Terms of Surrender (14 page)

"Can this wait?"

"I'm not the one who walked in here late."

71

Gracie C. McKeever

"I'm not late, Slany. I just didn't arrive at the crack of dawn like I usually do."

She peered at his face for the first time since he'd walked in the room, saw the dark circles under his eyes, the deep, honey color just a little duller than usual. She frowned. "Nick, are you okay?"

"More than. And I'd like to get this show on the road, if you don't mind."

"Fine." Slany pursed her lips and passed him to get to her door. "The conference room's already set up, and a couple of the prospects are already here."

"I saw them in reception." Nick held the door as he let her precede him out of the office.

Slany took a left and headed down the long parquet hallway to the large conference room, heart pounding with frustration. She felt like a woman who'd been stood up, rather than an ad exec whose co-worker had shown up, in her book, late.

She didn't say a word as she went into the conference room and did some last-minute preparation, did her level best to ignore Nick. Not easy, when his spicy masculine scent filled her senses with subtle lethality.

He came behind her as she bent at the head of the conference table to straighten a stack of papers, sliding a hand around her waist and easing her back against his chest.

Slany tried to take the contact in stride, tamping down a gasp as she bit her bottom lip and stood stiffly in his embrace.

He leaned close and murmured, "I like the skirt."

"Thanks."

"Could be a little shorter, though."

"An inch above the knees is short enough."

"I can actually see you measuring it just so."

Slany grinned, turned to face him as he slid both arms around her waist and held her close. It took everything in her not to lean into him further and feel his hard muscles against her, feel his certain erection against her slit. "I've been thinking about your proposal."

"I know."

She slapped his chest, chuckling.

He made her feel like she was miles away from a stuffy boardroom, about to start a pitch meeting. Made her feel like a kid with not a care or worry in the world, except how she could please him.

God, she was already thinking like his submissive, making his work easy.

"Well?"

"If you know I've been thinking about it, surely you know what my decision is."

"Admittedly, I'm a man of many talents, but to date, mind-reading isn't one of them."

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Terms of Surrender

"How about this?" She returned his hug, standing on her toes to cover his lips with hers as he inclined his head just so. She slid in her tongue, caressing his, tasting the sweetness inside, pulling back to nibble on his full lower lip as she slid a hand down to his crotch to cup him.

He gasped, but didn't retreat, making her heartbeat speed with his strength of will. She wondered how long it would take her to make him lose it, as hungry for that as he was to see her lose self-control.

"Have you guessed yet?"

He pressed himself against her palm, took her other hand in both of his, and held it against his chest before raising it to his lips for a kiss. "We'll discuss your capitulation later," he murmured, stepping away two seconds before Yvette opened the door to lead in the prospects.

Slany cleared her throat and smoothed her palms down the front of her cream skirt as she stepped up to greet each member of the group. She directed each to a seat and took hers at the head of the table, beside Nick.

She immediately saw the lingering glances the several women of the group gave Nick, kicking herself for noticing, for caring, and hating that strangers could have such power over her emotions, sparking jealousy she rarely allowed herself to own.

Nick noticed the looks too, played to the women's attraction and flashed a devastating grin that caused a couple of estrous sighs, bold flirtation, and coy, averted glances.

He waited until everyone was seated, then switched off the lights and made a joke about trying to get everyone into the mood to be seduced. Slany licked her lips and glanced around the table, feeling self-conscious and wondering if anyone in the room knew what she and Nick had been up to before they'd come in. She got a hold of herself long enough to distribute an agenda and the agency's prospectus.

Nick got down to business with his presentation, powering up the overhead. He eloquently and succinctly introduced the subject of each slide before explaining in more detail, summarizing, then finally moving to the next.

For the next thirty minutes, he held the ten people in the room in the palm of his hand, their attention rapt by his deep-voiced utterances as he conveyed research facts, competitive and other information pertinent to the pitch, fully immersing the prospects.

