Just For Now (A Flirting With Trouble Novel) (13 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“You know,” I say, sipping my glass of chardonnay, “we really shouldn’t be celebrating, considering there’s absolutely no reason to believe this plan will work. No money equals no money.”

“Shut it,” Owen says, mock-glowering at me. He reaches over, his pilsner glass still slightly foamy at the top with his second beer, and clinks it against mine. “We’re out celebrating the fact that we’re moving forward with your idea—an idea, mind you, that you only came up with, what? A month ago? And already there’s so much excitement for it.”

I shrug. “Something like that.”

I pick up my fork and start playing with what’s left of my blackened salmon, but I can feel Owen’s eyes focused on me. When I look up again, his gaze is soft and warm.

“Would it be super-patronizing and parent-like to say that I’m proud of you?”

I snort. “Yeah, a little maybe.”

He shrugs. “Well, too damn bad. I am—I’m proud of you.”

I sigh, then take a bite of my fish.

“Honestly, you shouldn’t be.” I swallow, then wipe my mouth. “If I’d gotten on this sooner, we would have made more deadlines. We could have applied for more grants and less-competitive programs. We would have had a better chance at more money.”

Owen reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Don’t be offended—but shut the fuck up.”

I raise a brow at him. “Are you serious?”

“A little. I mean, come on, Rainey. You’ve done more in the last few weeks than anyone has at BYC in years—especially Remy, who frankly should have thought of this shit a long time ago.”

I bristle.

“Look, Remy had a ton on his plate. Staffing was always an issue, he had that one chick doing front desk who he had to fire for stealing—it was a crazy year.”

“Maybe.” Owen cuts a piece of his steak, then chews thoughtfully. “But that shouldn’t take anything away from how much you’ve gotten done in such a short period of time.”

I drain the rest of my wine, and, as though summoned by the sound of an empty glass, the waiter comes to pour more from the iced bottle. I nod a thank-you as he leaves.

“Anyway,” I say, feeling desperately eager to change the subject, “I’m thinking I’ll look into something to replace the lockboxes first. Maybe some lockers I can buy from old schools or something . . .”

Owen is watching me—or, more accurately, watching my mouth—as I take another sip of my drink. Finally, I swallow and grin at him.

“See something that’s fascinating you?” I ask, running a fingertip along the rim of my glass and shooting him a coy look. Owen licks his lips and leans in.

“Truth?”

“Of course.”

“You.”

I raise a brow. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Owen clasps a hand around the back of his neck and gives me an almost sheepish look. “I spend half the time I’m with you feeling completely out of my league and the other time imagining getting you completely naked.”

The smile spreads over my face with an involuntary momentum. It’s like gravity itself.

“Do you now?” I ask, my voice slightly husky. “How about you describe that for me?”

He lowers his hands and splays them wide on the table.

“Look, I mean, you’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant—you’re awesome with the kids and staff. How could I not be intimidated by that?”

I shake my head. “First of all—I am the last person who should be considered intimidating. Trust me. I’m a spaz most of the time. I can barely keep my shit together.”

I lean a little closer.

“But the description I was requesting? That was of the other part. The naked part.”

Owen smirks, then crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“What do you want to know?”

I open my mouth to respond, to spur him on, when he lowers his voice and continues.

“Do you want to hear about how every time we’re alone together, I imagine pulling your ponytail in one hand and wrapping it around my wrist? I imagine holding your head still while I devour that fucking mouth of yours.”

I suck in a breath, my eyes wide.

“What else?” I whisper.

“I imagine locking my office door behind us and pinning you up against the desk. I picture ripping your shirt open and buttons flying everywhere, then getting your gorgeous tits in my mouth as quickly as possible.”

Holy fuck. I can feel my panties begin to dampen. Actually—no, I can’t. Since I decided to forgo the panties tonight.

“And that’s not all I can’t wait to get in my mouth as quickly as possible,” Owen murmurs. He flicks his tongue out along his lower lip in a subtle hint, but it wasn’t necessary. I got the gist.

“Owen,” I say, my voice low.

“Time to go?”

