”

She blushed at his abruptness. “Oh, well, what floor do you work on?”

A slow smile spread across his lips, knowing he was about to make her run and hide. “Twenty-fifth.”

She gave his shoulder a light shove, giggling like a child. “You work for one of the Reeses, then?”

He took his time, taking another long drink of water before he leaned forward, bringing his lips to her ear. He spoke low, making sure his mouth brushed the lobe. She giggled, obviously thinking he was teasing her.

“I
am
one of the Reeses.”

Her gasp of horror echoed around the small gym. She backed away, her hand at her throat, her eyes wide. “I d-didn’t . . .”

“I know. It was amusing to see your reaction. It’s not often someone has no clue who I am. Especially in this building. I can only assume you’re new to your position.”

“I want to tell you that was cruel, but now that I know who you are, I’ll keep quiet.”

“Wise,” he said. “Very wise.”

Ending their conversation, Kyran began to walk away again, ignoring another weak apology from the blonde. Leaving the interaction at this point would keep her wondering if he was around the corner about to fire her. He wished he had the same possibility with everyone.

Checking his watch, Kyran cringed. He had another few hours’ work to finish before he could call it a day and head to the club. His body told him he didn’t need it. After his run he wouldn’t be on his best form, but his head demanded it. The need was there.

He absently pressed the button to call the elevator, still locked in his own thoughts. He had three meetings to attend tomorrow, so he would have to be cautious with the matches he chose tonight. Bruises from the shoulders down were fine. His face would need to stay clear.

“Is that the dress code around here?”

Kyran froze, looking into the elevator to see Dale. He hadn’t even been aware of the elevator doors opening.

“What?” he snapped, entering the elevator and checking which floor she had pressed. “What are you doing riding the elevator? Hasn’t Taylor given you enough to do?”

He turned his back to her, standing as close to the doors as he could while still allowing them to close.

“I’ll answer you if you face me,” she said.

She exasperated him. No one dared to speak to him like that. Dale and the blonde from the gym were polar opposites.

“You can talk to me whether or not you can see my face, Ms. Porter.”

He spun around, dropping his bag to the floor as the elevator began to rise.

Using her last name would make him keep his distance. It would keep things professional.

“But your face is so pretty.”

His brows shot up, his mouth opening a little. She clutched a stack of folders to her chest and like a child, stuck her tongue out at him.

Damn it all to hell, he wanted to suck on it.

He fisted his hands and took one step closer to her. A war raged within him. He should turn back around and get out of this elevator as soon as he could. Her scent was pulling him in, escalating his need to devour her.

“Okay. Fine. I was dumb. I got into the elevator and didn’t press anything. I was . . . thinking. Next thing I know I’m on the way down, when I really wanted to go up. I tried pressing the right floor but it had its mind set on coming down to see you.”

She lifted her chin in defiance, not flinching in his proximity. He snapped, losing all control. He reached out and locked his hand around her wrist as he pressed her back toward the wall of the elevator. The folders she was holding dropped to the floor, scattering around them. She sighed, never breaking eye contact.

Kyran knew he was crossing a line, but couldn’t stop himself. His rigid control was shot to shit when he was around her. Driven, he slammed her against the wall, grasping both wrists above her head, laying her out like an offering from the gods. Pushing a solid thigh between her legs, he suppressed a moan, watching her chest heave. Those delicious breasts rose closer to his mouth with every breath. He licked his lips, suddenly rather thirsty.

“Wouldn’t this be considered sexual harassment, Mr. Reese?” Dale asked, breathless.

She began to wriggle her hips in an attempt to free herself. However, with each movement, she ground herself against his thigh. He groaned, gathering every ounce of strength he had not to take this further.

“Only if you feel harassed, Ms. Porter,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to hers. The vanilla scent grew stronger. He hated vanilla. It now reminded him of his crumbling control. Nevertheless, her smell, coupled with her constant writhing, was turning him on. “And if you do, I suggest you report it to your superior.”

Her cheeks grew darker, the light petal-pink blush now bursting into a rosy hue. Fire blazed from her green eyes, and his body went on lock-down, concentrating on the woman pressed against him.

“Maybe I’ll do that.”

