One Night with the CEO (13 page)

K
aren glanced at Mark as he drove. “Okay, so are we going to talk about it?” She continued to rummage through her overnight bag searching for her flats.
Cinderella would have had it so much easier if she’d have thought to bring a walk-of-shame rescue pack to the ball.

Mark drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road. “Talk about us?”

“Yes. Us. What we’re doing. Again, just so there’s no confusion. And this time I won’t be giving you a pass.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Fine. I’m just going to put this out there. I like you, Karen. A lot. But I know you’re starting medical school soon, and you’ve made clear that you’re not looking to attach yourself to anyone.”

“Exactly. And you’re looking for a wife.”

He groaned. “I’m
not
looking for a wife. I’m looking to
date
someone.”

“You’re looking for a committed relationship then.”

“Eventually, yes.”

“I’m curious. You asked for Gracie and Ethan’s help finding someone to date. Why? I mean, I can’t imagine there’s a shortage of women interested in dating you.”

“Finding someone to date isn’t the problem. It’s the actual dating that’s going to be a challenge. Old habits die hard. And my habits are of the ‘that-was-great-maybe-we’ll-do-it-again-sometime’ variety. ”

“Ugh. I’m not sure I wanted to hear that.”

“You asked for honesty, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m so naïve. Not sure what I was thinking when I asked for you to be straight with me. Go ahead and feel free to lie just a bit.” Mark’s take on dating fascinated her. She adjusted herself in the passenger seat so she could look at him. “Now I’m super curious. Did you give them a wish list?”

He scoffed at the question. “A wish list? No. I’m not looking to date a product on Amazon.”

“C’mon. Let’s be real. If you talked to Ethan about this, there was definitely some objectifying going on.”

“We just discussed certain attributes that might be ideal.”

“I knew it,” she said as she slapped his lap.

“Careful. You might hurt yourself.”

He might not want to talk about it, but she certainly did. Which meant she wasn’t going to let up until she got an answer. “Okay, out with it. What were these attributes?”

“I can’t remember them off the top of my head.”

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him.

After several seconds of silence, he relented. “Okay, okay. Someone around my age. Established in her career. Someone who’s figured out where she wants to live, whether she wants kids. You know, the big stuff.”

In other words, she and the future Mrs. Lansing had nothing in common. Her throat tightened at the realization that she’d never be a serious prospect for him. Why it mattered, she didn’t know. “What about in the looks department?”

“Oh no, we’re not going there.”

“All right, all right. You’ve been remarkably candid with me. I appreciate that. But now I’m very confused.”

“How so?”

“Well, if you’re on the hunt for Mrs. Lansing, why are you taking me to your place?”

This time Mark had an answer. “Because I think we both could use a last hurrah.”

“A what?”

“A last hurrah? A fling. And before you shut me down, hear me out.”

“I’m going to regret this, I’m sure.”

She sat next to him, wide-eyed and curious, with more cynicism in her body than any twenty-two-year-old should possess, and he couldn’t help smiling. “No editorial comments, please.”

She rolled her eyes and gestured at her lips as though she were zipping them shut. “The floor is yours.”

He eased his car into his designated space in the lot behind his condo. “Let’s take this discussion inside, all right?”

“All right,” she said as she grabbed her overnight bag.

He took her bag and led her along the path that would take them through the building’s gated courtyard.

“Mark, this is gorgeous,” she said behind him.

“Different, right? This building once served as an embassy. It was converted into this condo a decade ago. Five floors and six units. I have the top unit.”

“You’re so modest. The penthouse, you mean?”

“Yes, the penthouse, if you can call the sixth floor of a building a penthouse. It’s one of the few true loft spaces in Washington, D.C., I fell in love with it when I saw it.”

“Can’t wait to see what a true bachelor pad looks like.”

“What exactly are you expecting, Ms. Ramirez?”

She stepped into the elevator. “Leather. Lots and lots of leather. Oh, and black satin sheets.” With laughter in her eyes, she continued, “Maybe even a disco ball or two.”

He inserted the card key and pressed the button for the penthouse unit. “No, no, and
hell
no.”

“A swing?”

“Definitely not.”

“You’re a disappointment, Mark.”

She said this with a pout, her pretty lips begging to be kissed. This woman got to him in ways he’d never expected. It was always the little things. The flash of vulnerability behind the bravado. A hitch of her breath. A smirk. And now a playful pout. He dropped her bag on the elevator floor and used his body to push her against the wall. “I can fix that, I promise.”

