Rock Hard by Nalini Singh
Watching Charlotte move around in his kitchen, her face glowing and her body bubbling with excitement, Gabriel silently thanked the cooks in the family. Especially when Charlotte bent over to check out the lower cupboards and the denim of her jeans stretched over the sweet curves of her ass.
He wanted to groan.
The months of abstinence were starting to show.
Hell, who was he kidding? Charlotte Baird had done this to him since the first day she'd stopped quivering in terror and started glaring at him when he pushed too hard. He was just feeling a little extra Neanderthal today because she was finally in his space--that he'd booby-trapped for her.
His kitchen had been bare as of a month ago. His mom, Isa, and Jake had had a field day when he told them to go wild. Of course, they'd been curious as hell about his sudden desire for supplies, but he'd managed to satisfy them with a little creative misdirection. At least for now. They'd no doubt get suspicious when his new "hobby" failed to eventuate in any actual food. Then again, maybe not.
After all, he did now have an instructor. "Did my family do a good job?"
Face glowing, Charlotte turned to him. "I could go crazy in this kitchen."
Booby trap successfully sprung.
16
In the Lair of the T-Rex
Satisfaction uncurling in his gut, Gabriel said, "I'll give you the door code. Feel free to break in and leave me delicious meals to eat." Having placed all the things they'd bought today within easy reach, he leaned on the central counter and watched her check out the cooktop and oven. The back of her neck caught his eye, made him want to nuzzle a kiss to the delicate skin there, draw her scent into his lungs.
Yes, he was well and truly hooked on Charlotte Baird.
"Didn't your mom teach you how to cook?" she asked absently, opening the oven to look inside.
Distracted by his fantasies of crowding her against the counter, his chest to her back as he cupped her breasts, it took him a few seconds to put his brain in gear. Thankfully, she was too in lust with his appliances to notice.
"Oh, Mom tried," he said, thinking only of the good memories and not the dark; he'd had more than enough of the latter today. "She used to say no boy of hers was going to leave home without knowing how to feed himself." Food was important to his mother, something she never took for granted. Gabriel had long ago guessed that after Brian abandoned them, she'd often gone hungry so he and Sailor could eat.
Willfully slamming the door on those memories, he thought of the years after she met Joseph, had Jake, then Danny. It made him grin. "At one point, she was riding herd on two ravenous teenagers, a ten-year-old, and an eight-year-old, as she tried to drum cooking skills into our heads instead of just eating skills." It had stuck only with Jake.
Charlotte turned with a smile. "You love your mom."
"Yep." As Charlotte came closer, he barely restrained himself from jumping over the counter to devour her. His Ms. Baird had no idea just how sweetly succulent he found her or she'd never have entered his lair. "What about you?"
It was as if someone had switched off the light inside her. "My dad was the cook in the family."
He caught the past tense. "He's gone?"
"They both are," she said quietly.
Gabriel didn't even think about it. Going around the counter, he tugged her into a loose embrace--making sure to move slowly enough so as not to startle her. That she came instead of going stiff soothed the primal craving in his soul, the one that shoved at him to protect her, take care of her, give her what she needed. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she said, staying against him. "My mom was sick for a long time."
He stroked his hand down her back, the delicate lines of her body holding a strength he'd always sensed but wasn't sure she consciously understood. "Cancer?" he asked, his conversation with his mother fresh on his mind.
Charlotte nodded. "I was twelve when she was first diagnosed." It hurt even now, but the pain was an old one, no longer jagged and stabbing. "She beat it at first, but it came back." Like a monster stealthily invading their lives. "I'd just turned eighteen when I kissed her good night one evening and she said 'sleep tight, baby' for the last time." Charlotte and her father had brought Pippa Baird home so she could spend her last days surrounded by the people she loved and the people who loved her.
She'd died in her own bed, held in her husband's arms.
"She wasn't in pain at the end," Charlotte said, her throat thick. That was important to her, that her sweet, strong, loving mother had left the world in peace, free of the debilitating pain that had all but crippled her. "It was as if her body knew it was leaving this earth, so it rallied itself to give her one final week where she felt like herself again."
