Slave to Love (4 page)

Invite Lundström

I was thinking logistically it would be best as an event for local west coast clients,
I respond.

Invite Lundström

I know better than to push any further or Kemp will blow.

Sitting on a chair on the balcony, I put my feet up on the wrought-iron railing. My hotel robe falls open and I laugh aloud. Yup, I’m going to call this man half naked. He won’t have a clue, but I will.

“Lundström.” He picks up on the first ring.

Even though I’m calling him, I’m startled, “Hale, hi, it’s Sierra Stone, Kemp Mc…”

He cuts me off, “Hey Sierra, thanks for getting back to me. We’re done here, close the door on your way out,” he says to someone on his end. “How are you?”

How am I? The man wants something because he clearly doesn’t give a shit how I am. This is the very same man who wouldn’t shake my hand or acknowledge my presence upon meeting me.

“Great. What can I help you with?” I can’t do small talk with this guy. He makes me nervous. And now that I have the Special Ops tidbit of information in my brain, I’m really intimidated.

“I’m pulling together an event that needs to stay under the radar.”

“Okay. Can you tell me what kind of event?”
What the fuck does that have to do with me?

“It’s a very high level, very private tech think tank, C-Level execs of tech companies domestically and internationally and energy and technology foreign ministers.”

“Okay.” There’s a silence. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me. Do your marketing/events staff and PR people need the names of some folks on the ground in Austin to pull it together?”

“Because of the sensitivity of subject matter, the high profile of attendees, and the security necessary for the participants, this needs to be approached in a very different manner,” he pauses. “Let’s discuss it over dinner tonight.”

“Are you in Austin?” I’m shocked. This whole thing is coming out of left field. Why is he talking to me about it? This is not my area of expertise and SpaceCloud is not my account.

“I flew in last night. How’s 7 P.M. at Uchi?”

“Hale, I’m in Los Angeles working with my team out here this week and as much as everyone raves about Tyson Cole’s cooking, I’m not a sushi person.”

Silence.

“When do you get back?”

“Late Thursday night.” I’m actually hoping he’ll be gone by then.

“Okay, I’ll see you then.” And he hangs up on me.

What the hell is it with men hanging up on me today, I wonder? Ugh, now I have to reach out to him about the Universal Studios event.

Are you free on August 7
^th
?
I text him.
We have a table at an event honoring the armed forces and would love for you to be our guest. It’s in Los Angeles.

Will you be there?

Yes. Universal Studios (where the event takes place) is my client.

OK, it’s in my calendar. See you Thursday night.

And here I am, lying on a chaise lounge on my hotel balcony overlooking the ocean, cool morning breezes licking my exposed hotel robe warmed skin, left totally high and dry by Hale Lundström and picturing him licking my nipples instead of the ocean borne breeze doing the job.

Yes, I admit it, I’m intrigued that he wants me on his special project, excited that I get to work with him, confounded by his sudden interest in me (which might not really be interest in me – that could all be in my head), and scared to death by how much real estate he’s occupied in my head since first setting eyes on him at the St. Regis.

The text appears on my phone the minute I hit the runway in Austin and flick off airplane mode.

Welcome back. I’ll meet you at the 24 Hour Diner on 6
^th
and Lamar.

Driving downtown, I’m downright nervous. This man makes me so uncomfortable that I don’t have butterflies in my stomach, I have actual cramps. Full blown freaking stomach cramps.

He’s sitting in one of those curved booths along the wall, typing into his phone as I slide into the other side, keeping my distance.

“Hi.” I’m trying to be so cool.

Looking up at me, I get a slow smile. A sexy, I’m going to eat you for dinner wolfish grin.

Keep it together, Sierra,
I remind myself.
This is business, not a date with this guy.

“Good flight?” he’s succinct.

“Uneventful. So that’s always good.” A busboy puts down two waters in front of us and I pause before speaking again. “Are you in Austin often?”

“A lot more in the past few months as our presence expands here.”

The waitress comes by and he orders two Bourbon Manhattans. I know I’ve got a “what the fuck” look on my face because he’s smiling at me. He didn’t even ask me what I wanted. I don’t drink Bourbon. But for some reason I love that he didn’t care and went ahead anyway. There’s something so manly and hot in how authoritative he is.

“Don’t like Manhattans?” He appears amused.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had one.”

The wolfish smile is back, “I figured maybe your bartender boyfriend made you a Manhattan in Manhattan.”

My bartender boyfriend? How interesting that is the info about me that stuck with him. Very interesting.

The waitress is back, placing the dark amber liquid before us. Raising a martini glass, Hale toasts, “To winning,” as he takes his first sip.

I’m sitting there, glass in hand, watching him, fumes of strong alcohol making my nose twitch.

“Try it,” he demands.

Slowly I bring the martini glass to my mouth, peering over the rim. I immediately feel the burn as it hits my lips, leaving a scorched trail en route to my empty stomach. I can feel the rush as it enters my bloodstream and wonder if after the second or third I will feel comfortable with this way too handsome, for his own good and mine, man. My eyes have not left his as he watches me drink. There’s nothing boyish about him. He’s pure man, right down to the dark stubble on his defined jaw. I wonder what it would feel like trailing down my breasts to my nipples. The thought of the scratchiness makes me squirm.