Nick's talk went so smoothly, Slany thought he could have sold a used condom to a nun, or at least to the several other women in the room.

However, towards the end of the thirty minutes, right before Nick was ready to open up the floor for comments, he used an improper word trying to explain the campaign concept.

Slany caught the mistake, pointed it out in a discreet whisper, and gaped with the rest of the people in the room as Nick fell on the floor.

She had a moment to glance around the table before he bounced back to his feet. She could tell he had scored points with his good-humored response.

Nick dusted off his pants and finished up the presentation with a flourish and to laughter and loud applause.

He gave Slany the floor to sum up the pitch and take questions from the prospects.

73

Gracie C. McKeever

Slany rounded out the talk, directing the prospects to the spec ad boards she had done and placed on the floor before the meeting, immediately re-engaging the group.

It was ten minutes of pure hell. It was all she could do to keep from coming on the spot, thinking about Nick standing and observing not two feet away as she stood before the group.

At the end of the hour, Yvette knocked on the door to announce the arrival of lunch.

Nick let in the caterers, who laid out an admirable spread, before he excused himself.

Slany waited a decent amount of time before following.

* * * *

Nick closed his door, sat behind his desk, took several deep breaths and closed his eyes as he reviewed the presentation in his mind and wondered how he could have made it better.

This was his ritual, his cool down. No matter how successful he thought a production had gone, not matter how convincing he thought he had been, there was always something he was sure he had missed. One word or chart that could have unarguably floored the prospects and put him and
DMT
over the top in the prospect's eyes.

For a moment, he'd thought he'd totally blown it with that mistake, back in fifth grade again, a C-student whose father regularly lectured him for being lazy, rebellious, and unmotivated. That was before one concerned teacher, his first crush, had taken pity on Nick to figure out that he was not stupid or a bad student, but was dyslexic.

Nick had taken great pains over the years to hone his organizational skills, took great pride in his creative talents and ability to improvise, doing everything he could to overcome the stigmas and disprove his father's low opinion of him.

He didn't know what had stung more. The fact that he had missed something and made a mistake, or that Slany had been present to witness his downfall.

He could have easily blamed his slip on a lack of sleep, long nights spent staking out Kate's apartment. He wasn’t sure what he was looking and waiting for, just that the answers to her sudden vanishing lay beyond that front door, if someone was just willing to see.

He'd spent an even longer morning at the local police precinct arguing with a desk sergeant to start an investigation into Kate's disappearance, bending the man's ear to no avail.

Especially once he revealed, under duress, the content of Kate's voice message—clear evidence, in the sergeant's eyes, that Ms. Delaney had "disappeared" of her own free will.

The best the police could do under the circumstances was basically nothing.

Kate wasn't mentally ill, suicidal, depressed, or otherwise medically at risk. She was over twenty-one, and there was no evidence of foul play. Case closed.

Nick imagined Lorraine's father's frustration, the solid blue wall of resistance and incompetence he must have come up against looking for his daughter. He wondered what had happened to Mr. Lennox since then. Had he given up his search?

He couldn't envision the rough-and-tumble construction worker who had visited his office giving up on anything in his life, especially not finding his daughter. In this, Mr. Lennox reminded Nick of his own father. Disappointments and disapproval aside, Nick knew his father would move heaven and earth to save any of his kids from harm, even Nick.

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Terms of Surrender

If he had kids of his own, he knew he would do the same for any of them.

Nick forked a hand through his hair just as Slany knocked on his door and came in.

"You really wowed them, Nick," she said by way of greeting, closing the door behind her and pausing near the threshold.

Nick noticed she reached back to push the lock into the knob.

What devilment did little Slany Breeze have in mind? Whatever it was, he was more than game. Anything to get his mind off Kate and the past.

She smiled at him as she neared his desk. "Nice comeback, by the way."

