Chapter Eleven

Carrie

An hour after Reid’s text telling me he has something for me, I’m sitting at my desk when Gabe appears in the doorway, looking as devastatingly handsome as his brother, with one variance: he actually smiles. No, two differences. I don’t think Gabe hates me. I should want him, not Reid, but that’s just now how I work, apparently. Instead I want the man who tortures me, taunts me, and in general, infuriates me. “You really were amazing in that meeting tonight,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that. I was—am, actually—concerned about how the staff will handle all of this.”

“You’ll get them through it,” he assures me. “And I also meant it when I said you can come to me if you need anything. However,” he pauses for impact, “it’s clear that would not please my brother.”

“That was pretty evident,” I say and cringe even as his eyes light.

“Then you did hear our conversation,” he concludes.

“Does he know?”

“Not unless you tell him like you just did me and from what I can tell, you hold your own with him.” He winks. “Goodnight.” He disappears around the corner, leaving me smiling with that comment over any other. I do hold my own. I cuffed the man and left him.

Reid appears in my doorway and he all but scowls at my smile. “I take it you like my brother.”

“He doesn’t seem quite as obnoxious as you,” I comment. “I do, however, prefer you over him at this point.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, I do, because while I’d never let my guard down with either of you,” I say, despite being a little guilty of that with Gabe just now, “I prefer the brother that is what he is, without taking any prisoners.”

“You think Gabe’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he states.

“I know he is,” I assure him.

“And that makes me what?”

“A wolf in handcuffs.”

He gives me a deadpan stare. I laugh. “That was funny,” I say. “You know it was. You opened yourself up for it. You wouldn’t even respect me if I didn’t take the opening.”

His lips quirk with a hint of what might be a smile. “Let’s leave for the night. I’ll walk down with you.”

That gets my attention and my rejection. I do not want to be in an elevator with this man simply because I want to be in an elevator with this man. “I’m going to stay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re going to walk down with me.”

“Back to bossing me around?”

His eyes burn into mine. “I’m not leaving without you, Carrie.” He says my name in a low, seductive way, a hint of the same burn in his eyes as in his tone.

“You’re ridiculously overbearing,” I comment dryly.

“Don’t you want to know what I have for you?”

“I feel quite certain that question is a trap.”

“It’s an invitation. To leave with me now.”

To leave with him now.

And go where?

And do what?

My gaze meets his and the air around us thickens, the charge between us palpable. I want this man and he wants me. I don’t know how I do that and work with him, which means I can’t sleep with him. I am, however, not getting out of the elevator ride, nor am I going to try. I’m not going to sleep with him and this is my chance to show us both that my willpower is steel. I grab my MacBook and several folders, sliding them into my briefcase before sliding it and my purse over my shoulder. “I’m ready,” I announce, and I swear I feel like I just said something naughty. I can’t put it back in my mouth and I don’t even try to talk over it.

I round the desk and walk toward him, but he doesn’t back out of my doorway and I can’t just back-up or stop without seeming scared or intimidated. I keep walking and end up stopping a foot in front of him. “I thought we were leaving?”

He just stands there, big, beautiful, and all power and control; a man who I am certain in this moment wants to control me, to own me. Oddly though, I’m not sure this pleases him. I search his face and…no. No, I do not believe it does and yet, it’s there. His need to do just that. It radiates off him, a hard push that all but demands I submit, and I am suddenly warm all over. I want to be owned by this man, but in that wholly female, while we are naked kind of way, that ends when I put my clothes back on. Only it won’t with Reid. I know this. That will be the price for my pleasure. He’ll own all of me.

That’s not going to happen.

I lift my chin, letting him see this decision in my eyes, and he must. He abruptly steps backward as if he senses or reads my limits, as if he actually cares what I feel. I would like to think that he does. I want to believe he has that capacity in him. Or maybe his need to reject me wins over his need for a conquest. I dislike this thought too much and shove it aside. I join him in the lobby, falling into step with him as we walk toward the door. He holds it for me, and I pass through, aware of him watching my every move.

We start walking again, and the silence between us is not comfortable. It’s heavy, it’s filled with the push and pull between us, with his charged energy doing both right now. All I can think of is the tiny elevator car, and that moment arrives when I step into the compartment with just him, and my heart is thundering in my ears. Reid punches the lobby level and we stand side by side, his energy filling the tiny space, while his earthy male scent teases my nostrils.

“Gabe was right,” he says.

Surprised by this comment I do not expect, I dare to look at him. “About what?”

“You handled the room well tonight.”

When Gabe had complimented me, it had felt nice, but from Reid, it’s unexpected. It’s different. It stirs a funny feeling in my belly that I want to reject but instead hold onto, pull close. “And you,” I say, considering him, “gave me room to do it.”

