TWO
JACE EXLEY
I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.
Lucy Williams.
No, Lucy Duncan.
She’s married now. It was bound to happen. Even with her smartass mouth and know-it-all attitude, she was always a stunner, but goddamn, the years have been good to her. I let my eyes travel over her body, slowly, because I don’t give a fuck if she notices.
I start at her legs.
Whenever she used to ride my ass—she was good at that, good at pissing me off—I imagined wrapping them around my waist and riding her. Those legs are longer than I remember, leading up to full hips that make my fingers twitch to grasp them and a tiny waist I’d like to clutch too. Her tits are still perky, perfect, but she’s not hiding them under one of those baggy ass sweaters she was so fond of. That yellow dress leaves little to my imagination, and her breasts strain against the fabric with silky black hair falling over them.
I have a thing for long hair—the more there is, the better because I like having something to hold on to—and between that and her hips, Lucy Williams-fucking-Duncan has plenty to grip.
It’s a shame another man’s digging his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back until her long lashes flutter over round hazel eyes. Making her lips part just enough for her to say, “More,” before he ruins that sweet pink gloss of hers with his tongue and cock.
Clearing my throat, I lower my fingers from my mouth, gesturing them to the empty seat across from mine. “Sit down,” I repeat in a voice that’s gone rough from the images in my head.
“Yes … okay.”
Her legs are wobbly as she perches her ass on the edge of the chair in front of my desk. I want her to look at me, want to see her skin light up beneath my attention, but she doesn’t. She traces her gaze over the monogrammed letters—LJD—on the edge of her leather folder like it’s the first time she’s ever seen her own initials.
That’s fine with me. I’ll make her look up sooner or later.
"It's been a long time." She sucks in her flushed cheeks at the mockery lacing my tone. I wonder if she remembers the last time we saw each other. She must because she just blinks and sways slightly in her seat. “You look … well.”
Hell, she looks better than well. With legs that go on for days and tits that were made to touch, she’s the sexiest thing that’s ever stepped into this building. Breathing her in is torture because she smells like warmth. Warmth, vanilla, and a hard, noisy fuck.
I bet she’d taste just as good as her scent.
My cock twitches at the thought, and I groan at the effect the presence of this woman has on my little brain. I don’t have a hard time getting soft curves and sweet scents into my bed—well, their bed because I don’t like to take women back to my place, don’t like the sense of attachment it gives them—but I have rules. I don’t do married women. I never have, and it’s not a trend I plan to pursue. That was my father’s MO, and although I never formally met him, I decided long ago that his drive for success is the only inherited trait I want from the git.
I gaze across the desk at Lucy, wondering when she’ll speak. “Ms. Williams?”
Startling at the sound of my voice, she darts her eyes from side to side. I bet she’s trying to come up with something witty. She was so quick to run her mouth in school I’m disappointed it’s taking her so long to get on with it. “Thanks,” she says carefully. “It's good to see you again Jace—I apologize—Mr. Exley."
Fuck me running, she’s lost that touch of smart aleck that made her so aggravatingly endearing.
“You had it right the first time.” Closing my laptop, I shift around in my chair, and the chuckle I release bows her tight body forward. "There’s no need to call me Mr. Exley.”
“You’re interviewing me,” she whispers. “Of course I should call you that.”
I can’t deny that it’s deeply satisfying to see her lips wrap around those words since she’s the last person I ever expected to come to me for a job. I’d be a fool not to get some pleasure out of this. The last time she saw me, she’d all but written me off as “Most Likely to Knock Up Everything in Sight Between Prison Stints.”
Suppressing the harsh smile the memory draws from me, I shrug. “I’d prefer Jace. I can't be that much older than you. A year or so—"
"Two. I skipped a grade and you failed a year before you …” Trailing off when her eyes connect with mine, she flinches at how superior she just sounded. She squeezes her glossy lips together and nervously tucks her hair behind her ears. "I could be wrong, though. About the age thing.”
"I doubt you are." I fold my hands over the copy of her resume on my desk. She zeroes in on the tattoos on my fingers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. I’ve thought about doing that a time or two—sucking on her lip. Her mouth always drove me insane and kissing it until she was speechless seemed like the only way to deal with her.
"Like I told you, I'd rather you call me Jace. After all, we were schoolmates and you’re interviewing for a job at my company. It’s what I want from you, understand?"
My voice breaks the spell my fingers have over her. She snaps her hazel eyes to mine. "Sure ... Jace."
"That's a good girl." She draws in a sharp gasp. It takes all my self-control not to grin because she’s probably never been called that—a good girl. I’m oddly proud to be the first one to do so. “So, marketing?”
