Tempting Eden (9 page)

“They have a few more things to do yet. I just let the head guy know we want the food served after everyone has a chance to get a few drinks in them. Make them more amenable to buying.”

“Good move. This whole night is about selling. Remember that. We need to close this deal sooner rather than later. I realize we won’t sell out tonight, but we definitely need to get a running start.”

“Understood.” His gaze rose over my head, and his features turned cool again, the hint of a smile murdered by whatever he saw behind me. “Mr. Poole,” he said.

“Rochester!” Gray walked up behind me and placed a hand on my ass. He leaned down and gave me a sloppy kiss on the neck. He’d been pre-gaming hard, it seemed.

“Gray, so good of you to make it. You remember my assistant, Jack?”

“Why, sure! Hey Jacky Boy, good to see you again.” He motioned to a passing bartender. “I’ll have an old-fashioned, heavy on the whiskey.”

I took a step away from him and tried to disengage his wandering hand. “Are you sure that’s wise, Gray? We can’t be rolling you out of here before the buyers even arrive.”

He gave my ass a squeeze and let his hand drop. Embarrassment flooded me as I looked up and saw Jack’s jaw tighten. He’d seen it all.
Great
.

“I’m a big boy, as you know, Rochester. I can handle my liquor.” He strolled to the bar.

Gray was going to be an added complication I didn’t need. “You’re on babysitting duty tonight.” I kicked my chin toward Gray. “Keep an eye on him. Try not to let him scare anyone off. If he starts talking too much, just lead him away to whatever pretty woman is closest to you. That should work.”

Jack rolled his shoulders. “No problem.”

The elevator dinged. People began arriving. I schooled my countenance. Smiling, but not too much. Enough to be pleasant, but not ditzy. Then, I began to earn my keep. I greeted each potential client and numerous brokers. Some I’d known for years, and some were new buyers from out of state and even out of the country.

Before long, the room was alight with conversation, liquor, and sales pitches. I led each potential buyer over to the mock-up, giving them an idea of the views and finishes they would enjoy in the luxury condominiums. The pitch was simple. Where else could you own a piece of the Gulf with breathtaking views and the choicest amenities? There were very few locales that offered such luxury, and Belle Mar was set to become the hottest and highest-end spot available.

The string quartet played beautifully, alternating between classical and more contemporary tunes to keep the room lively. Conversations swelled and ebbed, and I talked my way into several deals on the condos. Jack flitted around my periphery, asking guests if they wanted more drinks or food, giving out my cards, and distributing other sales materials. He seemed to intuitively pick up on what I needed. When Gray got too boisterous at the bar with an old friend, causing several heads to turn and my sales pitch to falter, Jack clapped Gray congenially on the back and coaxed him and his friend out onto the balcony.

By the time the party was halfway over, I was parched and starved. I took a champagne from the nearest tray, downed it, and grabbed another when no one was watching. The hors d'oeuvres looked maddeningly delicious, but I wasn’t able to snag one from a server before another potential buyer walked up. I made do with the champagne while I extolled the virtues of the higher floor condos, which, not coincidentally, also had a higher price tag.

I smiled, flirted, and endured more than a few roving hands, and by the end of the evening, I’d sold a quarter of the condos in handshake deals. I would have Jack send out the contracts in the morning.

After I escorted the last broker from the room, I plopped down at the bar and downed yet another glass of the bubbly. My feet were aching, and I realized it was close to 2 a.m. The pre-sale event had been a roaring success, by my count. With a quarter sold and soft deals on a few more, I was on track to beat Gray’s deadline. The only condo that hadn’t gotten any bites so far was the penthouse. I would just have to work harder.

The servers worked to load all the glasses up on trays for the kitchen, while others cleaned the tables and began setting the room back to rights. I didn’t see Jack anywhere, but Gray stumbled in from the balcony, a drink sloshing in his hand. I was feeling a bit woozy myself, but a few more drinks would ease the pain in my feet.

“Hey.” I motioned to the nearest server. “No more for him, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But one more for me.”

He filled my flute as Gray sank down on the stool beside me. He draped his arm across my aching shoulders.

