Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Kaylee
I’m walking home from the art supply store in the rain. At first, my hood is up to guard me against the elements, but I change my mind halfway home and pull it back, allowing the condensation to soak my hair, my clothes. The cold droplets running down my face help cool the sting of embarrassment left over from my “job interview” yesterday.
Somewhere uptown, a billionaire is laughing at me.
I’m a girl in a long line of girls who have probably laid down on that couch and fallen prey to the most glorious face and physique on the planet. I never expected myself to be so easily seduced and gullible. He really made me believe there was a…connection between us. Something tangible. Now that I have some distance, I know I must have imagined it. Even though I can still feel the press of his hands on my thighs, his breath on my belly.
His ravenous mouth between my legs.
That’s the part I keep getting stuck on.
Why was he so single-minded about giving me pleasure? I can still remember how he looked while providing it. Eyebrows drawn so tight, color high on his cheekbones. A man possessed. If I’d forgiven him for proposing that I become his office play toy, would he be kissing me right now? Would we be horizontal on that couch, his big body moving over mine?
Inside mine?
I couldn’t do it. As much as I wanted to say yes, yes I forgive you, if I’d done so, he probably would have given me the job. A legitimate one. But we would have ended up back on that couch, regardless. I know it in my bones. If that happened, I wouldn’t have merely been spying for my father. I would have been using my body in order to do it—and I draw the line there. I can’t trade my body for secrets.
Can I?
I don’t know. I don’t…think so.
For certain, a day later, I can’t seem to blink without seeing Matthew.
My chest swells up now like a sponge dropped into bathwater, growing heavy and difficult to carry down the rain-slicked sidewalk. Did I imagine the power between us? Last night, it was impossible to sleep, because his voice played in my head. I smelled him on my skin no matter how much soap I used in the shower. It’s almost like he stamped an invisible brand on me and I’m the only one who knows it’s there. No one else can see the mark he left.
The crosswalk light changes and I move across the street, holding my purchases close. I’m working on my latest dollhouse today, to be sold via my online shop. I’m going to shut everything else out. I sent my father an email telling him the interview with Borden had gone very well and I would hear back by the end of the week. Just to buy myself some time before the hatchet falls and he gives me that disappointed sigh that suggests I’m not what he deserves. That I’m not worth all of the hours he has worked to provide for his family. I’ve heard that sigh thousands of times. Millions.
I turn the corner at the seaport and start to dig my keys out of my pocket.
Every time I walk down this stretch of cobblestone, the East River blowing my hair around, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for this place I get to live—and I experience that feather stroke of enjoyment now, despite my heavy mood. I love my little place on the river. My duplex consists of a ground floor studio where I create my dollhouses. Upstairs is a small bedroom and bathroom. A kitchenette. It’s tiny and minimalist. Mine. It’s just mine. No one clucking their tongue over what I choose to wear or eat or say. If I want a brownie for breakfast, I just go ahead and eat one. It’s glorious.
Of course, the name on the lease is Sarah Grimm and this place was only rented for me so I could have a convincing backstory to get in the door at Borden Enterprises. But I’m hoping my father will let me keep it after I confess to him that I failed.
Please let me keep it.
I almost slip on the wet sidewalk when I notice someone leaning up against my door.
Thunder booms in the distance, followed by a sizzle of electricity.
There is no one else in the street, except for a few brave joggers picking their way along the edge of the river. I’m alone. Soaked. This part of the city isn’t very high on crime, but men are a danger wherever you go, so I don’t dare venture any closer to the individual whose face is shielded by a black umbrella. Not when the sky is so bleak and dark and the rain shows no signs of letting up. All I can see is his expensive wingtips and black trench…
And somehow I know.
I know what the frenzy in my belly means. It’s Matthew Borden. He’s…here.
Why?
Is he…holding flowers?
Red roses. A dozen sleek ones, all the same length, tied in a white ribbon.
When his head whips toward me and I witness the flare of possession in his eyes, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. You didn’t imagine it. The connection between us startles me, even from this distance. Fifty yards. A moan is building in the back of my throat, brought on by the robust shape of his shoulders and the cut of his jaw. Those eyes pull me in. I’m walking toward him before I realize what’s happening, raindrops rolling down my face, soaking my clothing. I’m just summoned in his direction by an unseen force.
I’m in a trance.
He appears to be in one, too, but all at once, he breaks free of it and strides toward me in that precise, capable way he moves, holding the umbrella above my head and pulling me beneath it, up against his body in a hard collision of softness into muscle—and we both release a rocky exhale against each other’s mouths, his gaze dropping to where my wet breasts are crushed to his chest, my damp cleavage right there, for his eyes to feast on.
And he does.
I’m barely able to stand, his presence is so powerful. So potent and unplanned.
It’s all I can do to exist as he tucks the flowers under one arm, removes the pocket square from the jacket of his suit…and begins to dry off my face. Gently. My neck. And then he’s slowly dragging the white material over the rain-slicked slopes of my breasts, his mouth open as he does it. Breathing hard. Or is that me? Is that both of our harsh inhales and exhales drowning out the rain?
