Pressure Point (Point #2) (18 page)

“I’m having a hard time trusting you,” she finally blurts out when I stop the car in front of her building.

How can Stella be insecure about what I want from her? Have I not been explicit? There’s only one way to remedy this.

I release her hand for a split second, noticing the way her face falls and then twists in confusion when I strip off my gloves. “I need to feel your skin,” I practically growl. Leaning across the console, I cup her smooth cheeks in my hand and drag her closer. Her lips are soft, sweet, supple. She tastes like beer and peanuts from the arena, reminding me that this woman is not only thoughtful, loving to her family and friends, and maintains a successful career, but she likes sports.

What else could I ask for?

I part her plump lips and stroke her tongue with mine, falling deeper under her spell.

“Would you get tired of something that intoxicating?” I ask her as our kiss ends, pressing my forehead against hers. She’s catching her breath, unable to speak, simply nodding her head in agreement.

If this is what it’s like to let someone see you sweat, I’m all in.

Stella

Blake delivers. A private ice skating session in the Scrapers training facility for our first date, new restaurants, a comedy show, and a jazz club. He opens my eyes to new parts of the city that I’ve never known. We date for nearly a month, a glorious few weeks.

And we don’t sleep together.

There’s plenty of kissing, but Blake refuses to be alone with me in my condo. He tells me that he wants to wait and never make me feel used again. I’m practically begging for more intimacy every time we’re together, but the man sticks to his principles. I admire them and I believe now that he truly wants to date me. But enough is enough.

I’m twirling a pen at my desk, daydreaming of ways to seduce my
boyfriend,
a term we haven’t discussed yet but seems appropriate, considering we talk on the phone every day and see each other a couple times a week. The chat program on my computer dings with an incoming message, letting me know that Ryan Sullivan from the Scrapers is here for a status meeting.

Pushing thoughts of Blake aside, I rise to greet Ryan, who’s only grown more smarmy since the Speck-a-thon, though we’ve only communicated through email and conference calls. I glue a smile on my face as the slick-haired man gives me the up and down with his eyes. It’s like I’m a piece of meat he wants to devour. What happened to professionalism, let alone manners?

“Great to see you, Ryan,” I lie.

“You too,” he mutters almost lasciviously. Ignoring his inappropriateness, I whirl around on my cold weather boots without a word and lead him into a small conference room.

“How do you know Blake?” Ryan asks without an ounce of humility before I’ve even sat down. I fold myself into one of the mesh-backed seats.

My nose wrinkles in distaste before I can stifle the automatic response. “He loves my family’s restaurant, Baccino’s.”

“Ah. You met over spaghetti. Romantic.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that there’s no romance because I don’t want this guy in our business. But we’re not hiding our relationship.
Except from Zoe,
a nagging voice reminds me. My stomach clenches when I think of my friend’s struggles. Blake asked her if she wanted to see me the other day. No shot there, and it hurts something fierce.

“Are you going to the Super Bowl with him?” Ryan’s boundaries clearly need some work; he’s not attune to my tense body language in the slightest. None of this talk is appropriate; he doesn’t need to know anything about my personal life and I’d love to put him in his place, but I have to please this client. My career at Speck depends on a seamless integration with his company.

“Super Bowl?” I repeat dumbly.

“Yes, the Wind are going. Didn’t you know?” Ryan’s eyes narrow sharply. What’s he trying to figure out? This inspection sits in my stomach like tainted food. It makes me feel sick.

“I didn’t realize,” I say and begin typing on the conference room computer to draw up my presentation. I’m disappointed in myself for not realizing how close Blake’s team is to the championship game. Come to think of it, he was out of town last week but I was too caught up in working at Baccino’s because half the staff caught the flu. Not my brightest moment. I make a mental note to ask him about the game and show interest in his team. Admittedly, hockey’s my favorite sport, but I’m not so dense that I don’t know about the city’s football team.

“I’m very excited to tell you about our progress on the integration.” I shift the subject abruptly and keep Ryan in professional mode until I shuffle him out of the office two hours later. Luckily, members of the development team joined us halfway through and I didn’t have to be alone with him again. Once he is gone, the rest of the day flies by with a fire drill from one of my first clients, Morgan Trucking.

Later that night, I’m cooking enough penne for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow when my doorbell buzzes. Wiping my hands on my half apron, I cross the kitchen and use my thumb to activate the intercom. “Hello?”

“Snow White, Snow White, let your hair down.”

I can’t help but giggle. “That’s Rapunzel. Get your fairy tales straight.”

“Let me up and we’ll discuss it.” Smiling to myself, I grant Blake entry, open the door a crack, and head back to my boiling water.

Warm hands cup my waist and lips tinged cold press against my neck. “How’s my Snow White?” he asks against my skin. The shivers running down my back aren’t because he’s brought the chilly temperatures inside with him.
I want him.

“You never told me the origins of that nickname,” I murmur.

Blake spins me around. His hands dive into my thick hair, tenderly clutching my skull. “Tell me how you do it,” he demands.

“Do what?”

“You’re cute, breathtaking, and beautiful all in the same moment. It steals my breath every time I see you. Those impossibly big, sky blue eyes, tumbling dark hair, creamy skin; you’re a dead ringer for Snow White.”

My lips tilt upward.

“Rosebud lips, pink tongue, do I need to go on?”

