Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel (11 page)

I have to be careful, as I don’t want her and Noah putting two and two together. “A few weeks ago,” I say breezily, telling myself it’s sort of true. I met him last week, and this is now the next week. “We’re just enjoying each other right now.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Damn, look at you. Little Ella Storm is getting her casual sex on. It’s about time, girl.”

I recoil at her comment, but then again, what else is this? It’s not like Ian and I have made any commitments. Nor should we, given the short time we’ve been…seeing each other? Sleeping together? Crap. I don’t even know what to call this.

“You have to let me know how tomorrow goes, though. Gotta tell me if our outfit had the intended effect. Just send me a text with a number, one through ten—ten being the hottest—if it worked.”

I nod, trying to push down the questions and concentrate on the moment. “Will do.”

CHAPTER 11

SPECIAL DELIVERY

W
e manage a play and dinner on Wednesday night. He even got tickets to a sold out Broadway show. “It pays to have corporations for clients,” he teases when we get our own box seats. It’s no fault of the actors that we leave during intermission. Or the taxi driver when we can’t keep our hands off each other on the ride to his apartment. And I’m pretty sure the driver who takes me home is on standby.

Dear God, who have I become?

When Thursday rolls around, I’m exhausted from lack of sleep, but wired from all the hormones. And Noah is giving me suspicious glares.

“I can figure out the password for your computer. You’re forcing me to become a spy.”

I shake my head, the strange butterflies in my belly batting their wings ferociously. “I don’t ask
you
questions when you wander off at night.”

“That’s different. I disappear with different women on a regular basis. And I’m home the next day without fail. This is one person, every night, for almost a week. And you won’t tell me his name.” He narrows his eyes. “You’re either embarrassed to admit he’s a hunchback—for which I would not judge you, sister dear—or he’s someone you think I won’t approve of.”

He’s a bit closer to the mark than I want to admit, and I’m tempted to come clean. But I know my brother: constant teasing will commence. I hide my face in a folder before I answer. “You have an overactive imagination. What is so wrong with wanting a little privacy?”

He grunts something unintelligible but clearly not approving.

“Fine. I will tell you who he is next week. I promise. But I want to see if it’s even going to last that long. That way, if it doesn’t, I won’t have to deal with the humiliation.”

“What’s so special about next week? Why can’t you tell me today?”

“Because we’ll be ‘Facebook official’ by then.” I grin at him.

His eyebrow raises, very slowly. “You’ll be what? What does ‘Facebook official’ even mean?”

Now it’s my turn to look skeptical. “Really? You date so few people more than once, you don’t even recognize the term?”

“If you’ll recall, I’m not a social media guru. I let you handle all of that.”

Which is true. I handle our Facebook, Twitter, and website, as well. While my brother is a whiz with spreadsheets and paperwork, he’s not much for online interaction beyond emails. “When people are officially dating, they update their Facebook status to reflect that. It’s…sort of a joke, really. As though ‘Facebook Official’ means something.” And while my tone is joking, the truth lingers there somewhere, as much as I hate to admit it. There’s something about publicly declaring your commitment to someone that speaks to my romantic soul. Not that a little over a week is near enough time to do that. I don’t want Ian to do anything so overt. Yet there’s a part of me…

“So you have to be announced online before your brother can know about it?”

Put that way, I feel terrible. “No, that’s not what I mean. I just—” I break off, frustrated that I painted things in such a bad light. I turn away from him, staring out the small window behind my desk. “Can I just have this, Noah? Please? Let me have a little privacy. We share everything, and I love that. But this one time, I want something that’s just mine for a little while longer. Next week, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.” And Ian’s party will be over, so I can feel less sleazy about sleeping with a client.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” His tone sounds chastised.

“You didn’t. I just—” But when I spin around, he’s already left the room.

Having Noah upset at me makes getting dressed for lunch even harder. But I manage, despite the complications of corsets. Who knew these things had so many ties? The deep plum silk sets off my pale skin, and my curls fall loose over my shoulders. I add a bit more makeup than usual, and while I’m not typically one for fragrances, there was one at Shay’s I couldn’t resist, so I rub the body lotion on and spritz the matching body spray over my skin.

Since it’s the middle of winter, I slip into yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, then add my long winter coat and stuff my heels into a small bag. Ian offered to meet me for lunch, but I said I wanted to treat him to a special place near his work. Which is, in part, true. I researched and found a little-known sushi spot that is supposed to have some of the best sashimi in the city that I’ll pick up on my way.

All of which goes swimmingly until I’m in the foyer of his building. I need to find the restroom so I can shuck my clothing, but there’s no one at the desk. My nerves amp up their chatter, and I lose my determination. This was a dumb idea. What if he’s with a client, or worse, embarrassed that I tried to seduce him at work? This works so well in the movies, but the movies don’t do it in the middle of winter.

I’m about to give up and wander up the stairs when a man returns, coffee mug in hand.

“So sorry! I wanted to heat up my coffee, and it boiled over in the microwave. Made a huge mess!” He takes a seat at the front desk, then smiles up at me. “Can I help you?”

Flustered, I fumble for words. “I’m here for Ian Crane.”

He glances down at the bag in my hand. “Oh, food delivery. Excellent. You can just leave that here, and I’ll get your tip—”

“No, I’m here for him. I mean, I’m here to see him.” If I was red before, I’m probably crimson now.

