Destination Connelly (3 page)

N
ora

W
hen Uncle Carl
and I walked into the boardroom a few minutes ago and my eyes landed on Connelly, I had a hard time catching a breath. It felt as though the wind was knocked straight from my lungs.

Lord have blessed mercy.

The real-life, grown-up version of Connelly Colloway was so much more handsome than I could have ever imagined. The pictures online have done him a complete injustice. Now, I understand why he has women swarming all over him like bees to nectar.

He is sexy as hell, oozing carnal sensuality in a way he didn’t before.

I’ve got to be honest, I may not have kept in contact with Connelly all these years, but he’s never been far from my mind. It was especially hard to ignore him when his sexy, day-old scruffy GQ face was splashed all over
Forbes
magazine a couple of years ago as one of Chicago’s newest, most successful and eligible bachelors, along with his other two brothers, Gray and Asher.

Connelly isn’t a celebrity, but he’s a hard man to escape. He’s often quoted in some sort of business article. And his picture has graced the Internet more than once, often with a beautiful woman dripping like an expensive jewel from his elbow. I’ve never seen him with the same woman twice. Even when we were young, he had an affinity for the girls and it’s clear that hasn’t changed a bit. In fact, he’s grown into quite the all-star player.

With our eyes locked on each other, I have to force my feet to keep their forward motion toward my seat. I have to remind my knees they aren’t made of Jell-O so I don’t melt into the carpet. And as I slide into my chair, the questions I’ve tortured myself with all these years come racing back: Did I make the right decision so long ago? Am I still making it now? I go round and round, making myself dizzy with doubt.

But I
always
end up in the same place I started.

Connelly was my first boyfriend. My first love. My first everything and I walked away from him. For good reasons then. For valid reasons now. There is no room in my complicated life for a playboy who has obvious commitment issues.
Still
. People would just end up getting hurt. I’ve had enough emotional agony to last ten lifetimes. I don’t need to go inviting it in personally. I did that once before with him.

I used to wish my life had ended up differently. It didn’t and I’ve long since stopped wishing. Wishing doesn’t change a damn thing anyway. It keeps you frozen, tethered to yesterday’s sins and broken vows. Having no choice, I’ve accepted my lot in life and moved ahead.

I have to say, though, in this moment, I
wish
. I wish for things I’d long stopped wishing for. I wish that I was
his
. I wish I could go back in time and make different choices. I wish he had loved me the way I loved him. The way I
still
love him, even after all this time, even after everything he did to us.

I wish.

A pointed question my way makes my wishes turn to mist, coating my skin with a slick film of faded dreams and what-ifs. Just as well. I need to move ahead with confidence and hope, not look behind with longing and regret.

“Uh, my apologies. Could you repeat that?” I glance at Carl to see a frown turn down his face. It’s not at all like me to be mentally absent during a meeting, especially one as important as this one.

Well, it’s important to Carl. It’s just a nuisance for me. It irritates me how every other one of my colleagues in here acts like rays of sun have just been blown where it doesn’t normally shine. Maybe it has. Personally, I rather like sunshine warming my skin, not burning my ass.

“Of course. I asked if you had any general questions on the proposed employment contract?” Camille Hayes asks sweetly.

Camille is a very beautiful woman. The type I’ve seen time and again pictured with Connelly. As I look at her, I wonder if she’s been in his bed, had his lips on hers, had his talented hands bringing her to a quivering climax over and over again. The thought of it makes me irrationally jealous. Anger marches through my veins, mostly aimed at me, but that doesn’t stop me from taking it out on her anyway.

“No.” I snip harshly, earning me a vicious glare from Carl.

“Have you even reviewed it?” a baritone, throaty, panty-wetting voice rumbles close to my ear. Hot breath slides over me and slithers down, down, down until it lands with powerful longing at the base of my spine.

God in heaven. His voice.

It’s haunted me more than I care to admit.

Carl and I were the last two to arrive at this meeting and there were only two chairs left: one across from Connelly and one conveniently next to him. Carl, the bastard, took the one right across from him, forcing me to sit next to my former love who I abandoned so long ago with a lie that burned my lips as I forced myself to speak it.

