Hell on Heels (6 page)

T
y's taunting smile died on his lips at the sight of her sprawled on the desk. Her hair had come down and lay in a tangle of silk. Her face was flushed, and her gray eyes had darkened to slate. The vision of her looking soft and utterly fuckable sent a rush of blood straight to his dick.

He'd told himself from the start that she wasn't his type, that she was far too aggressive and hard-hitting for his taste, but right now she was all women and his jeans were uncomfortably tight. He tried to blame it on his extended period of celibacy, but deep down it was more than that. At some point in their verbal clash, his antagonism for Monica had morphed into something else that he couldn't even put a name to.

Her breath came in short pants, her back arched, and her hips surged upward under his hands. He could feel her reaching, growing desperate for release. For a few agonizing seconds, he debated fucking her into next Wednesday, but he quickly stifled that urge. He might be aching to get inside her, but he wasn't about to allow her the advantage of knowing that. She'd exploit any show of weakness in a heartbeat.

If sexual frustration was the chink in her armor, he'd show her no mercy. He backed off.

“You bastard!” she hissed. “You started this, now finish it!”

He gifted her with a self-satisfied smirk. “You wanted to be equal partners, sweetheart. You'll get yours when I get mine.”

“Now, Ty.” She grabbed his shirt collar. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He'd planned on torturing her a whole lot longer, but this was more than he could take. His self-control snapped. “Far be it from me to deny a lady.” He unzipped, took himself in hand, his eyes shuttering in anticipation of sliding himself into her wet folds.

“Protection?” she asked with a needy whimper.

He froze on a long stream of hissed curses.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She sat up, face contorted with frustration. “You don't have any?”

He let out a bark of dry laughter. “Having sex with you was the very last thing on my mind when I walked in here, Ms. Brandt.”

“My purse,” she hissed. “In the desk.” She yanked on the drawer. It slid completely off the track and crashed on the floor, spilling the contents. “Shit!”

“I've got it.” Ty stepped back to scoop up her handbag.

She snatched it from his hands, rifled, then gave up, dumping it unceremoniously on the desk—wallet, lipstick, keys, feminine products, and other miscellaneous items spilled out, but no prophylactics. “Nothing, damn it!” She exhaled a long and shaky breath. “I can't believe this!”

“It's all right, darlin'. I'll still get you off.” The situation was laughable but still salvageable. If he did the oral honors, maybe she'd return the favor.

“No, Ty.” She sat up and pushed against his chest. “My moment of madness has run its course.” Sliding off the desk, she tugged at her skirt and scooped up her lost panties, throwing them into her purse with a weak laugh. “I don't know what the hell possessed me. Maybe this whole thing was just some twisted manifestation of mutual aggression?”

“Is that all you think it was?” he drawled. He'd love to believe it too, but now he wasn't so sure. He'd never experienced anything like this with any woman. Their sparring match had excited the hell out of him. And he was still hard as a post.

“Of course,” she insisted. “What else could it be? We don't even
like
each other.”

“True enough.” He didn't like her, but it was still an effort to zip back into his jeans. “So what now?” he asked. “You change your mind about the deal, too?”

“Why would you jump to that conclusion? Business is business, Ty. It would be stupid to let this get in the way when there's millions on the line.”

He shook his head. He'd
never
understand this woman. He thought he had her number before, but now he didn't know what the hell to make of her. “So you think we can just move on like nothing happened?”

“
I
certainly can. What
almost
happened has nothing to do with our arrangement. Do
you
have a problem with it?” she asked.

“Nope,” he replied, “not if that's really the way you want to play this.”

“I do,” she asserted confidently. “It's done now and won't happen again. As of this moment we're business partners, Ty. Nothing else.”

He reached out to graze the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I wouldn't be so certain about that, Sugar.”

 

Monica managed to hold her breath until the door closed behind him. She then exhaled a long gush of air and collapsed into the chair. Her legs still felt like jelly. She'd never acted so recklessly before, but thankfully the condom dilemma had jolted her out of a lust-induced lapse of reason before it was too late. She consoled herself that the damage wasn't irreversible as long as she kept things under control from this point forward, but feared that might be more easily said than done.

He might be gone, but she couldn't deny that a powerful attraction remained. Maybe Ty lacked Evan's urbane polish, but he had undeniable charisma—not to mention impressive physical attributes. She quickly shoved that dangerous recollection from her mind, but not before her inner muscles gave a squeeze of protest.

Her initial antipathy toward Ty had been rooted in the belief that he was an opportunist who'd caused Tom's stroke, but her preliminary review of the accounts revealed no evidence of wrongdoing and nothing to warrant a full audit.

Perhaps she'd misjudged him. She was emotionally vulnerable when he'd walked into the hospital room—angry and bitter about Evan, and in a state of despair over almost losing Tom. Lashing out at Ty had been a knee-jerk reaction. It wasn't her finest moment, but she was used to being in control and had looked for someone to blame. The cowboy had presented an easy target.

Her feelings were now completely muddled where Ty was concerned. She wasn't actually starting to like him, was she? She couldn't deny the attraction even if she wanted to, but she'd just have to find a way to deal with it, even if it meant resorting to something with batteries—though finding one Ty-sized might present a challenge.

 

Ty left Tom's, or rather Monica's, office feeling like a loaded gun. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd had a case of blue balls—probably nigh on twenty years. Although he knew any number of women who'd be more than willing to take care of his
problem
, a couple of them even in the hotel, it might be best to just take matters into his own hand. Deciding that option was the safest one, he headed down the hall toward the owner's suite.