I inhale a shaky breath, then nod.

“Please.”

Before I can ask, “Your place or mine?” he’s got a hand up in the air.

“Check please!” he calls out to our waiter. Then he sends me a smoldering look that could potentially melt me right here in the chair.

God, I don’t know how we’re making it all the way home. The sexual tension is sizzling hot and harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. We might end up naked on the side of the road—and I’m not entirely sure I’d care. It wouldn’t be the first time we couldn’t keep our clothes on when cars are involved.

***

We make it to my apartment, but just barely. My dress is off before I can even consider making its disappearance sexy or slow or even remotely notable in the way strippers do in clubs or on stages. Seconds later, Owen’s shirt is over his head, and my tongue feels dry and huge in my mouth. God, every time I see his body, it’s like the first time. It’s like I’m seeing something that’s a cross between holy and illegal. Then he drops his pants, revealing tight grey boxer-briefs, and I’m completely lost. Right now, I just want him. My body. His body. As long as we’re touching, we’ll be doing something right.

Slowly, he moves us toward my couch. He eases me down and I lie back—partly out of the desperate need to be beneath him and partly out of an innate desire to respond to his body’s movements. As he hovers hardly a foot above me, I can feel his breath grow shallow and I close my eyes. I want to feel his mouth on me again—on any part of me, at any time.

Preferably immediately.

“Rainey.”

Owen whispers my name, nothing more, and then his lips crush mine beneath his again. He sinks down, letting our bodies meet, letting one hand coast down over my side and between my legs. He’s wasting no time now and I don’t want him to. He hovers his hand just above my quivering, quaking sex and I almost groan with desire.

“You want this?” he murmurs against my mouth.

“Yes,” I whisper. He pulls back to meet my gaze.

“Say it.”

I blink at him. “Say what?”

He traces a lazy circle around my belly button with the tip of one finger.

“Say what you want me to do. In detail. Tell me a story, like I did at the restaurant.”

“A story?”

At first, I’m thrown. Nervous, even. Who the hell am I to tell Owen my great expectations for our torrid sex romp in my empty apartment? I barely passed my college English classes, and, had Cyn not been my roommate, I definitely wouldn’t have.

But Owen pins me with his smoldering stare and sexy half smile. And the way he looks at me makes me want to talk. It makes me want to tell him every dirty thing I’ve imagined him doing to me.

“Tell me what you think about when we’re alone in a room at work together,” he whispers, capturing my earlobe between his teeth. “Because I know I can’t be the only one who imagines bending you over my desk and sliding your panties off.”

All the breath comes whooshing out of me in a sudden and insistent pull of lust. I swallow.

“I think about that, too,” I admit softly.

“Think about what?”

“Think about you bending me over your desk and fucking me really hard from behind, fucking me so hard that the drawers rattle in protest.”

I’m not even sure where those words come from, but I can hear Owen suck in a startled breath of his own.

“Go on,” he murmurs. I lick my lips, suddenly energized by the premise of telling him all of my sexy thoughts.

“First, we’d wait until everyone was gone,” I say slowly. “Then, I’ll pull you into my office and lock the door behind me.”

I glance up and over his shoulder as though someone could be watching, then scoot a little closer. He rewards me with the gentlest, briefest caress between my legs. My entire pussy clenches on the mere thought of his cock filling me up. Keeping me feeling full and satisfied in a way I haven’t felt in so long.

“Once I’m sure we’re alone,” I continue, licking my lips, “I’ll begin removing my clothes.”

“What will you be wearing?” Owen asks—his voice husky.

I consider the question.

“How about a super-short skirt with five-inch heels? Maybe a nearly see-through blouse with a lacey black bra underneath?”

“I approve,” he murmurs. His breath caresses my skin when he speaks, and I shiver.

“First,” I whisper, coasting my fingers down his bare shoulder to his right bicep, “I’d unbutton my shirt while straddling your lap.”

“Mmm. I love that idea.”

Owen moves his hands to my hair and angles my head as he kisses me, his tongue sliding deep in my mouth. He’s got the timing down and the mere way he devours me—it’s like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

“More,” he says quietly.