“Well, well, little Rochester heiress. You get it done? Sold out?”

“Not quite. But a quarter of the condos are handshake deals. Contracts out in the morning.”

“A quarter?” Gray shook me. “That’s not so bad. Maybe if you’d worn a shorter dress, you would have done half.” He leered at my breasts, the top swells revealed from the low neckline.

“There aren’t many shorter than this that would be acceptable in public.”

He licked his lips. “I’ve seen you in a few that might have worked well.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself. Not tonight. Not tonight.
Please
.

“What do you say we go up to my room?” His fingers dug into my shoulder, anticipation making him rougher.

“I—”

“It wasn’t really a question. You know that.” He smiled, predatory and smug.

My stomach roiled, matching the chaos in my head. I couldn’t say no. He’d take this project away from me. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t bear to live with the consequences. I had too much to lose, more than even Gray knew.

“I—”

“Ms. Rochester.” Jack appeared behind us.

I wondered how long he’d been watching, listening.

He continued unfazed. “I need to go over some of the deals with you. The list you gave me is incomplete in a couple of areas, but they should be easy fixes. If I could just have a moment or two?”

Gray gave Jack a hard stare and strengthened his grip painfully, making me wince, before releasing me. “Don’t let me interrupt sales. By all means.” He stood and wove his way toward the elevator.

I didn’t hide my sigh of relief as he disappeared from view. I rested my head on my forearm, suddenly exhausted. “How many are messed up?”

“None.” He was closer now, right behind me.

“Thanks.”

I lifted my head just enough so I could see his reflection in the bar mirror. He was doing it again, piercing me with those eyes, seeing right through my bullshit. I was certain of it. After a moment of meeting his gaze, my head started swimming.

“You’re welcome. Come on.” He lightly pulled my shoulders back and helped me from the barstool. “You need some rest.”

I let him lead me out of the bar and into the elevator. I was almost hobbling, my feet screaming for release from their stiletto prisons. I sagged against him, tired and dizzy. He held me at his side, just as he did when we first met. His arm was strong and steady. His hand wrapped around my ribs, his fingertips skirting the side of my breast. I wondered if he could feel the heat radiating off me from his touch. I hadn’t had a welcome touch in so long that my skin seemed to overreact, like it was starved for it.

He hit the button for the top floor, and we rode in heavy silence. Blood and alcohol rushed to my head, and I closed my eyes. When the doors opened, he dispensed with pretense and scooped me up in his arms.

“You don’t have to—”

“Key?”

I dug in my clutch and found the thin slip of plastic. My room was at the end of the hall, corner suite. He’d chosen well. Was his room up here with mine? Next door? I dropped my head against his chest and gazed up at him as he trudged down the hallway. His five o’clock shadow was showing. I wondered what it would feel like against my hand, my face, my thighs. It was the first time I’d seen him any less than perfectly groomed, though he still looked sexy as hell. He usually kept his appearance meticulously neat, everything in order. It was like a suit of armor, or perhaps a cage, for the man within. I wanted to know that man, the one I’d only seen glimpses of, the one I’d seen on the plane. But I couldn’t.

What we’d shared earlier today scared me. On the plane, I’d wanted to curl up in his lap, to comfort him. His fear was more than just flying. There was real fear inside him, the kind that only comes from having been through the fire and coming out the other side burned. I knew all too well what that was like.

He took the key from me and slid it into the lock. The door opened with a slight whoosh. It was cold and dark inside. He carried me to the bed and lay me down. He stood. I could barely see him illuminated in the glow of the alarm clock.

My head was fuzzy, but my focus never wavered. I wanted to know what he would do next, needed it to be something, to mean something, even though I knew I shouldn’t want it from him. My dress was pushed up almost to my hips, my legs exposed to his view. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt him studying me. I wanted him to. I could feel myself getting wet, warming even in the cold of the room.

He let out a breath, as if he’d come to some decision, and bent over me. His hands slid down my calves, his touch light, barely there. He left goose bumps in his wake. Then his fingertips were on my ankles, working to undo the buckles holding on the torture implements that passed for shoes. He took one off, and I heard it hit the floor in the far corner. My foot throbbed as I stretched my toes. He worked the next shoe off a bit more easily, and it joined its mate in the corner of shame.