“I told you, Carrie.” He turns to face me, compelling me to do the same, as he adds, “I’m not your enemy.”

“I’m trying to believe that.”

“As I am of you,” he says.

“Why would you think that I’m your enemy?”

“Our first meeting wasn’t exactly friendly once we got past the orgasm.”

“No,” I say, hating the memory of his tongue on my clit now in my mind. “I suppose it wasn’t.”

“Then you know why I might be concerned that you’re an enemy. We need to learn to trust each other.”

“How?” I dare to ask, when he may well deliver one of his crass comments in reply.

“How indeed,” he says, but the elevator dings before I can object to that non-answer, and he’s already holding the door for me. I walk past him and he is immediately on my heels, the two of us walking toward the exit with him doing nothing to make good on his claim to have something to show me. We step outside and he motions to the right, my normal evening path toward Battery Park.

“I’ll walk you home,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I walk home every night by myself and,” I frown, “how do you know where I live?” I hold up a hand. “Never mind. We already determined that you had me investigated.”

“That, and I too live in Battery Park.”

I blanch. “How is that even possible?”

“Exactly what I said when you left me in that hotel room.”

My eyes go wide. “Did you, Reid Maxwell, actually just make a joke and at your own expense?”

“Never. I don’t tell jokes.” He motions me forward. “Let’s walk.”

But he did. This hard-as-stone man made a joke with himself as the punchline. This tiny glimpse of the man beneath all the hardness has me curious enough to happily comply. I turn and start walking and Reid is easily by my side, keeping pace. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you or anything like that,” I say after a few steps, “but isn’t it hard on your firm for you to be away like this?”

“Gabe runs the firm day-to-day,” he says. “And I make a hell of a lot more money doing what I do instead of managing a regular caseload.”

“How did you even start doing this kind of thing? It’s not exactly standard corporate lawyering.”

“When I was still fresh out of law school my father managed corporate takeovers for Jean Claude Laurette.”

“The billionaire behind some of the biggest hostile takeovers ever done, and who is also a real estate developer?”

“Exactly, and no, he’s not involved with your company.”

My company. I like that he says this.

“I handled a great deal of the legal filings for my father in relation to his affairs, and it slowly morphed into more.”

“So, you’re more corporate raider than attorney?”

“My father’s the corporate raider, or he was until he had a stroke last year and finally decided to slow down.”

“He’s okay now?”

“As okay as a bastard like my father can ever be,” he says dryly.

I decide to leave that alone for fear he’ll stop talking, and I focus on him. “If you’re not a corporate raider, what are you?”

“Where my father would look for the big win at all costs, as would Jean Claude, I’m in the position now to pick or choose my moves. I work with a group of investors that home in on companies where everyone is losing, and we then ensure everyone wins.”

“Except my father.”

He glances over at me as we step on the sidewalk that leads to my building. “I can’t save your father from his mistakes. I can only save everyone else.”

Despite the truth of his words, they cut, and I look away, thankful that we are now in front of my building. I turn to face him. “Good luck with the stockholders’ meeting,” I say, the wind lifting off the nearby ocean, the Statue of Liberty alight in the near distance.

“I don’t need luck. I need to be good on my word.” He changes the subject. “You heard the conversation between myself and my brother.”

It’s not a question and I don’t play coy. “Yes.”

“Then you heard me tell him to stay away from you.”

“Loud and clear,” I assure him.

He arches a brow. “You aren’t going to ask why?”

“You want to own me,” I say. “Which means I know why.”

His hand snakes out and snags my hip, jolting me with the unexpected impact as he drags me to him. “I do own you,” he says. “Until the profit I’ve promised the board is delivered, I don’t want you distracted.”

My hand is somehow now firmly planted on his even firmer chest; my legs pressed intimately to his. “And you don’t think touching me like this a distraction?” I challenge.

“It is a distraction. One we can fuck right out of our systems and then it’s over.”

“Or you decide you really do own me and I’m not taking that risk.”

“Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Better stop while you’re ahead.”

“And yet neither of us are ahead now.” He surprises me by allowing his hands to fall away, a silent invitation to stay pressed intimately to his hard, perfect body, or move away.

It takes all that I am, but I step backward. I’ve barely recovered from his touch and the chill I now feel blasting off the water, which didn’t seem to be there moments ago, when he offers me an envelope. “What is this?” I ask, reaching for his offering, but he holds onto it, those blue eyes burning into mine.

“I never make a promise I don’t keep, good or bad.” He releases his grip. “Remember that,” he adds, and then he just walks away.