She reached out and hung on to his lapels, drawing his upper body closer to hers. “This makes no sense,” she whispered.

Mark didn’t disagree, but what he had in mind didn’t require them to make sense. He swept his lips across her forehead. “Sometimes the things that bring you the most pleasure make no sense.”

She buried her face in his neck and tightened her hold on the lapels of his jacket. “Well, let’s be seriously idiotic, then.”

The ding of the elevator surprised them both, and they broke apart. As they entered the loft, Mark tried to picture his place through Karen’s eyes. He’d never been nervous about bringing a woman to his home—until now. Which made one fact clear: Her opinion mattered to him.

She stood in the middle of the room and spun to give herself a panoramic view of the open space. “
Very
nice. I like splashes of color, so it’s a little austere for my taste. But it’s a perfect space for a single man. Speaking of which, where are the dirty gym socks?”

He laughed as he removed his tuxedo jacket. “In the hamper, where they should be.”

“No separate office space, though.”

“That’s the idea. I hate to bring work home with me. If there’s no office, I won’t be tempted to work here.”

She gave him a nod of approval. “Makes sense. And I like it. Tastefully decorated. Clean. What more could a booty call ask for?”

Though her eyes shone with laughter, her tone bore an edge he’d never heard before. He didn’t like it. “Karen, you’re not a booty call.”

She cleared her throat and looked down at her shoes. “I’m not? Then what am I?”

He closed the distance between them. “You’re a woman who’s attracted to me. I’m a man who’s attracted to you. We’re both about to experience big changes in our lives. You’re off to medical school. I’m trying to curb my bachelor ways. Let’s think of this as our last fling.”

“Until I head off to medical school?”

“Yes.”

“That’s in three weeks.”

He nodded. “Let me show you a good time for those three weeks. You’ll go off to medical school with no distractions and pleasant memories. Don’t you owe it to yourself to have a little fun before you focus on your studies?”

With her head angled in contemplation, she bit her lip and studied him. “In case you haven’t noticed, fun isn’t a high priority for me.”

“What about sex? Is sex a high priority for you? Because that’s part of the package, too.”

T
he man excelled at saying exactly what she needed to hear. As soon as he’d said sex was part of the package, too, her lady bits perked up, eager to join the conversation. “That’s quite a package.”

He swept his arm in the air like a game show host. “And it could all be yours for the low, low price of spending time with me.”

She cracked a smile, no longer able to pretend she wasn’t taken in by his playfulness. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Lansing, but with perks like that, there’s no way I can refuse. So when does the fun begin?”

His eyes turned smoky, and he stared at her under the veil of his long eyelashes. “First, we should seal the deal with a kiss.”

That was just fine with her, so she sauntered toward him, her anticipation building with each step. When she reached him, he slipped his hands under the curtain of her hair and tugged her close. Karen closed her eyes and lost herself in the kiss. His mouth mastered hers, and she followed its commands.

All too soon, he pulled back. “That was nice, but that wasn’t the kind of kiss I was talking about.” Without further explanation, he dropped to his knees and reached under her dress. “What’s it going to take to make you wet for me?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, not that she would have been able to form a coherent one anyway. Her clitoris throbbed, and all of her thoughts centered on coming against his mouth. His fingers trailed against her thighs and found their way to her panties. “Let’s dispense with these.” He tugged them down her legs as she held on to his shoulders.

Stepping back from her, he surveyed the room, his brows knitted in serious contemplation. “I need a place to feast on you.” His gaze settled on the kitchen counter. “Perfect.”

He lifted her onto the kitchen counter and dragged a stool in front of her. With a mischievous grin, he sat on the stool and placed her legs on his shoulders, leaving her completely open to him.

“You’re so pretty here,” he said as he tapped her center. “And you’re ready for me to slide my tongue over your clit, aren’t you?”

She squirmed on the counter. “I am, Mark. Please. Suck me now.”

He used his fingers to spread her outer lips apart and then his mouth came down on her. With gentle, decisive flicks of his tongue he teased her, never coming in contact with her clit. Her clit swelled under the lack of attention as though it wanted to highlight its availability to be pleasured, too. And Karen found herself sliding her body closer to the edge of the counter, hoping that, finally, he’d place his tongue on her swollen nub.

He lifted his upper body and stared at her face, his lips glistening with traces of her. “Tell me what you need, Karen.”