Swallowing, her eyes gritty, she nonetheless smiled. "We laughed so hard the night before. I can't remember why, but I remember her laugh, the brightness and the life of it."
"She sounds like a strong, amazing woman."
"She was."
Charlotte didn't know why she was telling Gabriel all this. He was her boss. Who'd admitted to flirting with her and in whose kitchen she currently stood... in whose arms she stood. The instant she consciously thought about that, she became aware once again of exactly how big he was--all of it hard muscle and burning heat.
Gabriel was far, far stronger than Richard had ever been, and yet Charlotte wasn't scared. Nervous, a thousand butterflies in her stomach now that she was focusing on his body, but not afraid. At least not at this precise instant when she felt so safe and protected. Right now, she could almost imagine stroking her hands up his chest to his shoulders, rising on tiptoe and kissing her way along the line of that jaw dark with stubble. It'd prickle against her lips, but then she'd reach his mouth and it'd be hot and wet and so good.
Pulse a staccato beat, she pushed away from him before the fantasy led her into making a humiliating mistake. "I'll get the water ready," she said, even though they didn't need it yet.
Releasing her with a final stroke down her back that made her want to whimper and burrow into him, he said, "Even I can boil water," and moved to fill the pot.
It was oddly intimate, watching him do something so unexpectedly domestic. Though of course, he brought that raw sense of contained power and prowling strength with him--it made him appear an intruder here, a dangerous creature playing at being tame. He must, she thought with a stab of pain that shredded the anger she'd tried to foster, really like this woman he wanted to impress. He'd made no such effort with the others.
She knew without asking that there'd be no red roses this time.
Blood leaden, she took the package of dry pasta and put it on the counter beside the cooktop. When Gabriel put the pot full of water on the cooktop, she stopped him from turning it on, her fingers brushing over the solid bones of his wrist.
"We should work on the sauce first since you're new at it." She curled her fingers into her hand, hoarding the lingering warmth of him.
"You mean it doesn't come out of a jar?"
"Behave," she said, not quite able to dig up a smile.
He reached across her back and to the upper cupboards, his arm brushing her shoulder. She wasn't sure if he'd done it deliberately, but when he brushed his arm against her body as he brought a glass down, she knew it was all very much on purpose. For some reason, though he was seriously interested in another woman, he'd decided to continue messing with her.
Her cheeks grew hot, blood pulsing with temper. "There are glasses at the end of the counter."
"Oops, I didn't see," he said and leaned his hip against the granite. "Want something to drink?"
"No." She just wanted this done so she could leave while he no doubt hooked up with his new woman.
Going to the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of water for himself. "Hey, look what I have here. Orange-and-pineapple-juice mix."
"Do you notice everything?" she asked, wanting to stab the tomato she'd picked up to chop.
Pouring her favorite blend of juice into a glass for he
r, he put down the bottle beside his water and said, "When it concerns you, yes."
Charlotte felt her eyes narrow. Enough. She might be shy and tongue-tied when it came to any kind of flirtation, but this wasn't flirtation on Gabriel's part. It was a moment's amusement. Because T-Rexes didn't date mice. They stomped on them on their way to other, sexier pastures.
"Tell me about the woman you want to impress," she said, slicing into the tomato with what she thought was commendable restraint. "Is it the model who called you up for the charity dinner?"
Gabriel considered his answer. He could either continue to mislead Charlotte, or he could tell her the truth. The problem with the latter was that he didn't know if she could handle the pressure of knowing he wanted her and only her. Hell, he'd restrain himself, hold back the full-on and relentless Bishop pursuit until she was more used to him, but she'd still be aware of his interest. It could ratchet up her nerves, make her pull away in panic.
"You don't have to tell me," she said, the blade moving faster. "I'm prying, I'm sorry." The apology was cool.
He smiled slowly at the first sign of real, deep-down temper he'd seen in Charlotte.
