Uncovered (9 page)

“I can’t do
patience to save my life,” he growled, the sweet, cinnamon scent of his gum
fanning my face. “I had no intentions of seeing you until
you
came to
me, and yet here we are.”

“How did you
know I’d be here?”

“Easton.” He
let out a low noise when I ran the backs of my fingers over the end of his red
tie. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“So I was
right?” I moved my hand a little higher, the silky fabric combined with feeling
the hard muscles beneath his shirt sending a trail of goose bumps up my arm.
“You have him digging into my stuff too?” I couldn’t deny the waver of
nervousness in my voice at the thought of him prying too deeply.

That was a toxic
recipe for disaster.

“As much as I’d
love to know everything about you, no. You don’t have to worry about that
happening,” he answered. “But when he was erasing Margaret’s sent box, he saw
an email from her to you, threatening you about making Monday happen.”

“And you
intervened. You’re the reason Natalie met with me this morning?”

“Guilty.”

I was
impressed. Impressed, grateful, and
curious
. What did he have to do for
the event planner to convince her to alter her schedule? When I asked him, he
lifted a shoulder.

“I’m giving her
clients a thirty percent discount off the use of all Manning venues for the
next year.” When my mouth parted, he his blue eyes dropped to my lips. “It was
a small price to pay.”

First he’d
served me lunch and now he’d gone out of his way to make a business meeting
happen for me. I had to fight to keep myself from swooning right then and
there.

“You make it
hard—” I started, but I cut myself off, a deep moan pushing up from the back of
my throat as his thumbs stroked my collarbone.

“No, beautiful,
you make it fucking hard.” With his free hand, he grabbed my fingers, pressing
them to the zipper of his tailored pants. He stifled my gasp, nipping at my
bottom lip, then the top. Sheer lust flared within me, constricting my core.
“But tell me, what do I make it hard to do? And don’t lie to me.”

I jerked him
closer to me by his tie, feeling his cock stiffen against my other hand. Wow. I
struggled to find the words I was searching for, and momentarily, the only one
that entered my brain was
gifted
. Oliver Manning was incredibly and
without a doubt gifted.

When he cleared
his throat, I jerked my hand from his zipper, clutching it to my chest like I’d
just been scorched. “You make it hard to tell you no,” I finally told him.

“Then maybe you
should start saying
yes
.” Lowering his attention to the navigation’s
clock on the center console, he groaned. Then, without warning, he untangled
himself from me. “Time’s up.”

I blinked.
“Excuse me?”

“I promised Ms.
Marchand five minutes, and I’m a man of my word.”

Is he
kidding?

He had to be,
right?

But I watched
helplessly as he got out the Viper and came around to open the door for me.
Taking my hands in his, he pulled me up, making sure that the front of my body
brushed up against his so I could feel every inch of what I wasn’t saying
yes
to today.

“That was
intentionally cruel,” I said, but he rubbed his thumb over the center of my
lips.

“Next time,
Lizzie.”

As I stalked
into the hotel, my body burning from the few minutes I’d spent inside his
sports car, I could feel his blue eyes following me. I gave my hips a practiced
extra little sway as payback, and I could just hear his frustrated growl as the
door closed behind me.

*

Thanks to a combination of
dreams and nightmares that night—everything from Oliver to my father—by eleven
the next morning, I already had a massive headache building as I listened to
the Emerson & Taylor board of directors meeting. Even though I’d quickly given
up the hope that one of the male voices would jump out to me, revealing the
identity of the man who’d called me nearly five months ago, I continued to pay
close attention from my spot near Margaret where I was recording the meeting
and also taking notes.

“…the
effectiveness of the winter marketing campaign?” the company’s vice-president
was asking Margaret, when she leaned her blond head close to mine.

“We’re
recessing for lunch in an hour,” she whispered. “I need you to call the
restaurant and make sure the delivery will be here on time.”