“Thank you.” Was that my voice? It was so low, phone-sex husky.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. I could hear his palm hitting each of the stubbly hairs. I wanted to feel them against me.

He reached down tentatively and ran a hand over my outer thigh, stroking me from my hip to my knee in one smooth movement.

“Shit.” His voice was tense, like a wire drawn tight.

He ran his hand back up and scooted it under my ass, palming it. I whimpered and reached out to him. My fingers grazed his belt buckle and went lower, feeling the long, hard length of him. I went up in flames at the thought of him inside me.

He hissed and stood up again, encircling my wrist with his hand.

“Ms. Rochester—”

“Eden.”

“Eden, you’ve had a long day. You need to get some rest.”

“Won’t you stay?”

He stood silent for so long that I thought maybe I was imagining him in the first place.

“If I stay, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from fucking you.” His voice was a low growl.

I’d already waved the white flag in the face of what I wanted, needed, from him. I decided to bring in the cavalry. I took his hand and guided it to my panties, letting him feel how wet he’d made me.

“Jesus.”

He prowled on top of me, spreading my legs with his knees and pressing down into me. His lips were at my throat as he took my hands and pinned them above my head. He held them there with one hand and used his other to cup my breast, teasing the hard tip through the thin fabric of my dress.

“I watched you all night,” he said between licks and bites.

I arched up to him, wishing we were both naked so I could feel the hardness of his body against me.

“In those fuck-me heels, that dress. I wanted to bend you over the fucking bar.”

I moaned at his words. This was the man inside, the one who stalked around in his cage of self-control. Now he was free. I didn’t know if I was frightened, but I was definitely turned on. My panties were already wet, and my pussy grew tighter. He moved down my body and pulled the fabric away from my breasts.

“Perfect.” He fastened his mouth around my nipple, and I cried out at the sensation of his tongue lashing the stiff peak.

I wanted to feel him, to run my hands through his hair. I tried to pull my hands free, but his grip was too strong. He bit down on my nipple as I struggled, and I gasped from the sheer pleasure. He moved to my other breast with his mouth as his hand trailed lower still. He sucked my nipple to the point I thought I might come just from the sensation of his tongue. Every lick, every suck, streaked right to my clit.

He hooked his fingers in the side of my thong and yanked. He released my hands and breast and rose over me before pulling down my panties and tossing them aside. He slid his hands up my outer thighs to my hips, taking the material of the dress with him. When he moved the fabric high enough to see my pussy, he groaned and gripped my hips.

“Do you know how hard I want to fuck you right now?”

I shivered at his words. “Tell me.”

“I want to make you scream my name. I want to bruise you, to leave my mark. I want you to think about it with every step. Do you understand?”

My mind short-circuited at his words. His voice was sex, the kind I’d dreamed about but never really had.

“Yes.”
God, yes
.

“I want you to touch yourself and think about me fucking you.”

“I already do.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” I writhed beneath him as he massaged my hips, my ass.

“Show me.”

“Show you?”

“Show me what you do to yourself when you think about me fucking you. I want to see it.” The low rumble of his voice sent goosebumps rushing down my already flushed skin.

His face was still in shadow, but I knew mine was illuminated by the alarm clock light. I stared up at him, imagining his blue eyes on me, watching me. I slipped a hand down my neck, past my breasts, stomach, and down to my pussy. I palmed my breast with my other hand, kneading it as he had only moments before.

“That’s it, Eden. Show me.”

I dipped my fingers down to my clit, rubbing slow circles around the aching nub. I teased my clit, feeling the jolts of pleasure radiate from my pussy with each stroke. I moaned his name as I imagined him sliding inside me.

“Tell me what I do to you.”

The pressure built between my hips as I kept stroking my clit and pinching my nipple.

He gripped me even harder. “Tell me, Eden.”

“You slide your fingers in here.” I dipped down and pressed my fingers inside, feeling my tightness clamp down. “And then you lick them.”