Chapter Four
Alex
This was a bad idea. A really bad idea.
Getting involved (even a little involved) with someone who worked for me was pretty much the number one item on my father’s list of how not to run a company. A CEO couldn’t remain properly distant from his employees if he kissed them, after all.
And yet here I was.
I steered the Ferrari off the interstate and wondered how the hell I’d gotten to this point, anyway. Until a couple of hours ago, my interactions with my assistant had been strictly limited to work-related conversations. Well, demands, actually. Orders. The two of us hadn’t really conversed at all until those moments alone in the elevator.
And yet somehow, in just a couple of hours, Nash—Nashville, I reminded myself, smiling a little at the memory of his red-faced embarrassment—had managed to get under my skin and change everything. I was calling him by his first name. I was giving him a ride home. And against all logic and common sense, I was allowing myself to be directed to an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of the city.
“I used to come here all the time in college,” he said cheerfully, as I eased the Ferrari over the weed-choked asphalt. “Cops never come out here. It’s safe, so don’t freak out.”
“Nothing is that safe, Nash. You never know when paparazzi might—”
“No one followed us off the interstate, right? You checked in the rear view mirror, didn’t you? Well then, there’s no reason paparazzi might be hanging around this old abandoned hardware store, expecting a billionaire bigshot in a Ferrari to drop by. Am I right, or am I right?”
Reluctantly, I had to admit he had a point. “But if someone happens to spot this car—”
“Turn your lights off. In the dark, it’s just another sports car.”
I turned the car’s ignition off, and then flicked the headlights off as well. Sure enough, it was pitch dark. There were light poles standing silent sentry all around us, but no one was bothering to pay for electricity to light them anymore. The shadowy hulk of the store, barely visible in the darkness, had clearly been abandoned a long time ago.
“Nash,” I said, trying and failing to ignore the way my heart was pounding in my chest. “What are we doing here, exactly?”
“I told you.” My eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness, but I heard the soft click of a seatbelt being unfastened, and the rhythm of my heart increased, until it was thundering almost violently against my ribs. “You really ought to know what it’s like to kiss a guy.”
“So you feel sorry for me.” My voice grated more harshly than I intended. I wanted to run, to fling open the door and bolt out into the darkness, but instead I unfastened my seatbelt, too.
“Not sorry for you, no.” His voice sounded nearer, and his hand found my forearm. Even through the fabric of my suit I could feel his palm burning my flesh. His light tenor voice was warm with sympathy and sincerity. “Just sorry that you haven’t had the chance to try this, before now.”
“I’ve had plenty of chances,” I said hoarsely. “I just never chose to take them.”
He was even closer now, so near that I could feel his hot breath brushing over my ear.
“Well, choose to take this one.”
The knowledge that he was close, so close, stole away what remained of my resistance. I’d been slowly losing my iron grip on self-control all evening, ever since the two of us had been trapped together in a small space, and all at once it just evaporated into nothingness, leaving me pantingly eager for the feel of him, the taste of him. And the scent of him. He smelled like citrus, an orange-grove fragrance that went perfectly with his hair, and beneath it, the scent of clean masculine skin. It made me dizzy with longing and need.
I turned my head, and for an instant we fumbled awkwardly, trying to find each others’ mouths. Then his hands were in my hair, directing me, guiding me.
Our lips met.
I hadn’t kissed anyone in long years, and maybe that’s why the light brush of his lips hit me so hard. Or maybe he was just a hell of a kisser. Anyway, it was gentle enough, almost tentative, and it should have felt sweet and tender, but somehow the soft contact sent sparks flaring down my spine, right to my cock.
And instantly, I had a hard-on. A big one.
I clutched at him in the darkness, trying to hold onto him so he couldn’t get away. Not that he was trying to, really. His mouth kept moving on mine, soft and gentle, so intense that I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My whole world shrank down to this—a stolen moment in the dark, Nash’s lips against mine.
I wanted more, and as if he could read my mind, the very instant I had the thought his tongue slipped along my lips, asking me to part them. I did, and his tongue delved inside my mouth, exploring, caressing, tasting. When his tongue found mine I swear I could feel fireworks going off inside me, filling me with brightly hued sparks. I moaned into his mouth, wanting to pull him into my lap, to feel his body against mine.
But… well, a Ferrari, with its bucket seats and center console, really isn’t the place for full body contact. The part of my mind that was still sane recognized that I was in for a disappointment.
Even so, the truth was that kissing him wasn’t disappointing, not in the least. I felt like I could have happily kissed him for hours. It was wet and hot and everything I’d dreamed of during the long, lonely years I’d been celibate. Nash might be young, but his mouth moved on mine with a dazzling and breath-taking expertise.
I, on the other hand, was clumsy, awkward, out of practice. But kissing is a lot like riding a bicycle—even after a long time away from it, one picks the skill up again rapidly. It only took a few moments before I had him moaning, too.
And then one of his hands drifted away from my hair, finding a landing place on my thigh.
I jerked, startled. His hand began sliding up and down in a soothing motion, as if trying to calm me. I could have grabbed his hand, forced him to stop, but I was strangely mesmerized, the thrilling awareness of his touch holding me in thrall. Because not only was Nash kissing me, but his hand was only an inch or two away from my cock.
My hard-on ached. I ached, with a desperate longing to be touched.
His hand slipped higher, his fingers trailing over my sensitive inner thigh, and I shivered all over. With the heater off, it was cold, but that wasn’t the reason why I was trembling. Nash’s touch was magic, light and delicate, and not at all intrusive. The gentle caress ripped away my carefully constructed defenses, the wall I’d built around myself over the long course of years, and left me wanting more. So much more.
His tongue was in my mouth and his hand was inches from my cock, and I should have been appalled at myself and my own lack of control. And yet instead I felt myself melting. Submitting. I was completely at his mercy. I was his, all his…
All at once I heard my father’s voice in my head.
Never get involved with your employees, Alex. It only leads to complications, and to pain.
A sudden spike of fear went through me, and I jerked backward, away from him. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he looked at me through passion-hazed eyes. In the darkness, his amber eyes appeared almost black. His hand stilled on my thigh.
“Time to take me home, Alex?”
He didn’t seem angry or resentful about it. Not even resigned. He seemed just as cheerful as ever. I nodded.
“Okay, that’s fine.” His words were soft and understanding. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Not ever.”
The sincerity and kindness in his voice hit me even harder than his kisses had. No one had been kind to me in years. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and yank him against me again, but instead I pulled further away, and spoke in a low tone.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Okay.” He buckled his seatbelt again, shifting in his seat as if he were having trouble getting comfortable despite the soft leather seats, and I realized that he had a hard-on, just as I did. He had been willing enough to stop, but I suspected he would have been quite happy to go on, too.
But I didn’t dare go further. I just didn’t dare.
I fastened my seatbelt, then turned on the Portofino and noticed that we had in fact fogged up the windows. I flipped on the defroster, and the chilled air inside the car started to warm up almost immediately.
And yet, as I eased the car carefully over the bumpy asphalt and headed for the interstate, I noticed that without his touch… my thigh felt cold.