“Of course.” As
I started to leave, grateful for a breath of air away from the crowded
conference room, she grabbed my wrist, her wedding rings cold against my skin.
I looked down to see her light blue eyes were narrowed in warning.

“Don’t screw
this up, Ms. Connelly.”

I wanted to
tell her that I hadn’t screwed up with the event planner yesterday or with any
of her travel plans so far, but I gave her a dutiful nod before quietly leaving
the conference area. As I started to my desk, the open French doors leading
into Margaret’s office, and the laptop sitting on her desk, stopped me in my
tracks. I regarded them for several seconds, wavering over whether or not to go
in. If she caught me, she’d probably fire me on the spot. Fire me and start
digging around for more information about me.

But hell, this
moment was too convenient to pass up.

I glanced over
my shoulder to make sure I was alone before sneaking inside the office and
closing the door.

Sliding into
the chair on the other side of her desk, I tapped the MacBook’s keyboard,
feeling a rush of excitement when the screen illuminated to reveal the desktop.
No password, which was a shock I knew Pen wouldn’t even believe when I told her
later. I scanned over the icons—a variety of folders labeled everything from
Fiscal
Reports
to
Marketing Plans
to
Charity
.

The one that
made my heart drop, though, was the folder titled
Gregory Emerson
.

My father.

I didn’t know
what I was expecting to see when I clicked on the icon, but an old picture of
my dad and Margaret stared back at me. She was smiling—the first authentic sign
of pleasure I’d
ever
seen on my stepmother’s face—with her arms wrapped
intimately around him. They were both blond and blue-eyed—though my father’s
eyes had been midnight—and I hated to admit they looked happy together. Leaning
closer to the screen, I squinted to see that behind them, a banner indicated
they were at the 1994 charity event for a local children’s hospital.

I swallowed the
lump in my throat before it could finish forming. My father had still been
married to my mom at the time.

Wow.

Had she known?
Had she realized that my dad might be cheating on her?

Is that what had
torn them apart?

I started to
click to the next picture, but movement outside the door immediately halted me.
When the knob twisted, I quickly exited out the folder and scrambled beneath
Margaret’s desk, my heart hammering in my throat as I waited for her to find me
hiding, jerk me up by my hair, and start freaking out.

Maybe she’d
call security and Carl would shake his balding head in disappointment as they
grilled me about what I was doing in her office.

But then I
heard a voice that set my blood on fire for entirely different reasons. “Thanks
for your concern, Dora, but I swear I can handle it.”

“Oliver,” I
heard the HR director whine, but he quickly shut her down.

“Don’t you have
payroll to sort through?”

“Don’t be a
dick,” she said angrily. “Besides, your mom is in meetings all day. She hates when
you go through her things.”

“I don’t mind
waiting. She’ll be in here eventually, and I don’t really care if she doesn’t
want me here.” When Dora started to interrupt him again, Oliver heaved a deep
sigh and promised her, “I’ll listen to everything you have to say about Finley
as soon as I speak to my mother about it.”

Finley. The
woman Pen had said my boss looked up frequently on her desktop. I’d managed to
do a little research on Finley Scott, but the beautiful brunette who’d probably
once shared Oliver’s bed was almost a ghost. All I knew was that she was a year
and a half older than him and they’d dated on and off for a number of years.
Although I wanted to know more, it had seemed like a waste of time to ask my
best friend to do research of her own when she was already doing so much for
me.

“Oliver, I
don’t think you should—” the HR director began, but then the door slammed,
causing my chest to tighten in fear.

Were they gone?

Several seconds
passed by, and then, to my horror, I realized I wasn’t alone when I heard
footsteps drawing closer to me.

"You can
come out." Despite the heavy, betraying thud of my heartbeat, and the
ringing in my ears, Oliver's voice—spoken directly to me—was something I
couldn't ignore.

"Get your
ass out here." This time his smooth voice was low and undeniably
dangerous. "I can smell you, Lizzie. You're the only one in this building
with that perfume. And it makes me think of..."

Think of what?

What the hell
did the Bvlgari scent make him think of?