"I do it all the time. Furthers the agency's bond with the prospect. Can't do it with every audience, of course."

Slany grinned. "Right move, right audience." She took one of the guest chairs, crossing one leg over the other and giving him a nice view of creamy, shapely thighs.

Nick pointedly looked at her legs before dragging his gaze up her body to rest on her eyes, made sure his appreciation was evident as he stared at her. Made sure she understood his intent. "You wear that for me?"

"I wore it for myself."

He knew she was lying and sensed her modesty, her discomfort at being put on the spot.

"What really happened in there?" she asked.

He saw the questions she didn't ask, so many of them flitting across her expressive features—not just on what happened in the pitch meeting, but about the reasons behind his

"lateness"—and he didn't want to address them. Had no intentions of revisiting his childhood or his morning. At least, not yet.

Instead, he grinned and said, "I really messed up. It happens."

"Not like that. I don't think I've ever seen you make a simple mistake like that. You're too meticulous, too—"

"Let's discuss what I do right and not what I did wrong." Nick got up and came from behind his desk, felt her tense as he approached and paused in front of her. He crouched at her feet and tried not to be too intimidating, giving her the illusion of power for the moment.

"What are you doing?"

"Are you wearing panties?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You heard me. Are you wearing panties?"

"I have on a thong. Why?"

"Tomorrow, I want you to wear nothing under your skirt."

"Are you crazy?"

75

Gracie C. McKeever

Nick slid a hand between her legs, and she squirmed in her seat but didn't try to rise, and he got hard as she stood her ground.

"Is this a test?"

"Everything's a test." He pushed aside the flimsy lace material of her thong and eased a finger inside her. He raised the other hand to cup and fondle one breast. The nipple was already puckered and hard, insistently pressing against his palm.

She gasped. "Am I passing so far?"

"You're doing okay, but I think I'll reserve my verdict until the final."

"What do I need to do to prepare?"

"Go bare under your skirt tomorrow."

"You're assuming I'll wear one." She gasped, threw back her head, and writhed against his hand as he wriggled his finger inside her.

He watched her face, his heart thrumming at the pleasing flush touching her caramel cheeks, her bright eyes heavy-lidded as he pinched a nipple and plunged his finger deep, making slow, easy circles, searching, demanding. "Won't you?"

She bit her bottom lip, which made his cock jerk. "I…yes. But I…I can't go bare beneath."

He stopped moving his finger but didn't remove it, watched her uncertain look. He knew he had to push his advantage and said, "Slany."

"Do you know what you're asking me?"

"I'm not asking." He started moving his finger again, added another, firmly stroking inside her until she whimpered.

"Please, Nick."

His testicles tightened against his groin at his name on her lips, the sound of her husky-voiced plea sending a shudder down his back. He removed his finger to reach for the waistband of her thong with both hands and slide the delicate strip of material down her thighs.

Slany lifted her hips to help him divest her, watched him watching her as he rolled the thong down her calves. He paused at her ankles to remove her high-heeled sandals before removing the lace underwear and lifted it to his nose to inhale her musky scent.

"I can't wait to taste you, Slany."

She trembled. "I can't wait for you to, either."

Nick grinned as he put the thong in his jacket pocket, then returned to her, kneeling at her feet as he eased his hands back under her skirt. He smoothed his palms over her shapely thighs until he reached the hot juncture between her legs, then paused, skillfully teasing her engorged flesh with a thumb and spreading her legs as wide as they would go.

He removed a hand to roll her skirt up to her hips, baring her luscious pussy to his ravenous eyes. He stared at the moist pink flesh of her labia peeking at him through her rich auburn curls and took a deep breath.

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Terms of Surrender

Nick gripped her hips, pulled her forward, and draped the back of her knees over his shoulders. He saw her shocked look as he deliberately dipped his head to her lap, blocked out the rest of her reaction when he spread her lips with his thumbs, gently blowing on her vulva before lowering his face to lick her.