Chapter Nine
Madison
Elliot’s eyes rake over my body like I’m wearing lingerie, not a thick robe that hides almost every inch of my skin. When he looks at me like that, it’s extremely hard to pretend being near him is easy. I’m not sure he realizes the effect he has on me, or even if his focus makes me special. Maybe I’m one of a hundred girls dressed like this he’d find attractive.
The last time I wore this kind of fluffy robe I was with Henry. We’d flown to New York for a friends’ wedding. I pictured it being a romantic weekend getaway, but he barely noticed me. A couple of hours before the ceremony, I’d showered, shaved my legs, put strawberry-scented lotion on, and sauntered out of the bathroom ready to drop the thick terry cover-up to the floor and show him the tiny landing strip my hairdresser had convinced me to get, only to find him so engrossed in his phone he didn’t spare me a glance or flirty word. I’d stood there for five solid minutes. No joke.
So the appreciation in Elliot’s piercing blue eyes is nice. It’s what I was hoping for when I decided to change out of my work clothes. My skirt was tight and my blouse reminded me of throwing up on the airplane, and with nothing else to change into, I wanted to get comfortable. Do I wish I was bold enough to drop the robe and see what Elliot would do next? Yes. But our working relationship prohibits any kind of physical intimacy.
Look, but don’t touch, our motto.
And by look, I don’t mean his tight butt or athlete’s shoulders or cheekbones that make my legs feel useless. Because those attributes are serious grounds for throwing caution aside and welcoming trouble.
I’ve never been in that kind of trouble. Sexy will-I-regret-it-in-the-morning-my-body-is-on-fire-and-only-you-can-put-it-out-trouble. Actually, the fire part happened the other night in my car, but let’s not go there.
I flop down on the couch across from him, prepared to ignore all his good qualities. That he’s also charming, caring, and well mannered is a real pain in the butt. He held my hair for me while I threw up, for gosh sakes. Then folded an arm around me. And it helped. With the side of my head pressed to his chest, I concentrated on the beat of his heart instead of the churning in my stomach. If I were asked to send a report to his mom, he’d get an A-plus.
He drops his phone next to him like it’s hot. “Are you naked under there?”
Oh my God. That’s the first thing he says to me? A mini-flame springs up in my belly. And a little voice in the back of my mind says, pick trouble. “No. I have my bra and panties on, not that it’s any concern of yours.”
“I’m a guy. Undergarments always interest me. Do they match?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I flirt back.
He wields a slow, self-assured smile that is dazzling. “I think—no, I know—they do.”
The air around me heats up by a million degrees. His attention is like two laser beams, and so help me, I want to cool down by taking the robe off and showing him what’s underneath.
“How do you know that?”
“Being the good friend that I am, I can tell by the way you dress that you’re not a mismatched underwear kind of girl.” He’s sitting slightly slouched with his arms stretched wide over the back of the couch, his legs spread, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. The casual pose might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“So?” he prompts when I fail to answer right away. “Should we bet that I’m right?”
“I’m not betting with you on this.”
“There’s my answer.” His expression is smug. And sexy, damn him.
“I may like to match underneath my clothes.” I absolutely do. I’m kind of anal about it, in fact. With my new self-imposed budget, I’ve found lots of cute sets shopping at discount clothing stores.
He smiles, proud of himself. “You should probably give me a peek to confirm.”
“I should, huh? You know, just because we’re in a hotel room in another state from where we work, we’re still technically on a business trip.”
“I’d argue we’re off the clock.”
“I suppose that’s true.” I’m being coy on purpose now, enjoying the sexual tension between us. I’ve never felt anticipation like this before.
“And I’m making it my personal business to put my mind at rest.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I need to know what color they are, Mads.”
I like that he’s the first person to call me Mads. I’m Maddy or Mad or Madison Michelle when my mom feels like using my middle name. “I can just tell you.”
“Not the same.”
“True, but…” If we do this, things won’t be the same between us. Reality trespasses on the fantasy of Elliot and me. Come tomorrow, we’re back at work.
“But what?”
“What are we doing, Elliot?”
“I don’t know. Not what we originally agreed on. But we’re not on the clock tonight and my curiosity is killing me.”