“More what?”

“More story—what happens next?”

I smile and pull back so I can meet his gaze.

“Next,” I say, “I pull my skirt up higher on my thighs and you realize I’m not wearing any panties.”

“Fuck.”

Owen closes his eyes, almost as though he’s in pain.

“And that’s when I slide one hand down and start playing with myself.”

As he stares down at me, I give him a wicked smile as I move my palm down my side, letting it sweep over my breast as it travels down between my legs. Owen groans loudly.

“Yeah, baby, I’m done—that’s it.”

“What’s it?” I ask innocently.

But before I can take another breath, before I can give him another coquettish smile, he’s pushed himself up and is hovering above me.

“All I need, right this second, is to get my mouth on you—all over any part of you that I can possibly taste.”

I have to force myself not to whimper as he begins to descend, scaling down my body and pressing lush kisses against my belly, my hip. When he reaches my right thigh, I moan, which must spur Owen on. He surges up, firmly—hell, almost roughly—pulling my legs apart and revealing me—all of me—to his gaze.

“Fuck, Rainey—you’re so damn wet.”

He dives right in with his lips and tongue, focusing dead center on my clit. I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head, my lids fluttering.

Owen’s tongue flicks out, curling around my clit before pulling it into the warmth of his mouth. He surrounds my wetness with the warmth and wetness of his own mouth. I reach down and grab his hair, yanking the strands hard. I try not to crush his face between my thighs by holding them rigid. Everything he does feels miraculous. His eyes meet mine as his tongue enters me, and I almost pass the fuck out, it feels so damn good.

“Yes—oh my God! Owen!”

I know my sexy dialogue is limited at best. Hell, it’s not even insightful or original. It’s essentially grunting. But my brain is totally fried from having anything feel this good.

Owen lifts up and replaces his tongue with a finger, then two. He grins at me as he moves back to my clit, sucking hard until it presses against his teeth.

“Please. Please fuck me,” I say. I can’t help it. I have to ask for what I want. It may not be ladylike, but it sure as fuck makes me feel like a woman.

Seconds later, Owen lifts up and crawls back above me. I wrap my legs around him, pressing my center up against his stiffening cock. He ducks down to take a nipple in his mouth and I keen out a sound that couldn’t be less human.

“Fuck, I love your tits.”

He licks and sucks as though worshiping my flesh. As he tastes my body, Owen moves his hand back down into my wetness. I gasp as he slides two, then three fingers into my pussy and I bite down hard on my bottom lip. He then retreats slightly and I grind down onto them. My mouth is open now and I’m practically panting.

“You sure you want this?” he asks, still licking my nipples. I nod vigorously, no longer able to speak.

Owen latches onto my nipple again and suckles it, both gentle and firm at the same time. His tongue flicks against the hardened peak, while, below, his fingers are still pumping inside me relentlessly.

“You want more?” he asks, looking up at me.

I’m shuddering and nodding at the same time and he grins as he reaches down with one hand to slide a condom on his long, hard cock that is as large as any I’ve ever seen. I lick my lips and he groans.

“I can’t wait to feel your mouth on my cock—but I want your pussy first.”

And with that, he slides into me, pulls back slightly, then slams forward. I keen out a sound I’ve never heard out of my own mouth.

“You like that?” He grins as I nod and tilt my pelvis up.

“God. Yes. Fuck me.”

Owen growls. He levers himself up over me, grips the back of the couch in one hand, and slows his pace, dragging his cock through my wetness, then deep into my pussy.

“Oh my God,” I moan.

“That good, huh?” Owen shoots me a grin as he speeds his pace. He begins pounding into me and I’m practically shrieking his name as the orgasm takes me over. Moments later, he crests that same peak and falls over the other side. We’re both panting and grinning at each other.

“God, I fucking love you,” he murmurs against my skin.

I heave in a shaky breath.

Shit. I can’t say that back yet. I can’t. Not because I don’t feel it—but because I do.

Instead, I pretend not to have heard him. I cling on to his damp skin and bury my face in his neck, hoping that love hasn’t found me where I least expected it.