He was cutting
himself off intentionally, baiting me with the unknown, and if not for my gasp
for air, he might have given up. But I did breathe. And he took it as an
invitation to continue.

"That
perfume makes me think of fucking you. Everywhere.
Anywhere
. Your scent
is a distraction, so I'm asking you again: Come out and tell me why the hell
you're under there." The sound of his footsteps approaching Margaret’s
desk continued. "Or maybe I should just call security to drag you out.”

Holy fucking
shit.

Expose

verb
  \ ik’sp
ō
z

Make (something) visible, typically by
uncovering it.

“Expose yourself to your deepest fear;
after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes.
You are free.”

-Jim
Morrison

I pressed my palm against
my chest, uselessly trying to calm the erratic beats. The skin beneath my
fingers felt hot to the touch. But to my mortification, the fact that Oliver
had caught me—and that I might lose what little leeway I’d gained in unraveling
my past—didn't seem nearly as monumental as what he had said a moment ago.

That perfume
makes me think of fucking you.

I was twisted
for focusing on that. Twisted and wrong for wanting more of him. I shifted, the
hem of my knee-length gray bodycon dress riding up on my thighs. He rapped his
knuckles on Margaret’s desk gently, and I jumped.

"Okay,"
I whispered breathlessly. “I’ll come!”

He released a
ragged breath and then stated in a suggestively low voice, "Well, in that
case, stay right where you are, beautiful. I'll come down there, too."

I nearly bumped
my head scrambling out, and I wasn't prepared for him to touch me, but his
hands hooked under the tops of my arms. Dragging me to him, he pinned me
against the side of the desk.

"You're
hiding under the desk in my mother’s office.” He stroked his thumb under my
chin and tilted my face until his blue eyes penetrated mine. “And I want to
know why."

“She’s my
boss.” I reached behind me and spread my hands out on the glass, but my arms
continued to tremble. That was something that probably wouldn’t stop until
Oliver was far, far away from me. “Why else would I have been under there?”

He moved his
face closer to mine, and I arched my back, my breasts swelling against his
chest as he leaned over me. “That didn’t answer a damn thing,” he murmured,
feathering his fingers over the sides of my face. “Should I let you go and make
that call down to Carl?”

He had to be
teasing, but the tiny hairs on the back of my neck still stood on end.
Regardless of whether or not he was threatening to call security just to get a
rise out of me, I had to tell him
something
if I didn’t want him watching
me like a hawk for however long I was at Emerson & Taylor.

Think,
dammit. Think!

My brain clawed
through a dozen excuses, struggling to come up with one that would rapidly get
him off my back. When the right one hit me, I almost let out a sob of relief.
It was so perfect. And so believable, especially given how every nerve in my
body was reacting to him at this very moment.

“I was under
her desk—” I stared up at him from beneath my lashes, and his lips thinned into
an impatient line. “—because I came in here to grab something for Margaret. And
when I … when I heard you out there with Dora, I thought the worst.”

“You thought
the worst?” he repeated, accentuating each word, and I nodded, lying back a
little further on the desk. His body followed mine. One of his hands dropped
from my face to my back to splay dangerously over the clasps of my bra, and I
gasped. “Unless you don’t want to keep making that noise, I’d suggest you
explain, Lizzie.”

“I thought you
were bringing her in to…” I stopped speaking deliberately, swallowing hard,
hating that even though I knew that hadn’t been Oliver’s intention, the thought
of him touching another woman’s body like this infuriated me. “I wanted to see
for myself whether or not you were involved with Dora.”

The fingers
stroking my back stiffened, and I watched as all emotion disappeared from his
naturally tanned features. Had he bought it? I held my breath, waiting for him
to move. Waiting for him to give me some sort of response. When his face
stretched into a smile, I knew that I’d not only sold the bullshit excuse to
him, I’d also stroked his ego.

“Oh, Lizzie,”
he said, cupping the back of my neck and leaning his forehead against mine,
“haven’t you realized? You’re the only one in the office I want to fuck.”