Lifting to my tiptoes, I press a gentle kiss to his cheek then I spin back to the task at hand. “This is the first time that you’ve been in my apartment since the family night.”

“Too tempting,” he chuckles, but I don’t find it funny. Doesn’t he want me? “What are we having for dinner?”

I cast him a glance over my shoulder. “Nothing fancy, eggplant, tomatoes, pasta, cheese, basil.”

“Mmm.” Without me saying a word, Blake begins moving around the apartment, collecting items to set the table. He produces a bottle of wine when I’ve finished cooking, pouring us each a glass.

“I had an interesting meeting with Ryan Sullivan today,” I tell him as I serve. Blake flashes me a look of appreciation that almost melts my bones. The little things that I do for him—ordering a beer he likes, remembering important meetings he tells me about, picking the movie that he wants to watch at the theater—they all seem to give him immense pleasure. And in that, I find my own happiness. It’s easy to make him smile and I love doing it.

“Oh?” He captures my wrist and presses a lingering kiss to the back of my hand. “This smells wonderful. Thank you for accommodating.”

As if I would ever refuse the chance to have dinner with my dream guy.

“He mentioned the Wind are headed to the Super Bowl and I’m a terrible girlfriend who hasn’t asked about your football team. I can’t believe that we haven’t discussed this!” My words start spilling out of my mouth once I realize that I referred to myself as his girlfriend. “You’re going to the game, right?”

Blake lifts one dark eyebrow. “Terrible
girlfriend
?”

“You caught that one.”

“Well, I was waiting to see how long you’d wait to use it. I’ll admit, twenty-four days isn’t too bad, though I’ve been committed since day one,” Blake says.

“Blake…”

“Accept it, we’re together, and if you want to use the term girlfriend, that works perfectly for me. As for the game, your
boyfriend
wanted to surprise you with tickets. Can you get off work Thursday and Friday? The Bowl’s an all weekend thing and I’d like you to be with me at all the events.”

My breath catches in my throat. “That’s a pretty public declaration. Are we ready for that?”

The fork heading toward his lips freezes mid-air. He fixes me with one of his surly, stubborn glares. “Hell, yes. What, are you are embarrassed by me?”

“No!” I recoil in horror. “Of course not. Zoe still doesn’t know about us, and it would be strange if she caught us together while watching the Super Bowl.”

Blake’s expression loses some of its anger. “Fair enough, but my sister hasn’t turned on a television since September. She spends most of her time watching movies and reading. I’m not worried about the off chance that she notices you in the stands with me. And if she does, I know that she’ll be thrilled.”

A ball of worry grows in my stomach. “You’re so sure of yourself.”

“What other way would I be?” he says as if he never considered anything else.

“That confidence has gotten you a long way.”

“Why wouldn’t you be confident? You kick ass at your job, own a home, have family and friends who love you, are in good health, and have a boyfriend who adores you. Now tell me about your day.” The abrupt change in topic doesn’t give me time to revel in his adoration, but it does make my heart speed up to double time.

“Things are moving along nicely with the new integration at the arena. Phase one goes live on April one.”

“And your promotion rides on this phase?” Blake asks, though he knows this is the case.

Nodding, because my mouth is occupied chewing, I watch him assess me. “The project’s on time, on budget, and hitting every requirement. This one’s in the bag,” I smirk like he does and he laughs.

“I expect nothing less from you. How’s working with Ryan?” His tone is nonchalant, but I don’t miss the sharpness in his gaze.

I choose my response carefully. Ryan hasn’t done anything wrong, per se, and I know Blake to be a tad
alpha
when it comes to the women in his life. There’s no need to cause unnecessary worry for him about a couple of lewd looks. “Straightforward and direct. He’s better than other clients who know nothing about the technology. He understands how the employees use Speck so it makes my life easier.”

Blake chews slowly, watching me closely. “Okay. You’ll let me know if he gives you any trouble?”

“Don’t worry, Blake. This project is going along swimmingly.”

He flashes his straight white teeth and my stomach clenches. “Now you sound like Violet.”

I laugh; I
had
stolen the phrase from her. “Katya said the Chicago Center program will weigh heavily on my promotion, but there’s more to it than that. She wants me to manage that project and all of my others. Then she’ll talk promotion.”

Blake leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that what you want, a promotion at Speck?”

My shoulders lift and fall. “Right now, I need a career goal. It seems silly to look for a new job when there’s a new challenge at a company that I’m enjoying. If it doesn’t work out at Speck, I’ll look for something new.”

“When you’re ready, would you consider a job with me?”

My jaw almost comes unhinged because it practically falls to the table. “What?”

Blake looks affronted, his face slipping into a frown. “You always find it surprising when I mention more commitment in our relationship. It’s starting to hurt my feelings a bit.”

“No!” I cry, jumping up from my seat and scooting around the table. I wiggle into his lap and drape my arms around his shoulders. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just… You keep surprising me. It’s hard to believe that you want all the things out of this relationship that I do. I’m not sure if we should work together, but I’m thrilled you’d offer, let alone want to spend all that time together.”

A sense of relief drifts through me, soothing an anxiety that I didn’t realize was building when he relaxes and slips his arms around my waist to pull me closer. My feet dangle off the ground and I press my cheek against his wall of muscle, listening to the familiar cadence of his heart.