“That’s delicious,” I smile at him, loving the warmth the alcohol is spreading right down to the far reaches of my fingertips. I nearly demolish the drink in the next two sips. Anything to relax around this guy.

Hale signals the waitress for two more Manhattans and I’ll be damned if I’m going to protest.

Leaning in toward me, his gaze direct and searing, “I like a woman who can run with the boys.”

Not breaking his eye contact, “I may have to pull off my Louboutins, but I can run with the best of ‘em.”

“That’s what your boss says,” he informs me.

“So why am I here and not Susan, Hale? She manages your business for us and has a much better understanding of your needs.”

Pulling the martini glass from his mouth, he sputters the liquid and chokes slightly. By his smile I can tell he is amused. “Do you really think she has a much better understanding of my needs?”

Now I’m choking on my words, “Your business needs,” I clarify.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He smiles and pauses for a moment before he continues. “Sierra, what I’m putting together is an unprecedented think tank event with very high profile participants that, in many cases, due to divergent politics, aren’t usually seen on the same continent together, much less in the same room. From a logistics and security perspective, this event is going to provide significant challenges and honestly, the entire nature of it needs to be,” he pauses, as if searching for a word, “rather clandestine, until we’re finished and ready to announce what was accomplished.”

I must still have a look of confusion on my face as he smiles. His dark blue eyes clearly display amusement for some reason.

“You’re still saying, ‘why me?’”

I nod as the waitress delivers two more Manhattans.

The corners of his mouth curve up as he reaches across to my nearly empty martini glass, plucking out my Maraschino cherry and depositing it on his outstretched tongue. He’s taking obvious delight in seeing my jaw hang open as his tongue slowly draws the cherry into his mouth. I want to follow.

“Your cherry belonged to me.”

Now he’s just plain fucking with me.

“I turned you onto your first Manhattan,” he clarifies. “Your cherry belonged to me.” He’s very matter-of-fact and serious, playing the innocent as he delivers his double entendre.

“You owe me,” I mutter.

“Just name it,” the man calls my bluff.

Picking up the second Manhattan, “I need food or I’m never going to be able to drive home.”

A slight tic in his cheek tells me that might be his plan, so quickly flagging down the waitress takes on tantamount importance to me. I need to keep it professional and business-like with this guy, but that is so damn hard because I am seriously attracted to him. As I’m sure is every woman who crosses his path. And he’s deliberately fucking with me.

“So let’s get back to why me. You have staff here.”

“I have techie staff here. I’ve got engineering management types. People who are great at staying focused on what they do, but don’t throw them a curveball. What I don’t have here is a single individual with the people, leadership and creative thinking skills to be my right hand in pulling this off. I don’t have someone that I have the confidence will coordinate and execute all the details flawlessly. And that is where you come in.”

“Thank you for those compliments, Hale,” I’m trying to focus, but the Bourbon is having its way with me, “but you met me once for a few minutes, in a bar. Why would you entrust me with a project of this magnitude?”

“Based on multiple conversations with Kemp. You’re a leader. You motivate people to run through walls for you. And that is a direct quote, by the way.” He pauses and let’s that settle in. “He’s also described you as intensely loyal, able to hold important information in confidence, highly competent and easy to work with.”

“And he’s loaning me out?”

“At a steep price.” He laughs.

“Well, this is highly unorthodox.” I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or hurt, but I’m suddenly feeling like a rock star just sold me to another band for five grams of coke.

There is only one thing for me to do and that is take another healthy swig of my Manhattan.

With a gaze so mesmerizing that looking away is not even an option, “Everything I do is unorthodox. I play by my own rules, Sierra.” Taking another sip of his Manhattan, he laughs. “And sometimes I don’t. But I always make up the rules. Just go with it.”

He hasn’t released me from the unwavering eye contact, but as his finger shoots out towards me, I react, and my eyes follow it until it stops at the apex of my cleavage. He’s touching me. A light, feathery touch. Looking up from his finger back to his eyes, the edges are now crinkled in amusement.

“Where’s the mermaid?”

“Her chain broke,” I choke out the words.

His finger is still there, searing into my skin, making the ache between my legs nearly unbearable.

“Well, maybe you need stronger chains.”

And with a mere flick of his finger, I tumble down the rabbit hole.

I’m really not quite sure
what to do with her. She’s not like the women I date. She’s not like the women I fuck. Yeah, I have women in my company, just not in my inner circle. So, I’m not sure how to balance having a close work confidante that I want to bang. So damn bad.

Would it be a bad thing to keep her in the conference room after dismissing the rest of the team, lock the doors, pick her up and seat her on the edge of the conference room table. Feel her melt into my hand as I run my fingertips down the front of her silk tank top. When she shivers, twist her taunting nipples until they harden, then stop and listen to her moan. Would that lost animal sound be coming from what I was doing to her or because I stopped? I wouldn’t wait to find out as I pushed her underwear aside, and harden even more, the moment I feel her wetness. Using her slick juices to moisten her clit, I’d finger her until she is gasping for air and reaching for me. I’d let just her nails and the tips of her finger graze my hard cock as I hang just out of reach. I would totally get off knowing that it is her need to grab me, making her wilder, and that crazed instinctual desire in her eyes would have me titanium hard. I need to be buried deep inside her.