"Yes, marketing."
"I would've pegged you as the medical sort." She was always good at science and math and had loved rubbing her A’s in my face. I had been more interested in burying my face in her A, but I’d never pursued more with her. Too uptight. Too untouchable. Too Lucy, even if she was hot. I stroke my chin with my thumb and forefinger then drop my hand to my desk. “You know, physician, scientist, evil pharmaceutical CEO—something like that.”
With her hand to her chest and scrunched expression, she looks offended. Good, let her be. “Marketing better suited me," she responds coolly. “I’m good at talking and promoting my work.”
“You always did enjoy moving that mouth, Williams.”
Instantly, she licks her lips. I can’t help it; I stare at the path her tongue makes, needing to see more. Just because her last name has changed over the last ten years doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the slope of her mouth or the way it opens to form a surprised O. Rubbing the hand on her chest up and down, from the curve of her breast to her collarbone, she exhales.
"I … marketing is why I enrolled in business school after I got my bachelors in sociology.” Her voice goes weak on the last few words, but she straightens her spine, jutting her tits out, and continues, “I found I had a knack for advertising after I promoted a play on campus.”
“What play?”
She swallows hard. Then feeds me a bullshit lie. “I don’t remember.”
I’d bet my business and savings it was The Vagina Monologues, but she’s too damn politically correct to say the dreaded V-word in an interview.
“Sure you don’t.” Rapping my fingertips lightly on my metal desk, I review her resume. She sits in silence, her expression more and more uncomfortable every time I glance up to look at her. Uncrossing her long legs, she gives me a glimpse of the inside of one creamy thigh, but she quickly crosses them again, this time at the ankles.
Yet another shame.
Thighs like hers—firm and soft that smell like the perfume that’s a fucking distraction—deserve attention, and I hope Duncan’s giving them plenty.
I tug at the collar of my flannel, forcing myself to look at her resume. Talking up her many achievements is the easiest way to avoid focusing on the path between her legs that makes me wonder what’s beneath that yellow dress.
"Bachelors from Brown in 2008, MBA from Stanford in 2010,” I read aloud. I lift my brows. Has she spent her entire life in college since we left school? “What Brainiac sorcery is this? We graduated in '06."
She stretches her plastered-on smile. "I did the dual enrollment program, so I came out of high school with my associates degree."
"Impressive."
"Thank you." It sounds more like a question than a statement. Her eyes dart around again, and then she bends forward, her tits pushing together just enough to reignite my reaction to her.
Fuck.
“This,” she starts, giving me the same confident look she used to give our teachers when she was sucking up. I brace myself for the Lucy Williams Experience. "Your business, that's impressive."
I bask in her compliment—because I’m a cocky arse who loves praise. Stretching back in my chair, I link my fingers behind my head. I’m sure she doesn’t give two shits about my history, but she’s in my business. She’s going to listen to what I’ve got to say. "I did the welding program at Middlesex. Nowhere near as illustrious as all this”—I nod down at her resume—“But I was always good with my hands, and I did well. I met all of my current employees while I was enrolled there.”
"I'd planned to apply at the avionics company my uncle used to work for, but then I came into a large inheritance. Rather than blow my load on a bunch of meaningless shit, I decided to set my sights on more ... interesting pursuits.”
While I’m speaking, her eyes glaze over, and I smirk because I can pinpoint the exact moment her thoughts went south—right when I brought up that I’m good with my hands. She’s imagining them now. In her hair. Ripping away her clothes. On her tits, plumping, stroking, teasing. I’m picturing it too, and I hate that because it means one thing:
I can’t hire Lucy Williams because, while I don’t involve myself with married women, I sure as hell don’t screw my employees. The fling with Michaela ended in disaster, and I’m not prepared to go for round two. Not even with someone as delectable as the woman sitting in front of me.
"Your work is incredible," she blurts out. She rips her stare from my hands behind my head, a delicious pink glow spreading over her soft skin as she looks me in the eye. "I've always wished I was artistic, but I can barely draw a stick figure with even lines."
"You've seen my work?" And she still came to this interview? Am I in the Twilight Zone? She moves her head up and down at my question. Uncrosses her ankles and crosses her legs once more. Christ, there’s that thigh again. If she does that one more time, it’s going to be my undoing.
"I saw the clock on Daisy's desk. It's stunning."
"Ah," I murmur, holding back a laugh as I challenge her gaze. Lucy Williams, with all her research and careful planning, doesn’t know a single thing about my company. I should be offended. Should tell her to get the fuck out of my office. I’m not, and I don’t. "Well, call me a cocky motherfucker for saying this, but the rest is much, much better."