So…talk about
awkward
.

But the plus to sitting next to him is that, except for the brief moment our eyes locked when I walked into the room, I have succeeded at avoiding direct eye contact for the last thirty minutes, while he and Camille have droned on and on about how great this merger will be for both companies and our clients and how excited they are to have our exceptional talents combining to make Wynn Consulting an unstoppable force in the recruiting industry.

Blah frickin’ blah.

Now I have no choice but to give him my full attention. I will not let him intimidate me any more than he’s already trying to do. His larger-than-life presence alone makes our largest conference room feel like we’re sitting in a closet on top of each other.

Again with the wishes.

Turning to face him, I am stunned speechless for a moment as our gazes collide. Helpless, I’m sucked into the deep pools of his stunning hazel eyes where memories of our time together float on the greenish-brown surface. They are eyes I could never get enough of once upon a time. Eyes that still haunt my waking thoughts and torment my dreams. They are eyes I see every day.

“Yes, I’ve reviewed it, Mr. Colloway.”

A ghost of a smile tilts his bitable—so goddamned bitable—lips. A memory slams into me: those lips wrapped around my aching nipples as he rocked into me, bringing me to a shattering climax. Even as inexperienced as we were, no man has ever felt as right inside me as he did. But then, other memories flood me like a tsunami and I have to slam the steel gates shut fast before I drown under their crushing weight.

“Then surely you have questions, Ms. Cantres.” Why does the fact he used my formal name cause a twinge of hurt in my heart when I just did the same thing to him? “You review and negotiate employment contracts daily on behalf of your own clients. Certainly there’s some point you want to discuss. Negotiate, perhaps?”

Yes, there is actually. How about the fact you’re an arrogant asshole who thinks he can waltz in here and just buy me off like I’m in some desperate need of a job.
I’m not, by the way. I’ll be snatched up within a week, tops. Hell, I can even leverage his own offer to get a comparable one from someone else.

Besides, I would never negotiate the specifics of an employment contract in front of my colleagues, so I have no idea what in the hell he thinks he’s doing. Asshat.

“There
is
one point I’d like to discuss, now that you bring it up,” I retort, turning my body toward his.

I don’t miss the slow gander of his eyes down my frame. I suddenly wish I’d worn more than a low-cut blouse and a tight pencil skirt that’s hitting me midthigh. Like perhaps a full coat of armor. But I’m not even sure that would have stopped the heat of his gaze from penetrating my skin like warm, thick dark chocolate. It makes me feel hungry.

Very,
very
hungry.

For moments, I can think of nothing else but scraping my teeth over his sexy-as-sin scruff. I want to run my fingers through his short jet-black locks and use a fistful as leverage to pull him to my waiting mouth, reacquainting my tongue to the taste of his. Thoughts of him demanding everyone to leave so he can bend me over this long oak table and have his wicked way with me runs on a distracting loop.

I yearn to see for myself if he is as fit and toned underneath his tailored, no doubt custom-made, impeccable charcoal suit as it appears. The stark white of his dress shirt sets off the tanned flesh that is decorated in a light dusting of dark hair peeking through the top two buttons he’s so generously left undone.

Shit, that’s new.

“Go on,” he cajoles with a slight wave of his hand, a smug smirk now turning one corner of his mouth. He leans back, places his elbows on the chair arms, and laces his fingers together, resting them on his abdomen. Crossing one leg over the other, he looks very much like the successful executive he is. And he knows exactly how he’s affecting me.

Bastard.

Well, two can play this game and this is a game I play very, very well. I slowly uncross and recross my long, pale, toned legs. For a moment, his eyes snap to them and flare.

Gotcha.

“Do you plan to close the Cincinnati office?” I ask, trying to hold in my own smile at the small victory I feel.

He looks a little surprised at my question before responding, “There are no immediate plans for office consolidation, no.”