Understanding dawns in the receptionist’s eyes, a bit too much understanding. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Let me just buzz him—”

“Actually, I wanted to surprise him.” I plaster a smile on my face, determined not to screw this up. Again. “We have a lunch date, and I got his favorite dish.” Another easy lie, seeing as which I’ve only had raw fish with Ian once.

The receptionist doesn’t register doubt about my statement. “Of course. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you then. Third floor, last office on the left.”

I don’t bother asking about a restroom. I’m too worked up to get the words out without stuttering. I take the elevator to the second floor, passing only one person as I step into the hallway. As I’d hoped, there’s a conference room with the lights out, and I slip in. No lock on the door, but I leave the lights off, manage to peel off my winter clothing without falling on my ass, and shrug back into my coat. I fold my clothes into the bottom of my bag and don stilettos. When I get back into the elevator, though, I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. I take a few deep breaths in the short amount of time between floors, and then the doors open.

Showtime.

I tread softly, relieved to see that his door is closed. At least I can prepare myself in the hallway for a moment. There’s also, thankfully, no one nearby, though I can hear a copier’s buzz somewhere on the opposite side of the hallway. The sushi weighs heavy in my hand, and I lean towards his door, hearing the familiar rumble of Ian’s voice. I listen for a few moments for another voice in the room, but based on the silence in between the sound of his voice—I can’t make out the words—I’m guessing he’s on the phone. I drop my bags beside me, and with a furtive look around, I slink out of my coat and tuck it around the bags.

Then I try his doorknob. It turns smoothly in my hand, making little noise so I can peek through a crack before swinging the door open. Ian’s in his desk chair, his back to me, facing the windows that look out onto the street below.

“That’s exactly what I told her, but you know how she is,” he says into the phone pressed to his ear.

I slide in and close the door behind me, the slight click muffled. While not expansive, his office has ample room for his desk, a few visitor chairs, a refreshment bar with a coffee maker, and a small couch against the back wall. I stand there for a few moments, unable to make out what the garbled voice is saying to Ian. He must sense I’m there, as he turns slightly in his chair, craning his neck.

His eyes catch mine, then the rest of me, and his expression goes from work polite to stunned…to hungry.

“Carl, let me call you back in a few. Someone just walked in.” He listens, but I wonder if he hears anything that’s being said as his gaze never leaves my body. “Yeah, sure thing…sure…yep. Talk to you later.” When he hangs up the phone, a grin curves his lips. “Hello.”

As I step towards him, I feel like I’m moving to the heartbeat that pounds in my ears. “I brought lunch.”

He leans back as I approach, appreciation radiating in his eyes. “I can see that.”

“I thought you might like to eat-in.” I stop just short of his knees. I can only imagine what he sees—the tightened corset that forces my small breasts into abundant cleavage and nips in at my waist. The matching garters and stockings that follow the curves of my legs down to the ridiculously high heels. Whatever nerves I have are soothed by the desire in his expression.

He reaches for me, but I step back. “No, no. My turn to play.” My voice shakes a little, but his attention gives me confidence. Crooking a finger, I draw him to me. The heels give me just enough height that I can reach his mouth without resorting to tiptoes. I tangle my fingers in his hair, anchoring him so my tongue can explore his mouth. His arms wrap around me, but the minute he starts to pull me tight, I back out of his embrace.

“Hm-mm.” I take his hand and tug him towards the love seat. He falls into it without much encouragement, his smile widening as I stand over him.

“My God, Ella. You’re stunning.” He breathes the words as I straddle him.

I can’t help smiling myself, pleased that my plan worked. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider your mission successful,” he murmurs as I cover his mouth with mine, and I loosen his tie as we dissolve into each other.

His hands roam my body, cupping my ass and curving his fingers between my legs. His touch is exquisite, but I have a plan, so I wriggle onto the floor. “No distracting me.” I spread my fingers over his thighs, sliding them north until I stroke his erection through his trousers.

He tucks a stray curl behind my ear as he gazes down at me with such need, my breath catches.

I make quick work of his belt and pants, letting his briefs join the pile of clothing as I reach for his cock. While I’ve not had a large menu of sexual experiences, I’m pretty sure he’s not typical as I wrap my fingers around his silken girth. I swirl my tongue around the tip, earning a groan from him, then widen my mouth around him. His hand rests on my head lightly, and as I torture the length of him with my lips, he fights to stay still.

He grips my hair finally, interrupting me.

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop, Ella.”

“That’s the idea.” I smile up at him, enjoying the war I see in his eyes.

He shakes his head, though it seems to pain him. “I want you to enjoy this as well.”

“I am, Ian. Just lie back. Let yourself go,” I say, remembering the words he said to me last Thursday night.

With little reservation, he obeys, and as he climaxes, I increase the pressure, pleased I can send him even higher. When his shudders fade, he reaches for me, hauling me into his lap and forcing my mouth to his in a kiss so intense, I can barely inhale.

“You are incredible.” He lays his forehead against mine, his finger tracing my cheek.

I nip his bottom lip. “You aren’t too shabby yourself, Mr. Crane.” But his compliment has me soaring with pride.

His hand slides between my legs, his fingers slipping over my panties. “I think you might need a little attention, too, sweetheart.”