But I can’t help the smile spreading over my lips. It feels like I’ve won something tangible and real.

Chapter Fifteen

Ping.

I peer at the window. What time is it anyway?

I roll over and grab my phone from the bedside table. It pings again. Through my bleary focus, I zero in on the words.

It’s Owen. Despite the early hour, despite my avoidance of all things romance and his murmured, postcoital declaration of love, I’m still thrilled to see his text.

Good morning, I didn’t want to wake you. I’m at HQ this morning—can we have

dinner again tonight?

I rub a hand over my face, including my ear-to-ear grin that I can’t seem to stop sporting, then hop out of bed. He chose not to stay the night, but I know he stayed until I fell asleep, which was wonderful. His skin, his body—everything about him had been a miracle. Especially the fact that he didn’t pressure me to say anything back. He just lay there and loved me on his own. It was glorious.

I can’t help but smile all through my shower, my blow-dry, my breakfast. The tight black tank top under my zip-up BYC hoodie allows me to flash a little more skin and cleavage if I so choose. By the time I reach BYC, I feel like I could tackle anything.

However, the last thing I expect to walk into is complete and utter mayhem.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask out loud. Not a single person stops to address me. I just stare at them.

There are a half dozen people rushing around—Jenn and Derrick are talking to a few men in suits who I don’t recognize, and Shannon is at the front desk on the phone. I turn and peer at the people I’ve never seen in my life. In fact, they look like they are more than just employees. Blinking, I grab Jenn’s sleeve and tug her to the side.

“What in the world is going on?” I hiss at her. She’s holding several files and her hands look as though they’re shaking.

“Something happened—some kind of funding issue,” she whispers, glancing at the closest man to us, who is tall and wearing a dark grey suit.

“Apparently there’s thousands of dollars missing out of the BYC account—I’m not sure about all the details, but we’re supposed to be going through all of the documents on our desks and turning them in. It’s been total chaos in here for the last hour.”

I move aside to let Jenn pass, then lean back against the doorjamb.

A funding issue. Money from the BYC account. What the fuck could possibly have happened?

I slip past the front desk and start walking toward my office. When I get there, though, there’s already two men, both wearing suits, standing at the door on either side.

“Excuse me,” I say to the taller of the two men, “that’s my office. I need to enter it.”

“One moment, miss.”

He leans inside and murmurs something very low, very faint, before standing up a little straighter and nodding.

“Right now this room has been sealed off,” he says. “But Mr. Kensington has asked to see you in Mr. Marshall’s office while you wait.”

I blink up at the guard, confused. Still, his closed-off expression tells me that I’m without any options. Instead, I spin on my heel and head for Owen’s office.

I’m only there for a few minutes—pacing back and forth—when Mr. Kensington walks into the room.

“Sit down, Rainey,” he barks at me.

I open my mouth, then close it. He’s pissed. Clearly pissed. And pissed at me. So I keep my mouth shut and sink down on a sleek chair to my left.

“I understand that you have access to the county account for BYC. Is that true?” he asks.

I blink at him, nodding. “I do—I’ve had it for the last few months. Remy gave it to me before he left . . . for his other position.”

Mr. Kensington narrows his eyes.

“And have you made purchases on that card?”

I frown. “Well, yeah, of course. I always purchase the catering stuff from Costco. And any office supplies. Stuff like that.”

“Uh-huh . . . anything else?”

I shrug. “Not that I can think of.”

“No cash advances? Purchases at department stores or restaurants?”

“No—nothing like that,” I say, brows furrowed.

He walks closer, then stops a few feet away from me. I meet his gaze, wishing I could read his mind.

“So you’d understand why we’d be alarmed by thousands of dollars charged to the BYC-designated credit card, correct? Especially since you have an unapproved copy of the card?”

I lick my lips rapidly, then nod. “Maybe it isn’t a typical thing for assistant managers to have a credit card, but I did inform Owen—er, Mr. Marshall about it.”

Mr. Kensington moves from where he’s standing to the desk and picks up the laptop computer, then walks back to me. He stands to my left side, then sets the computer in front of me on a small end table. It’s a bank statement—a statement that shows a rapid decrease.