His interest is flattering and exciting, but if we’re not completely certain…I notice a pad of paper and pen next to the telephone on the side table. I reach over to pick them up.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Writing you a note.”
“Oh no you don’t.” He snakes the paper and pen right out of my hands, then falls back onto the couch. “You’re two up on me already. It’s my turn.” He scrawls something down, rips the sheet off the pad, and slaps it down on the coffee table for me to read.
Miss Hastings,
I suspect the heart of a risk-taker beats underneath your whip-smart attitude. But in the competitive world of financial management, you also need to be fearless. Perhaps we should discuss your qualifications for this field and brainstorm other job possibilities.
Sincerely,
Mr. Sax
I read the note a second a time. The goal is to make me angry, and it does. I’m fearless. I left my douchedog fiancé at the altar, didn’t I? But the flip side this time is Elliot is hoping to make me mad enough to show him my lingerie. Which means our strategy in this situation is a no-win. Well, I guess Elliot would win. Mr. Smarty-pants.
You would, too. I knew I’d get a reaction from him if I came out in just the robe, but there’s no going back if things escalate between us. Am I truly ready for that?
“Hmm…I did think about going to design school for a while. And I’ve made a few of my handbags. Maybe I should start my own line of lingerie. I could call it Madison’s Secret.”
Elliot holds his face in his hand, his palm covering his mouth. He rubs his fingers over his lips, then drops his arm. “Fine. Just tell me then.”
I raise my eyebrows. It’s hard not to chuckle at his cute disappointment.
“Clearly, I need to work on my note-writing skills.”
There’s a knock on the door. Room service.
Elliot doesn’t wait for me to answer him. He stands and goes to receive our food (I only look at his ass for two seconds. Maybe five. But that’s it, I swear.) He tips the server, carries the tray back, and puts it down on the coffee table. Rather than sitting where he was, he situates himself next to me, his thigh brushing mine.
A shudder moves through me. I’m pretty sure he notices, because he gives me a look that says I feel you and want to feel underneath your robe, too. Or maybe that’s my overactive imagination talking. I’ve never been starved for sex before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening here. For the millionth time, though, I remind myself of how much I love my job, and that means getting involved with Elliot would be a mistake.
He pours us each a cup of coffee, adding a little cream to his and remembering that I like cream and sugar in mine. “So design, but not art,” he says.
I’m glad for the safer topic, even if a little disappointed our flirting is over. “They kind of go hand in hand.”
“I guess.” He passes me the plate of cheesecake. “You could still do it.”
I cut into the creamy dessert goodness. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“How about for a week? You quit. I do unspeakable things to your body for seven days. Then you have a change of heart and return. And being the gracious boss that I am, I take you back.”
I choke down a bite of cheesecake. The flirt is back. “Are you insane? That is the worst idea in the history of ideas.” My nipples think otherwise, ready to punch holes through my bra, but I ignore them.
“Figured it was worth a shot.”
“You keep teasing me, but we both know you won’t really break the rules.” I offer him the cheesecake so he can have a bite.
He puts the plate down on the coffee table instead. Then he dips a finger into the cream cheese, coating his long forefinger from tip to knuckle. He moves so fast after that, I don’t have time to resist. Not that I would have. With one arm around my middle, he lifts me onto his lap until I’m straddling him.
I gasp or squeak or make some such surprised sound. My robe gapes open. Not a lot, but enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. His eyes dart there before bouncing back to my face. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like exactly where I was.
“I’ve broken a lot of rules,” he says, his voice deep, authoritative. “Not so much anymore, but if there’s something I really want, something that’s too hard to resist, a rule isn’t going to stop me.” He puts the pad of his cheesecake finger at the base of my throat. “Mind?”
I shake my head “no,” too stunned to say anything. Plus, in all honesty, I don’t want to ruin this moment of sheer electricity.
Slowly, so, so slowly, he skims his finger down the center of my chest. I feel the sticky dessert on my skin like it’s radioactive. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. Things I would have done differently. Yet, I wouldn’t undo any of them.” His finger stops at the top of the valley between my breasts. The robe is almost open enough to expose the lace of my pale-blue bra.