Moving his mouth to her ear, he delivered a quick flick of his tongue to her lobe. Her flavor burst along his taste buds, his mouth salivating, his groin tightening, and the little voice that told him this was wrong was buried in a landslide of lust.

“If you would like to make an appointment with my assistant, I’d be happy to hear your complaint, Ms. Porter.”

He felt her shiver at his words; Dale understood what he meant. His erection flourished in response. He sniffed the crook of her neck, drinking her in. His hormones drove him now, all reasonable thought lost in the deluge of desire.

Dale stopped squirming, but her breathing increased. The blush that had lit up her cheeks was now spreading down her throat and blooming across the swell of her breasts.

He wanted her. It was that simple. He wanted her like this; hot, grinding, and ready to rip him to pieces. For a man who had complete control of everything in his life, it shook him to the core that it all dissolved so quickly around one woman. She was like a siren calling to him.

Whenever he was around her, he felt a need to touch her and possess her.

It beat at him now, yelling at him to take her, make her his, and again that instinct overtook him.

He opened his mouth and touched his tongue to the base of her neck.

This time the moan of arousal came from Dale as he began licking up to her ear. His senses intensified the further he climbed up her flesh with his tongue.

His hard cock twitched even more when Dale gasped and pushed her neck closer to him. She thrust her hips against his thigh, her silent demands increasing. The urge to mark her and bite down on her skin was strong. So intense that he had to bite his own lip to stop it from happening.

Blood bloomed on his tongue from his teeth breaking the sensitive skin of his lip. But it wasn’t the first time he’d tasted his own blood, nor would it be the last. His body was used to the mutilation and healed quickly.

His entire system vibrated with lust, his crotch tightened each time Dale writhed against him. Her breath floated across his cheek in short, sharp gasps, mirroring his own breathlessness.

Moving her wrists into one hand, it left his free one to roam her delicious body. Dale’s tight dress covered her body like a second skin, flaunting her every curve. Images of hot, sweaty nights in his bed, wearing nothing but each other, blossomed in his head, and Kyran cupped her ass to drag her further up his thigh.

“We . . . should . . . stop,” she said, breathing heavily, her actions contradicting her words as she rubbed her sex faster on his thigh.

“Why would we do that?”

“Door.” She pushed her chest against his, trying to lower her leg. “The elevator stopped.”

Her words doused him in ice-cold water. He dropped her arms like they were on fire, tearing himself away from her. What the hell had just happened, and how had he lost himself so completely?

Dale looked to the floor, smoothing her dress before squatting to pick up the files. Kyran cleared his throat, his arms feeling bereft without her heat pulsing against him. Disgusted by his body’s reaction, he battled with his composure, trying to figure out how things got so out of hand.

She clutched the files to her chest. “I should go. Taylor will be wondering where I am.”

“I’m surprised he knows
who
you are. He’s usually too messed up to notice.”

Dale shot him a confused look. “He seems very nice so far. He told me to be careful around you, you know? Guess he was right.”

Irritation pulsed within him. “He did what? He’s got some fucking nerve.”

She smiled, seemingly unconcerned with his outburst. The thought of his brother implying things about him made his blood boil, and he wouldn’t let it rest there. He was going to talk to him about it.

“What did you mean before?” he said, hauling his gym bag back onto his shoulder.

Dale stood, still trying to correct the files, and scowled at him. “Huh?”

“You asked me about the dress code. What were you talking about?”

She rolled her green eyes to the ceiling of the elevator before fixing on his. “Seriously? You’re asking me that after what just went on in here?”

“Yes,” was his blunt response.

Shaking her head, Dale pursed her lips before replying, the flush to her cheeks now melting away. “You have no shirt on. Don’t get me wrong, I love the muscles and tats and everything, but you don’t seem the kind to walk around here half naked. I was just pointing that out.”

Surprised, Kyran looked down to his chest. How had that slipped past him? How many people had seen him in such a state? Dale was the cause.

She was responsible for his spiral into oblivion. He didn’t like it one bit.

Pointing at her and ignoring the tremble of his hand, he snapped, “It’s your fault. You!”

Her mouth hung open, ready with a retort. He didn’t hear it because he was already stalking out of the elevator and away from her.