She moves her tongue from side to side between her teeth, and I zero in on her mouth again. This time, I don’t look back up. I love how her voice hitches uncomfortably when she says, "There's nothing wrong with being cocky when you're talented."
"Then good on me for being cocky and right."
"I can only imagine," she starts, slightly out of breath. "I can only imagine how incredible the rest of your work is. How long have you been set up here?"
"Going on three years. I started with five employees, but I had to fire Michaela.” I run my hand over my mouth and lift my shoulders. “This past year has been good to us—really good, to be honest. We’ve been making waves."
She keeps her face neutral, but I can tell she has something smartass to say. Do your worst, love. "You’ve been making waves, but you want more.”
"Isn't that the American dream? More. Better. Bigger?"
She shivers and glances away from me for a second to gather her thoughts. "More, better, and bigger is the human dream, Mr. Exley."
"Jace,” I correct. I want to hear her say my name. Need to hear her say it.
"Sorry, it's a habit."
"One I'd quickly break if you were with me."
“Right,” she whispers. Her movements are short and jerky as she opens her portfolio, and I know I’ve gotten under her skin. I’ve been there before, but I’ve never enjoyed it this much. Never wanted to see how much deeper I can push. I’ve also never had my dick react to her so quickly. She passes a stack of papers across my desk, keeping her fingertips at the edges, so she won’t have to touch me. I accept her letters of recommendation, unleashing a harsh laugh because she snatches her fingers away.
"Germaphobe?" I demand. I was counting on touching her. To see if her skin’s as soft as it looks. "Might not go over well around here, Williams."
She juts her narrow chin out defensively. "I can promise you I'll fit in just right. Even though I've never worked for a company quite like yours, I—"
"If you don't know what you're selling, why the fuck did you apply?" My crass response echoes through her body, and she releases an angry shudder from her nose. "Well, Williams? Or should I call you"—I cast my eyes down to her resume—"Duncan?"
The color drains from her face. "No … it’s Williams now."
I wish I could enjoy learning that—that she’s no longer married—but I don’t. I’m not sorry nearly as often as I should be, but I feel like a rat bastard for goading her, and her hurt expression shoots a sharp wedge right through my chest.
I don’t like that she’s made me feel any more than I enjoy being attracted to her.
"All right, Williams,” I say, softening my voice. “Why did you apply if you don't know what you're doing?”
"Because I know how to get things sold, and that’s all that counts. At WLC, I marketed everything from electronics to toys.”
The ghost of a smile hovers over my lips. "Toys, huh?"
"Yes, you know the playthings parents purchase for their children." My shoulders shake with silent laughter, and she gives me a confused frown. Fuck, if she only knew. I motion for her to continue, so she takes a deep breath. "Most recently I did branding and spearheaded the launch of an organic coffee company."
"Java-Org," I read from her resume, my brow tugging together because I recognize the name of the company. If it’s the same one I’m thinking of, it’s no wonder she quit. Their coffee is rubbish. "Daisy's ordered their stuff a time or two—the coffee that comes in the green tins, yes?"
"That's the one." She beams with pride, so I swallow the insult I was prepared to hurl at the liquid shit Daisy forced on my unsuspecting employees and myself. "It's been incredibly successful. That's why there's no doubt in my mind I can make your business even better if you let me. For starters, we'd get you a functional website. Not having one is hurting you."
I ponder that for a moment, tapping my fingers to my chin, before I ask, "Why did you leave? If it’s so successful, why would you leave?"
She looks like I’ve just shit on all her hopes and dreams as she peers down at her hands in her lap. "The owner and I had a falling out that couldn't be resolved.”
I imagined she’d say she wanted a change of scenery. Or that she’d tasted her own product and decided to stop peddling shit. I never expected her to admit she couldn’t get along with her employer.
She’s full of surprises today.
"So if I were to hire you, and I pissed you off—and I can almost guarantee I will because I've been told I can be a tosser—"
"A tosser," she interrupts.
"An asshole." I roll my eyes. She knows exactly what I mean because she called me that once, and I responded with a comment that made her flush all over. Just like she’s doing now. "For fuck’s sake, Williams, as I was saying, when shit hits the fan, are you just going to walk out on me too?"
"No.” She doesn’t hesitate to add, "It's a completely different situation."
“And what makes it so different?” My snide undertone gets to her because she jolts to the edge of her seat, her nostrils flaring as she grips the edges my desk.
"For starters, you are not my husband."
Ah, hell. I watch her, studying the harsh angles of her expression and half-expecting her to cry. She’s pissed me off more times than I can count, but I don’t want to see her in tears. My mum cried so much over my prick of a father when I was young that the sight of a woman sobbing still makes me feel helpless.