“You’re going to get sick, Sarah.”
Kaylee, I want to respond. Please call me Kaylee.
But I can’t. If he’s here, I might get a second chance at the temp position. I might still have a shot at making my father proud. Being useful to him. Of course, that means betraying this man, but I don’t have to think about that now. Not yet. It’s in the future. Not in the rainy, dreamlike landscape where only Matthew and I exist.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, biting my lip when he delves the pocket square beneath my neckline and it rasps over my nipple, stiffening it into a peak. Oh. Wow. “You really didn’t learn your lesson yesterday, d-did you?” I chatter.
He drags that very memorable tongue across the seam of his mouth. “What lesson was that?”
Lord. His voice is even more compelling than I remember. Dark, saturated velvet. “I left because you assumed I would give you permission with my body.” We both look down at the way he works the linen between the valley of my breasts. Down, down, deeper, until I’m gasping. “Now you’re taking it again without asking.”
Matthew swallows a sound in his throat, peering down at me through the rainy shadows. “Am I insane to feel your permission? Am I insane to act on it without thinking? I analyze everything else. Weigh my words. Second guess everyone’s intentions. But you…my hands just move to touch you like I’ve been given permission a thousand times before. I don’t think. My hands don’t give me a chance. They just want to be on you.”
I’m shaken. Down to the soles of my feet. I understand every word coming out of his mouth. My being recognizes the truth in them. There is something inside me—a bunch of broken shards stuck together. When he’s close, those shards slide into his and make something whole and unbroken. I’m not imagining it—and it’s very bad.
It’s terrible. Because of who I am. I’m lying. My whole identity is a lie.
I’ve been studying his business for two weeks with the intention of stealing information.
Handing it over to my father to use against him with federal law enforcement.
Right now, though? In this rain? In this part of town where finance is distant and there is nothing but the pounding of our hearts, none of that matters. Not now. Later.
“I want your hands on me, too,” I whisper—
And he moans, roughly, dropping his teeth into the curve of my neck. Removing the pocket square from inside my shirt and using that hand to yank my hips close. We press his erection between our bellies and he bites down on my neck—and any sort of conscious thought vanishes clean away. “Believe it or not, I came here to talk.” His teeth rake all the way up to my ear and wet heat slicks the flesh between my legs. “It’s a strange magic you have over me.”
“I’m a witch,” I joke softly. “Did you miss that part of my resume?”
His laugh is a huff of air beneath my ear. “I’ve studied every part of your resume. Good thing you’d emailed it to HR, since you ran off with the physical copy.”
“Oops.”
Our foreheads meet. For a fleeting second, he appears tortured. He lets me see how much. “You were pissed at me.”
I can’t breathe when his eyes are so close. So deep and incredible and determined. “Correction,” I manage as he draws me closer, closer, until our bodies are locked so tight, I can feel the pulse of his shaft against my panties. “I’m still pissed at you.”
In one rough motion, I’m drawn up onto my toes. “It’s good to know you can be mad at me and still come like a fucking dream, then, isn’t it?” He snags my upper lip and tugs. “I can still taste that sugar on my tongue. You’re going to give me more of it when we go inside.”
“When d-did you plan on fitting in the talking? That’s a lot for one afternoon.”
“Stop. Just…” He laughs against my mouth, but there’s a strain behind it. “Stop making me like you so much, Sarah. It’s very inconvenient.”
“Why?”
I mean, I know why. I’m the daughter of his largest competitor. But he doesn’t know that. If he did, he would hate me. He would definitely not be here with roses.
“Until now, it’s been very easy to judge people based on how useful they can be to me, but you…” He shakes his head, visibly baffled. “Simply being around you seems to be enough. I don’t require anything else from you but to…be.” His eyes cut away, giving way to irritation. “Christ, I sound fucking ridiculous.”
“No, you don’t,” I breathe, blinking back the moisture in my eyes.
All my life, I’ve wanted someone to say those words to me. That I’m enough without having to do more. Look better, act different, accomplish something. Just standing here and being me…is all he needs? Can that really be true?
A muscle slides up and down in his throat. “Why are you crying?”
“No reason, I just…” The wild hope is too fresh to put into words. “Do you want to come inside? To talk, I mean? Not for more…sugar.”
“I’m coming in for both, Sarah.”
“Talking and…”
“I’m going to lick your cunt before I go back to the office, yes. At the very least.” His fingertips rake down over my waist and hips, clutching, while I absolutely reel from the erotic promise packed into every word. “If I can get inside you, I’ll do that, too. Just so we’re clear.”
“It doesn’t get much clearer,” I say, feeling as though a sliver of lightning has come down from the sky and electrified my skin. Every cell, every iota of me is wired to him. And again, that’s no good. Yesterday, I was so firm on my decision not to sleep with him in order to get the information my father needs. My brain is having a hard time remembering that both scenarios are at play—and giving in to them both makes me someone I don’t like.
But here I am, leading him to my apartment, my mouth desperate to be kissed. My heart rioting in my chest…and the warning sirens in the back of my mind are growing dimmer and dimmer in the pounding rain…