Don’t stop! Keep going. Touch me there. I pull my shoulders back, only a fraction, because this might feel right between friends, but it’s also wrong between coworkers.
He lifts his finger, brings it to my mouth. I part my lips. It’s involuntary. Necessary. Like breathing. Am I still breathing?
“Something tells me breaking a rule with you, though…” He slips his finger inside my mouth and I instinctively suck.
The hand he has on my waist tightens. He lets out a tiny sound—a groan he’s helpless to hold back, I think. “Jesus,” he mutters between clenched teeth. “Suck it harder.”
I wrap my hand around his wrist so I can control the suction. I lick and suck, enjoying the way his eyes sparkle as they watch me do something I’ve never done before.
When his finger is clean, he withdraws it. “Can I taste now?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I want his mouth on me so badly, I’ll worry about the consequences later.
He bends his head and licks the cream cheese off my neck.
Great balls of fire, his tongue is on me. It’s thrilling. My body is pulsing like crazy.
“Mmm. Sweet. Delicious. So damn good.” He presses those words against my flesh, imprinting them on me. I’ll remember this moment for as long as I live. His tiny declaration is what I need right now. A reminder that I am those things. It’s not just the dessert.
He kisses down my chest, each brush of his lips igniting a thousand tingles. I don’t want these sensations to end. His leisurely pace is killing me in the best possible way. I wiggle in his lap, then freeze. He’s hard, his erection like a steel pipe.
Suddenly this is all very real and dangerous in more ways than one. It’s not just about us working together. It’s about me. I like Elliot. And I’m not the kind of girl to fool around with a guy and then pretend it never happened, or pretend it didn’t mean something. He may be experienced at this sort of thing, but I’m not.
“Breaking a rule with me is a bad idea,” I say, circling back to what he never finished saying.
He licks the last bit of cheesecake and then lifts his head. “No doubt, light blue.”
My pounding heart skitters to a halt. My shoulders sag. “You did all this to see what color my bra was?”
“I had to do something.”
“You are such a jerk!” I scramble off his lap, gripping the collar of my robe so it stays tightly closed.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s not like you didn’t enjoy yourself.”
I seethe. “I seriously want to punch you right now. That doesn’t make it okay. You used me, Elliot.”
He has the decency to blanche at that. “I—”
“I don’t care.” I pick up the cheesecake and my coffee. “I don’t want to be around you anymore. Good night.” I storm off into my room, shut and lock the door. I can’t believe what a total ass he was out there. Guys suck.
I settle onto the king-size bed, fluffing a pillow behind my back. I wish I were home, in my own bed, far away from Elliot. I wish I’d never set foot in ZipMeds.
I wish he’d never talked to me.
Looked at me.
Touched me.
Only none of that is really true. My feelings are hurt, but I’ll recover. One thing I’ve learned from my life so far is I always recover.
And guys suck. That bears repeating.
I’m especially mad at Elliot because on top of being the jerkiest jerk, he has now ruined cheesecake for me. I put the plate down on the bedside table. I will never be able to eat it again without thinking about him. His lips. His tongue. The zings of pleasure that spiraled through me while his mouth connected with my skin.
I sink down, kicking the covers so I can crawl underneath them. I tend to lose my head when I’m with him, but that stops right now. He’s my boss, and I’ve learned a lot from him these past weeks. I plan to learn more. I don’t want to rely on anyone for anything, and keeping my job, learning from it, is a big step in the right direction. It’s terrible how good-looking Elliot is, but he’s also wicked smart and willing to teach me rather than simply ordering me around. So, from here on out, that’s where I’ll focus. What happened between us tonight is forgotten.
I take that back. I won’t forget it. He showed me a side of him I don’t like very much. I’ll remember the way my heart stopped when his motives were revealed. I’ve seen him ruthless in business. I should have realized he could be cruel outside of work, too. This shouldn’t have been newfound knowledge.
To my credit, there’s the unfair look of him. His friendliness. Humor. Concern. I can’t forget the way he treated me on the airplane.
Elliot Sax is like a crash course in business and relationships with the opposite sex, and as I try to fall asleep, I puzzle over which will impact me more.