The elevator dinged as he passed, the doors opening to a pair of shapely legs. His gaze tracked appreciatively upward over generous feminine curves until it finally rested on Cassie Alexander's familiar face. She was a voluptuous brunette with big, brown, bedroom eyes. She liked dirty talk and noisy sex. She also happened to be on his short list of women who'd be happy to solve his problem. He was quick to stomp that dangerous thought.

“Ty!” she gushed with a bright smile. “I was hoping to catch you. You didn't answer my text. I've been waiting in the lobby for over thirty minutes. Did another meeting run late?”

He whipped out his phone to discover the last message he'd thought was from Monica was actually Cassie.
Shit.
He'd forgotten the appointment he'd made with her right after his fateful lunch with Tom. The stroke had immediately followed the phone call, and he hadn't thought of it, or her, since.

Her smile wavered. “You didn't forget about me, did you?”

Shit.
He'd done exactly that. “Ah, hell. I'm sorry, Cassie. I've been real preoccupied. There's some unexpected complications that came up.” He laid a hand on her arm. “I apologize that I didn't think to call you—”

“It's no problem, Ty. Really. These things happen. But if it would ease your conscience, I'll let you make it up to me with dinner. How about we talk about it over the rib eye at Carnevino? They claim it's the best in town.” She glanced beyond his shoulder and her eyes widened. “Or did you already have other plans?”

Ty didn't have to turn around to know it was Monica, but he did anyway. She swept a quick gaze over Cassie. He'd seen that look a dozen times before, a woman assessing the threat of another woman. Monica might claim their relationship was pure business, but under it all she was still a woman. And women
always
tried to stake a claim to any man they got sexually involved with. He might have been amused by the hint of jealousy in her eyes if he hadn't found himself in the middle of what could easily become a messy situation. It'd be best to handle it up front before it became something ugly and festering.

“Excuse me, Ms. Brandt, there's someone here you should meet.”

“Oh?” She approached with a pasted-on smile.

He made the introduction. “This is Cassie Alexander of Adams & Alexander Architects. She's one of the up-and-coming architectural designers in Las Vegas. Cassie, this is Monica Brandt, the new CEO of Brandt Morgan Entertainment.”

Cassie's brows lifted. “But isn't Tom—”

“My father recently suffered a stroke,” Monica volunteered.

“I'm so sorry,” Cassie offered sympathetically. “How is he doing?”

“Not well, I'm afraid, which puts me in charge of his business affairs for the foreseeable future.”

“I see.” Cassie nodded. “If that's the case, perhaps you'd like to join Ty and me for dinner. We were going to review some conceptual sketches I made for the new hotel.”

“I'd really hate for
either of us
to waste your time, Cassie.” She slanted a pointed gaze at Ty. “The renovation project has been shelved. There's a strong possibility I'll be selling this property.”

“Oh.” Cassie looked to Ty as if seeking confirmation.

Ty cleared his throat with a forced smile. “There's still a possibility of moving forward. But I'll have to make a few calls about lining up some investors.”

“So the project isn't completely dead?” Cassie asked.

“Not completely,” Monica interjected, “but I wouldn't advise you to hold your breath waiting for a contract.”

“Right, then. I quite understand.” Cassie collected her drawings. “Another time then, Ty?”

“Sure, Cassie,” he replied, tight-lipped and silently cursing Monica for making him look like an ass. “I'll call you.”

“Great,” Cassie replied. “I'll look forward to that. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Brandt. Let me know if you'd like to do lunch one day. Ty has my number.”

“Oh, I'm sure he does,” Monica replied as Cassie headed back toward the elevator.

Ty waited until the doors closed before he spoke. “Resentful, Ms. Brandt?”

“What do you mean?”

“Afraid I'd get what you didn't?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You didn't want me seeing her.” He jammed the express elevator button, annoyed as hell that Monica had purposely sabotaged the dinner date. He had no doubt it was intentional, and by God, he'd make her pay.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I'd never be so petty. Besides, I'm the one who called it off, remember?”

Whether she wanted to admit it yet or not, their
almost
encounter counted. Maybe it was even worse because they'd left the personal side of their business unfinished.

“Yeah, I remember all right, but something tells me we need to revisit the situation we left unresolved in your office.”

“I assure you there isn't any
situation
.”

“You're a bad liar, Monica. If you've changed your mind, just say so. We don't have to go far. It's a hotel, after all.”

“I haven't changed my mind. I just explained to her how things are, which you should have already done.”

“I would have—over dinner—but you didn't give me the chance.”

“You should thank me that I saved you the trouble.” She smiled smugly. “And her the disappointment.”

“I don't ever
disappoint
a lady, Ms. Brandt. It's a point of honor.”

“You mean ego.”

He shrugged. “You're splitting hairs. The motive doesn't matter as long as she's satisfied.”

“So you
did
have designs on her,” she accused.

“I'm not the one who issued the dinner invitation. Maybe she had designs on
me
.”

“You really do think a lot of yourself, don't you, cowboy?” she snorted. “It takes more than a big dick to please a woman.”

Her mention of size was very telling. She still wanted him, all right.

“It sure doesn't hurt,” he chuckled. “But for the record, sweetheart, I've never had any complaints about my hands or my mouth either, and I'd be mighty glad to prove it to you.”

The elevator doors opened. He pulled her inside.

“Lobby, please.”

He punched the button.

Monica braced herself against the far wall, watching him warily as if she anticipated him making a move on her. “What makes you think I'm interested in finding out?”

She could fake it all she liked, but the air around her still vibrated with unresolved sexual tension. Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, Ty let his gaze slide over her. She'd put herself back together. Mostly, anyhow. Her hair was still a bit mussed, and the wrinkles in her clothes remained. He liked that look on her—maybe a bit too much. He wondered if she'd put her panties back on.