“I need your tongue on my clit, Mark. Please. I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

He obliged her, and Karen lost herself to the tiny bursts of sensation when his tongue flicked at her clit. “Oh, yes, Mark. That’s it.”

Humming his encouragement, he changed course and licked her slowly.

Karen dropped her head back. “Please. Suck it, too.”

And he did, drawing her nub into his pursed lips and sucking softly. Karen groaned and grasped the edge of the counter as her legs shook. “Mark, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chanted. Her muscles tightened in anticipation of her orgasm. And then he grazed her clit with his teeth, and the orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave. Karen squeezed her eyes shut and cried out. “Yes, Mark. Yes, yes, yes.”

She came back down from her high and blinked to clear her vision. “That was incredible.”

Mark raised himself from between her legs. “Are we having fun yet?”

“Definitely.”

He stood and undid the first button of his shirt. “There’s more fun to be had.”

Karen mentally cheered that bit of good news. She
really
liked his brand of fun.

A little over a week of fun later, Karen walked into the foyer of Marcel’s, an acclaimed French-Belgian restaurant in the city’s Foggy Bottom neighborhood. Mark had invited her to join him for “a quick bite” after work, and she’d happily accepted his invitation.

Over the weekend, they’d flown to New York to see the American Ballet Theatre’s performance of
Swan Lake
. Karen had been spellbound by the performance, and she’d experienced a small thrill when Misty Copeland, the company’s first African-American principal dancer, appeared onstage. On their return flight the next morning, Mark had peppered her with questions about her likes and dislikes, from music to foods. She’d mentioned knowing very little about French cuisine. A day later, he’d invited her to Marcel’s.

She was so distracted by her thoughts, she nearly bumped into the hostess’s podium.
Very smooth, Karen.
The hostess must have been trained to ignore the clientele’s embarrassing behavior, because she did nothing more than greet her with a warm smile. “Mademoiselle, you have a reservation this evening?”

“I’m joining Mr. Lansing. Mark Lansing.”

The hostess didn’t bother to scan the reservation manifest. Instead, her eyes wandered to a spot behind Karen, and then she dipped her head and smiled—as though she were in on a secret. “Ah, yes. Your party is here already.” She beckoned for Karen to follow her. “This way, please.”

When they reached the end of the long corridor that would take them to the main dining area, the hostess turned to her. “Please. After you.”

Karen entered the dining room, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dim lighting. The restaurant’s décor surprised her. She’d expected opulence and extravagance. Instead, it epitomized understated elegance. The tables, each adorned with nothing more than a white silk tablecloth and a red glass candleholder, seemed to say,
The food is the star here, and we’re just a backdrop
. The gold-framed mirrors on the walls, spaced with mathematical precision, enhanced the classic ambience of the dining room.

What surprised her the most, though, was the realization that she and Mark were the sole dinner guests in the restaurant. She slowed her approach and regarded him with her mouth open. “You arranged this?”

He stood and unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Hello to you, too.”

She moved into his arms, still reeling from the arrangements he’d made. “Sorry. Hello.”

He held on to her hand as she took her seat. “I thought you might enjoy a seven-course experience. That way you could decide whether you liked French food knowing you’d given it a fair shot.”

“Do you know the owner or something?”

“I don’t. But the restaurant is available for private dining.”

“The entire restaurant?”

He nodded. “For the right price.”

“But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said.

“No trouble. It was a phone call. Plus, I had my reasons.”

“Oh, yeah. What reasons?”

“They have a top-notch sommelier. With lots of experience recommending world-class whiskeys. I figured you could try them, and if you ended up dancing on the tables, no one would know but me and the sommelier.”

“You do have quite an imagination, Mark. Sounds like you’re angling for a private lap dance.”

He regarded her with a twinkle in his eyes. “The thought never occurred to me.”

“Right.”

A waiter appeared at the door to the kitchen. Mark beckoned him over. After the waiter had made the introductions and taken their selections for their seven courses, Karen reached over and held Mark’s hand. She was overwhelmed by the effort he’d put into making the evening special for her. “This is a wonderful surprise. Thank you for doing all of this.”

He waved away her gratitude. “Don’t give it a second thought. I promised to show you a good time. I plan to keep that promise.”

Right. She reminded herself that Mark had the means to spend more money on dates than most men. What she regarded as special, he regarded as commonplace. She would do well to remember that—because forgetting would lead her to want more from Mark than she could handle.