I think about his answer for a minute, contemplating my options. If that’s true, then maybe there’s a sliver of hope I can make this work. I could live here, working for his company and further my career until I can find a better position at a competitor. At least then we wouldn’t have to be in the same building. Maybe I’d just have to see him at the occasional holiday party. I could probably make that work and still manage to keep my private life private.

Yes, this may be a solution.

“Then I don’t understand the requirement to relocate to Chicago. If you don’t plan to close the office, I could continue to work from here instead of having to uproot my life, leaving my home and my…
friends
.”

I don’t miss the flare of his nostrils at the mention of the word “friends.” A bigger part of me than I want to admit revels in the idea he’s jealous a man may be in my life. I also didn’t miss the glance at my left ring finger when I walked through the door earlier. He’s so glaringly overt it’s almost laughable.

“I require all of my executives to be located at headquarters, which is in Chicago. It’s a lovely city.” He starts casually swinging his foot back and forth, intimating he’s already bored with this conversation. I don’t miss the fact that his black, shiny loafers probably cost more than I make in a month.

My eyes find his again and I let my lips tilt in victory. “Well, that’s solved then. I’m not an executive. I’m just a recruiter.”

At this juncture, I
should
be leaning slightly forward, but not too much that I seem aggressive. I
should
have my arms draped over the lifts of my chair, not closed in front of me. My face
should
be just warm enough so that I appear open and agreeable.

I
should
be, but I’m not. I’m not agreeable and I’m not open. Instead, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. It pisses me off he’s reduced me to acting like a petulant child. Crossing your arms makes you seem defensive and closed off, but I can’t help the instinctive need to protect every part of myself from his hot, knowing stare.

When he speaks, his tone has a clear bite he doesn’t even try to mask. “Is
that
the issue, Ms. Cantres? Were you hoping for a promotion out of the acquisition? I thought we made a very generous financial offer.”

My face flames with embarrassment as my mouth drops open.

What the ever fuck? How
dare
he!

I’m rendered speechless for all of two seconds before my temper fires red hot, courtesy of my matching hair and half-Irish heritage as my mother used to say. “Why you—”

“Connelly, maybe it’s a provision we could take offline and revisit.” Good ol’ Camille Hayes, who probably has a damn PhD in psychology, saves the day, interrupting what would have been a career-ending sentence. For a top recruiter who’s known to keep her cool under pressure, I am unraveling at the seams within a span of two dozen words from this infuriating man—a man who has changed more than I could ever have imagined.

His playful attitude has been completely transplanted by cool and aloof.

And am I just making shit up or did she sound a little too familiar with him when she said his name? If possible, my anger spikes even more.

“No.” He doesn’t even look at her when his harsh response slices the air like a bullwhip. “
That
particular term is nonnegotiable.” His gaze pins me down, daring me to argue.

I want to. Jesus, do I want to lay into him hard and bruising. But I don’t. I can’t or else I will explode and I may very well ruin this entire acquisition.

Say…that’s an idea.

But even as I think it, I look over at Carl who knows right where my devious mind is going. I don’t miss his quiet pleading not to screw this up for him. That deflates my fight, so I take a deep, cleansing breath and turn away from Connelly in silence, facing the table again without another word.

The room falls still for a few tense moments before Camille breaks it by asking the same question to Rob, our marketing VP. He answers immediately, asking a question about finding elderly care assistance for his ill mother, who he would have to leave behind if he decides to accept Wynn’s offer.

For not the first time, I can’t help the resentment that bubbles at Uncle Carl for putting everyone in this position. Surely he doesn’t need the money, so that makes me wonder what’s behind this sale.

The next twenty minutes tick by painfully slow. Every minute seems like ten. My eyes flick to the clock and just thirty-two seconds have passed since the last time I looked. At least I made it longer than the twenty-one seconds that mocked me before.

I fidget, leaning to the left so I can escape the heat of Connelly’s arm. The smooth bastard has shifted in his chair, scooting it closer to mine. Being this close to him makes my blood boil with need I haven’t felt in years. It’s just another poke to ratchet up my ire at this whole fucked-up situation I can’t believe I’ve found myself immersed in.