“There’s almost twenty thousand dollars in unapproved charges and cash advances, Rainey. We’ve connected all of the charges to two cards—one belonged to Remy House. The other one was yet unidentified. Now, you’ve admitted, it was a card you used.”

“I mean . . . I suppose . . .”

I trail off as Mr. Kensington shakes his head, then closes the laptop.

“We’re going to need to remove you from your position while we investigate,” Mr. Kensington says quietly. “I’m not sure if the city will be pressing charges or if the police will be getting involved. However, I have to say that I’m truly disappointed in your actions.”

I bristle. His condescension is beyond loathsome. More than that, though, I’m baffled.

“Mr. Kensington,” I say, trying to stay calm, “I never purchased anything on that card that wasn’t for BYC.”

He raises a brow. “Were all of your purchases approved prior to being made?”

I cock my head. “I can’t honestly answer that at the moment—I’d need to look through my records.”

“What about the two thousand dollars you spent on the card last month?”

Shit.
I forgot about that.

“That was an unusual purchase,” I say slowly. “It was to begin the efforts for Safe Spaces. Since then, we’ve received a large donation. The money can certainly be returned.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that the purchase was unauthorized. It was a selfish choice on your part.”

I grit my teeth, sitting straight up in my chair. “I’m not entirely sure I appreciate what you’re saying. You are right—I should have gone through the proper channels. However, the purchases were specifically for the youth members here at BYC. I didn’t purchase anything for myself in the process.”

Mr. Kensington walks back behind Owen’s desk and sits down, tenting his fingers in an almost thoughtful position.

“Look, Rainey, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. You need to leave the premises. You shouldn’t come back here unless someone calls and asks you to.”

“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Because,” he says, “if authorities are involved, you’ll need to be interviewed. You might be called in to go over things here, or you might be contacted separately to be interviewed at the station. Either way, staying clear of BYC while we do our investigation is wise.”

For a long moment, I stare at my boss. I can’t believe that, after all of the work I’ve put in here, he could dick me over so thoroughly. Like I wasn’t worth anything. Like I wasn’t capable.

Without another word, I stand and walk toward to door. Then I think better of it and turn back around.

“What about Remy? Are you talking to him? He’ll tell you that I never used that card for anything I wasn’t supposed to.”

Mr. Kensington clears his throat.

“We will be speaking to everyone who could have been involved, Rainey.”

I sniff. “What about Owen? Did he know about all of this happening?”

He eyes me. “We notified him early this morning. Now, please exit the building quietly and without alarming the rest of the staff.”

I want to punch him in the fucking face. Instead, I turn on my heel and hurry back toward my office.

As I head back, I pull out my phone. When I get to my now-vacant office, my heart seizes up as I stare down at the screen.

Owen:
Rainey—I need to talk to you.

Owen:
Shit, Rainey, I just got here to the city offices and there’s something we need to talk about.

Owen:
I just called you. Pick up.

Owen:
Look, don’t panic. I know you didn’t do this. Just call me.

I look around my office, now free of any uniformed men, and blink back my furious tears. Without another thought in my head, I start throwing everything I can into a box near the door. I manage to choke back a sob as I hurry through the main office and out to my car.

I don’t check any mirrors as I roar out of the parking lot. My phone rings, but I don’t even look at the screen. I’m sure it’s Owen, but I can’t bear to talk to him. At this moment, all I can do is run away. Run far and run fast, without looking back.

***

Usually, I get on the treadmill at BYC, but obviously that’s not something I can do today. Or, hell, ever again as far as I know. I decide to go to the fitness center at my apartment complex, and, once I start to run, I feel like I can breathe again. I mean, sure, it’s sweaty, labored breathing. But, still, I’m able to relax a bit as I fall into a stride that makes me feel far more like myself. When I’m running is the only time I’m ever really alone—racing with nothing but my body to answer to.

I’m settling into my rhythm. This is the time when I’m most relaxed, which is sort of ironic, since every part of me is taking action. Still, I feel at home in this moment. And it always passes me by way too fast.