Wow. Self-control.
Vanquished.

I wrapped my
fingers around the blunt glass edges behind me so I wouldn’t reach up and drag them
through his disheveled brown hair. “If your mother finds me in here with you,
she’ll fire me,” I warned, butterflies spreading through my belly as he nudged
my knees apart with his. I felt the coarse fabric of his pants sliding up
between my bare legs, and a second later, his muscled thigh gently grinded
against my sex through my lacy underwear.

My core
clenching tightly, I tossed a panicked stare at the closed French doors on the
other side of the room. “Oliver,” I panted, rubbing against his hard quad, “I
can’t
do this with you.”

“Don’t worry.
You’re not.” Reluctantly, he released me. I lowered my head toward the onyx
floor, breathing in deeply to catch my breath while he sat down in Margaret’s
chair. His rough voice drifted casually from behind me. “When we do this,
there’ll be no inhibitions between us. There will be
nothing
between us.
You will be mine.”

“All that just
for one night?” I readjusted my dress and turned to him. From the tiny
pinpricks exploding over my skin, no doubt my face was red. “And here I was
thinking you wanted a quick lay.”

“All that just
because
it’s one night,” he corrected. “Never confuse yourself for a quick lay. And
there will be nothing
quick
about us.”

I hated the
tingle in the passage between my legs where his thigh had touched me. “Pompous,
aren’t we?”

“Honest,” he
corrected. Stretching his arms up, he linked his long fingers together behind
his head. “I don’t want to keep you any longer, Ms. Connelly,” he said, his
tone suddenly one hundred-percent professional.

Two can play
at this crap,
I
thought.

“Of course not,
Mr. Manning.” I started toward the door, but froze because a low chuckle
erupted from the back of his throat. I glanced over my shoulder to see the look
of blatant enjoyment on his face. “Yes?”

“You’re walking
out of here empty-handed. I’d assumed that since you were in here to grab
something for Margaret, you’d be taking it with you.” Using his thumb, he
scratched the end of his slightly crooked nose. “But maybe you’re so attuned to
her needs, you realized she changed her mind.”

Shit. Stalking
over to the desk, I snatched the first thing that snagged my attention—the
folder I’d given her yesterday with her new Paris itinerary. I coaxed my
expression into a grateful smile. “Thank you for reminding me.” I walked away,
and the sensation of his blue eyes strategically peeling away each article of
my clothing seeped through my body, making me ache all over with need.

Just before I
stepped across the threshold to cross the hallway, his husky voice addressed me
one last time. “You’re welcome, Ms. Connelly.”

I didn’t have
to turn around to know he was grinning.

*

Oliver continued to wait in
Margaret’s office, even though she didn’t return until after the takeout from a
nearby Italian restaurant was successfully delivered. Despite the double doors
being closed, I could hear the argument taking place on the other side. As I
chewed the lasagna I’d ordered for myself, it didn’t take me long to figure out
the reason behind his visit.

His mother was
intervening in his love life, specifically by trying to pair him with one of
his former flames.

And he didn’t
like it one damn bit.

“I don’t care
why she’ll be in the area; I have absolutely no interest in her. We’ve gone
over this before. It’s not happening again,” I heard Oliver growl at his
mother, followed by a cry of frustration from Margaret.

“But she’s—” my
boss began in a frosty voice, but a second later, something slammed, cutting
her off. The sound of footsteps marching closer to my door startled me, and I hastily
rolled my chair across the hard floor, wheezing for air when the edge of my
desk hit me in the stomach.

“You’re very
bad at pretending to not give a damn, beautiful,” Oliver commented as he passed
my door. “I’ll see you early next week when I get back from out of town.”

I was dying to
know what he was leaving for, but I shook the thought of asking out of my head.
Not smart. Especially since I was still shaky from what had happened in
Margaret’s office.

“Have a
wonderful afternoon, Mr. Manning,” I called after him.

