Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel (12 page)

I don’t argue as his touch feels too incredible, and pleasuring him drove my own need. He maneuvers me so I’m lying with my back against him, my legs falling on the outside of his. He catches my mouth in a searing kiss while his hands travel over my body. Shifting my panties to the side, his fingers enter me, thick and deep. He spreads his legs, forcing me even wider as his other hand manages to extract my breast from the corset. With firm pressure on my nipple, he massages his thumb against my clit. I arch my back, moaning into his mouth.

He answers by adding another finger inside me and increasing his tempo. I don’t recognize the guttural cries rising in my throat, muted only by our kiss. When I finally reach my crescendo, I struggle to stay quiet, the pressure proving nearly too much. I shudder with my release, falling back against him with heavy limbs.

“Very nice, Ms. Storm,” he says softly, his fingers still caressing my breast. “The next time we plan a lunch, I’ll have to dress accordingly.”

I chuckle despite my exhaustion. “How? Skip wearing pants?”

I can feel his grin against my ear. “Mm. And make sure I have the entire afternoon free to devote to your pleasures.”

My cheeks burn at the thought, and a little voice in my head wonders when I became a woman for whom a powerful attorney clears his calendar. It feels surreal.

When we manage to stand, he checks the hallway before snagging my bags. We sit on the couch and devour the food, him in just his shirt and underwear and me in my corset and stockings.

“I could definitely get used to this. Shall we do it again next Thursday?” He winks.

“I can probably arrange that. Though I might go with wearing jeans and sneakers and keep this getup for the evenings. The subway was
cold
.”

He laughs. “I bet it was. You look beautiful, of course. But you look pretty hot in jeans, too.”

I shove a bit of tuna sushi in my mouth to cover my embarrassment.

He reaches out and grabs my hand. “I notice that you get embarrassed when you’re complimented. Is that just because you’re a little shy, or is there another reason?”

His insight surprises me. “Why do you think there’s another reason besides being shy?”

He gives my question some thought while chewing. “When my aunt commended you, I noticed how you seemed to want to disappear. It was more than your blush,” he teases gently. “You physically seemed to shrink.”

I get up from our smorgasbord under the guise of snagging another water out of the small refrigerator in the corner of his office. In truth, I need to compose my reaction. Most people just assume I’m shy, and Ian is one of the few who’ve caught on that there’s more to it. I bite the inside of my lip, debating if it’s too soon to air dirty laundry. Aren’t we still in the honeymoon phase where everything is supposed to be perfect and set in a bit too-rosy a light?

When I return, I pull out my coat and sit on the floor, needing some space to speak. But I’m close enough to rest a hand on his knee when he looks down at me in confusion. “I was in a relationship for a really long time. Like, five years long. We were supposed to get married, have a family, do all those things people do.”

I squeeze the words out between stiff lips, not wanting to even speak the truth that embarrasses me beyond anything else. “He’s why I came to New York—we met online while I was back home. His name is Jonathan. He was a year younger than me—the same age as Noah. Originally, I was going to go to a community college back home, but when Noah wanted to go to NYU, it seemed like fate. Jonathan had already been accepted to Columbia, and he was perfect. So stupid me, I fell for him and decided to wait and go to college with Noah.” I shake my head, still astounded by my foolishness. “I rationalized that a year of working full-time before going to college would give me real world experience. And it did. But I had no idea…”

He’s stopped eating, his eyes never leaving my face. While I appreciate his focus, it’s making me feel even more foolish, and I turn a chopstick between my fingers.

“Anyway, we were together through college, and everyone just assumed we’d be happily ever after. Even Noah, in the beginning. Though he saw the signs earlier than even I did.” I closed my eyes, wishing talking about the experience didn’t bring it to life in full color in my mind’s eye. “He…we were…it’s hard to describe. Everything remained the same to the outside world, but the longer we were together—when the bloom fell off the rose, I guess—he started making comments. Little things. About the size of my thighs, or that my breasts weren’t very big. Stuff like that. And he’d say it like it was a joke, that he was just teasing, and then he’d tell me I was perfect and I shouldn’t be so sensitive.”

Ian takes the chopstick from me and links our fingers. “He mocked you while making it seem like you were the one with the problem.”

I nod, glad he gets it. “Exactly.”

“Ella—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. And don’t look at me like that. It’s over.” I try to soften my words with as much of a grin as I can muster. “I don’t even like thinking about it. Our breakup was…brutal, and it’s been awhile since I could even think about seeing anyone.”

Understanding dawns in his gaze. “So I’m the first person you’ve been with since then?”

I manage a wry smile at his phrasing. “Yes. You’re also the first guy I’ve fucked.”

He chuckles at my bald language. Then he stands. “Come here.”

I join him, unsure what to expect. But he pulls me against him, then tilts my face so I meet his eyes. “You don’t deserve to be mocked. Ever.”

“I know that now. But when you’re in the moment, and someone makes it seem like you are being overly sensitive, it’s easy to forget.”

He holds me then, in the quiet stillness of his office, despite the echoes of honking horns and busy city life outside. We simply exist, and I can’t imagine a more perfect moment than this.

CHAPTER 12

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 rises, 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.