“Hey, stranger.”

I have to reach out and grasp the sides of the treadmill so that I don’t fall off. When I glance up, I see Carson grinning at me.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, walking closer. “Why aren’t you working?”

I slow my stride and grab my towel, mopping the sweat that’s beginning to travel from my hairline to my neck.

“I just needed a mental health day.”

I don’t know why I don’t tell her the truth. Probably because I don’t think I’ve even processed the truth.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her. I notice then that she’s got a bag of stuff with her.

Carson drops her bag and steps up on the treadmill next to me. I increase my speed and watch her face in the mirror as she leans back against the safety bars.

“I’m moving some of my stuff over to Wyatt’s,” she says, looking down at her machine.

“Well, that’s nice,” I finally say between breaths. “That you’re taking more stuff over.”

Carson hasn’t looked away from my face in the mirror.

“So, you don’t mind?” she asks as I start to pick up my pace. I frown.

“Mind you taking stuff to your boyfriend’s house? Nah, dude. You’re fine.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I get that. But—I mean, what if this were more permanent?”

I arch a brow. “You can’t live with me forever, Carson. I don’t expect you to—especially if you and Wyatt are getting that serious.”

She chuckles, then shakes her head. “I’ve never felt this way before, Rain. He’s my whole world. I want to spend every moment with him.”

I imagine Owen’s face and I feel a surge of loneliness. An ache deep in my gut.

“So, you want to grab a drink tonight?” Carson asks.

I shrug. “Maybe—I’ll text you later on, okay?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Are you going upstairs after this?” she asks. “I can go unlock the door.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” I smile at her. “Go be with your guy. Enjoy every second of it.”

She reaches out for a fist bump as I continue to run, and I watch her walk out the door to her Jeep. I’m happy for her, I really am. It’s just hard to be happy for anyone when I feel so shitty.

Once I’ve made it to the five-mile mark, I slow to a walk, then stop completely. I take the stairs back up to my apartment, walking slowly enough to be considered a trudge. I just don’t feel the enthusiasm to do anything right now, even putting one foot forward in front of the other.

But when I get to my floor and come out onto the landing, I stop in my tracks. Owen is leaning against the doorjamb, and he looks somewhat panicked in the face. His eyes dart from one side to the other as he knocks.

“Owen,” I say softly. He whirls around.

“Fuck, Rainey! I’ve called you a thousand times. Are you okay?”

For a long moment, I just stare at Owen. Then, without another word, I motion for him to follow me into my apartment.

As he does, I take in his appearance—he’s wearing charcoal grey slacks and a button-up dress shirt with a loosened tie. His eyes look almost black in the dim light, and I swallow hard. Even now—despite the drama, despite the uncertainty—I want him to fuck me.

“Have I lost my job?” I finally ask.

Owen shoves his hands into his pockets and cocks his head, watching me.

“I didn’t know what was happening—what was going to happen—until after I’d texted you this morning. I had no idea about the cards or the money or anything.”

And then, before I can even blink, he rushes forward and takes me into his arms. It’s a tender embrace—the embrace of someone concerned with my welfare. The embrace of someone who cares about me.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I murmur against his chest. I inhale deeply, relishing the scent of his aftershave combined with fabric softener. Owen hugs me closer to him and presses his chin to the top of my head.

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

He pulls back and gazes down at me, looking right into my eyes.

“I know I haven’t known you long, Rainey, but I can still tell what kind of person you are. You are more generous than anyone I know. You would never take money that wasn’t yours from the city. Not on purpose.”

“What do you mean, ‘not on purpose’?” I ask, brow furrowing. “The only times I ever used the credit card was when Remy told me to. Well, and one charge to help with Safe Spaces. But it was for a specific purpose—I was under the impression that was what the card was for.”

Owen clasps a hand at the back of his neck and closes his eyes.

“I know—I am so sorry. It’s all really complicated . . .”

He trails off and I stare at him. I feel the fury bubble up inside of me—all the fury I felt for Mr. Kensington, combined with this fury, froths and condenses deep inside me.