“And you're not cheating on me with someone we work with. So, with all due respect, I'd say our situation is very, very different."
For a moment, she looks stunned. Like she can’t believe she’s told me so much. Then her shoulders sag, and she squeezes her eyelids together. "I’m so sorry,” she gasps. “That was unprofessional, and it was too much information that—"
"Don't." She starts to speak again, so I interrupt her, holding my hand up. I don’t want her to make excuses for leaving her husband. "I mean it, don't apologize. I'd rather you be honest than give me some smiling, happy-go-lucky shit you’re pulling out of your arse about wanting to try something new. You left because your husband is a miserable piece of shit. That I can understand. And just so you understand, there’s no such thing as TMI.”
Her hazel eyes fly open. Breathing deeply, she trails her fingers from my desk and returns them to her lap. "Tom is definitely … a piece of work.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “And you're wrong. There is most certainly such a thing as TMI."
"Not in this building there isn’t,” I counter. “Working here, that's all you'll get."
She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. "Are you telling me I got the job?"
Now that she’s told me Duncan is no longer in the equation, there’s nothing I want more than to hire her so I can make her blush and stutter all day long without the presence of a guilty conscience. That’s also why I can’t give her the job. No fucking the employees, and Lucy Williams is two hundred percent fuckable.
"No, I’m not. I’m just giving you the facts, Williams."
“Oh. I see…”
I walk around my desk, noticing that she can’t take her eyes off me when I sit on the edge. "Let’s say I do offer you the position." I stretch my legs out in front of me, the toe of my boot nudging the leg of her chair. “When can you start?”
She starts to answer, but she hesitates and thinks for a moment. "I can start a week from now, on next Monday.” It’s another lie because she’s got that wild look in her eyes, the kind that only comes from desperation. She can start now, and I wonder what the hell had gone so wrong to make someone like Lucy Williams this hard up.
"Perfect." I push up from the desk and gaze down at her, my mouth turning down as I take in her expression. I can’t hire her. Hiring her will be bad for business—bad for my cock and state of mind—but Christ, she looks beautiful staring up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. "Thank you for coming today, Williams—”
"Lucy." She frowns. I’d like to kiss it away—just to see if she tastes as incredible as she smells. "If I'm supposed to call you Jace, please feel free to call me Lucy."
"I prefer Williams," I say. She bobs her head obediently, and my fingers spasm because I want to trail them through the black hair swinging around her breasts. "I've got a few more interviews between today and tomorrow, but I'll make my choice by Thursday."
"That sounds great. I'll look forward to hearing from you." She’s so shaky that when she stands up, she almost collides into me. I could get used to the scent pouring off her body. My sheets could get used to it. More reasons why I can’t hire Lucy. "Thank you for the opportunity, Jace."
I offer her my hand. “Pleasures all mine, Williams.” She looks down at the Roman numeral tattoos on my knuckles for so long, I finally groan and pull her hand in mine. She’s soft. Soft and silky, and she does awful, delicious things to my cock when her breath catches.
How many times have I thought about touching this woman?
How many times have I wondered what her fingers would feel like wrapped around me, stroking and squeezing until I reach the point of no return?
Too many, and now that we’re skin to skin, it’s a sin this is the first time I’ve touched her.
"I'll let you know my decision by Thursday.” Pulling away, I flex my fingers then shove them into my front pockets, so I won’t reach out to her again. For a moment, we stand in complete silence—Lucy with her eyes lowered to the floor and me with my face furrowed into a deep scowl. The second she looks back up, I flash my eyes to the door. The sooner I get her out of here, the better. “Ring Daisy if you have any questions.”
She blinks, but then takes a step away from me, swaying slightly in her high heels. "I will, thank you." Grabbing her purse and folder, she walks to the doorway, her shoulders sagging. "And if you need anything from me, please feel free to call or email."
I give her a half-smile. "I will, Williams."
I watch her leave, and I can’t stop staring at her ass. I shouldn’t hire her. She’s a distraction. She doesn’t know a fucking thing about what we do here, and if she did, she wouldn’t have strutted in my office talking about clocks and other bullshit. She’s a know-it-all. One that will claw her way under my skin faster than any woman I’ve ever met. It was her bitchy comment ten years ago that put me on this path to begin with, and I’ve never forgotten it.
That last thought makes me pause.
I was never the brightest in our class, but Lucy’s comment and smug little grin at graduation had given me the kick in the arse I needed.
Maybe I should return the favor.
At the very least I can call her references.
And if I do hire her, she won’t last a day, and my problem will solve itself.