He muttered
something under his breath, and I could have sworn it was, “It would be
wonderful if it ended with you in my bed,” but I didn’t have the chance to ask
him because I heard the ding of the elevator opening down the hall, signaling
his departure.

Several minutes
later, I was finishing up my lunch before I was due to return to the board
meeting to take notes for Margaret and answering a few emails she’d forwarded
to me, when a new message from Oliver showed up in my inbox. It was the first
he’d sent me since he had Easton remove the block, and I almost considered
ignoring it until the end of the day.

The last thing
I needed was for him to get me all worked up, just so I could spend the next
few hours with wet panties, parked in a seat right next to his mother.

Popping a piece
of gum in my mouth, I tossed the rest of my lunch into the trashcan beneath my
desk and gave myself a fast once-over with the compact mirror I kept in my desk
drawer, right beside the unused gift card Oliver had given me. As I smoothed
stray strands of my hair back in place, my brown eyes kept darting over to the
screen and the unopened email waiting for me. Teasing me.

Dammit.

Snapping the
compact shut, I clicked on the message, the pressure in the pit of my stomach
returning when I scanned the email.

I can’t get
your scent out of my head. It’ll be the only thing I’m able to think about
while I’m in Philadelphia. Not good for business, Lizzie.

My desk phone
rang, and I breathed into the receiver, “You’ve reached Lizzie Connelly, how
can I help you?”

“I need you in
the boardroom, Ms. Connelly,” Margaret snapped. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t
answer the phone like that. This is a business, not a phone sex operation.”

The irony was
almost too much.

Promising her
that I was on my way, I hung up and returned to the boardroom—my thoughts
pinging between the photo I’d seen on Margaret’s laptop and Oliver.

*

For the next week, he was
freakishly silent, which I attributed to him being away on business. Not that I
had much time on my hands for flirting. With Margaret’s Halloween event quickly
approaching, I hardly had time to breathe. Before I even made it out the door
to go to work Tuesday morning, she was already sending me a string of text
messages.

I will be
out of town until tomorrow. Stop by the Heritage to check in on Roche.

Did you
schedule a driver for my guests and myself for Thursday night?

Make sure
you meet the Scotts at my home this afternoon and see to anything they might
need.

Pinching the
bridge of my nose, I sank down on the edge of my leather couch, rereading her
texts. Not only was this the first I’d heard of her going out of town today,
but I also had no idea she had guests coming in.

“The Scotts,” I
whispered under my breath, wondering if Oliver’s former girlfriend would be
among whomever was scheduled to arrive. After his argument with her last week,
I would have thought Margaret had let that go, but it was too much of a
coincidence not to be Finley. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I pulled up my
work email on my phone, scanning through the messages until I found the one I
was looking for buried under a handful of messages my boss had sent to me
yesterday.  With the subject line
IMPORTANT
, it hadn’t been opened, and
I groaned as I scanned the contents.  

Ms.
Connelly,

As I have an
important engagement in New York tomorrow morning, I will need you to meet my
guests at my home and let them in. The access code to the gate is 0451 and the
combination to the lockbox and the alarm is 1283. DO NOT MISPLACE THE KEYS, and
give them the blue key. Below you’ll find my guests’ itinerary, along with my
address, to give you an idea of what time you’ll need to be at my house. These
are very close family friends, and it’s imperative that you make sure they’re
comfortable.

I will be
back on Wednesday, in plenty of time for the event on Thursday.

-M

“That woman,” I
whispered, my brows pulling together.  The sound of rubber sliding against the
laminate flooring drew my attention up to Pen, who was coiling her dark hair in
a bun on top of her head. Even though it was well before nine, she was already dressed
for the day in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, turquoise flip flops, and a
matching tank top that made her giant chest seem impossibly larger.

“My boobs are
jealous,” I said, causing her to stare down and grab her chest.

“You don’t
think it’s too much do you?” When I nodded, she straightened the hem of her
tank top. “So what did Margaret do now?”