"She's exactly your height," he said, having come to one inescapable conclusion after weighing up all the facts: if he didn't tell Charlotte the truth, she'd roadblock him every inch of the way. Unlike many of the women who came on to him, she didn't see him as a trophy to bag and damn any other loyalty he might have. Charlotte Baird took promises seriously.
A startled look, the knife coming to a halt. "Really? I mean, you always date tall women."
"I used to." He tended to feel like a big ox around smaller women, but he'd changed his mind since meeting Charlotte. He was dead certain she could handle him--in bed and out of it. And he definitely wanted to handle her. Every small, perfectly formed part of her. "Then I met a woman with clear hazel eyes and soft blond hair I want to fist in one hand as she straddles my lap and lets me kiss her, my other hand unbuttoning her very sensible white work shirt... or her green cardigan."
Charlotte's breathing was uneven, her head slightly bent as she stared at the cutting board, her fine-boned hand tight on the knife handle.
The same part of Gabriel's brain that allowed him to make multi-million-dollar decisions in split seconds had him continuing when she stayed silent. "I now have all these extremely dirty fantasies of how easy it would be to handle her in bed." Oh, his body liked this line of talk, liked it a hell of a lot. "Though my imagination isn't confined to the bedroom."
Hoping she wouldn't glance at him and see the hard line of his cock pushing against the zipper of his jeans, he kept his distance despite his desire to do the opposite. "The lap fantasy? It doesn't end there. Sometimes," he said, "I pick her up and put her on my desk, shove up her skirt, nudge her black lace panties aside--and they're always black lace in this fantasy--and lick her until she screams my name as she comes against my tongue. Other times--"
"Stop." A breathless order.
"So," he said, wrenching so hard on the reins that his entire body protested the abuse, "you want an onion for this sauce?"
Bracing her hands on the counter after placing the knife very carefully on the cutting board, Charlotte sucked in gulps of air. His eyes, of course, went straight to her chest and to the ripe breasts he wanted to bite and suck and mold with his hands. She'd probably kick him if she learned the erotic dreams he'd had about her taking dictation while dressed only in a black lace bra on her top half, the rest of her as prim and professional as always.
He'd never had office-sex fantasies before, not even once, but now they drove him crazy; night after night, he woke sweat soaked and hard as fucking stone. Charlotte, of course, had the starring role in every single debauched dream produced by his subconscious mind. In some, she was on her knees, but his all-time favorite was the one of her in his lap or on his desk as he drove her to orgasm after orgasm.
Battling a groan and an erection that would not die--how could it with Charlotte so close, her cheeks flushed and lips just slightly parted as she attempted to temper her breathing--he grabbed the packets of seasoning he'd thrown into the cart at the grocery store while Charlotte chose the fresh ingredients. "I didn't know which ones you'd want," he said, "so I got one of most of the ones I thought you'd need."
"Chop the tomatoes." Shoving the board at him, she strode away. "Where's your bathroom?"
"Go upstairs and turn left. First door, then to the right."
It was a measure of her flustered state that she didn't question why there wasn't a bathroom on this floor. Instead, she padded quickly up the spiral staircase and into the master bedroom. He liked that she was up there, in the center of his domain. Taking the chance to grab an ice-cold glass of water in lieu of a cold shower, he managed to get his body under some kind of control.
Then he caught sight of her coming back down, her hand sliding along the polished wooden rail and her curves moving sexily in the jeans that fit snug to her butt. He loved those jeans, loved her friend Molly for talking her into them. He knew about Molly's input because he'd overheard part of Charlotte's conversation with her best friend the first weekend she'd come in wearing them. He'd been about to walk into the break room when he'd heard Charlotte inside, whispering furiously into her phone.
"They're too tight, Molly! I feel naked! I'm going to go to the department store and--"
Molly had clearly broken in then, and whatever she'd said, Charlotte hadn't disappeared off to replace her jeans--which weren't too tight. Nowhere close. They were just right, the boot cut giving her plenty of freedom to move. Thanks to what he'd overheard, Gabriel had known to say absolutely nothing about the disappearance of the two-sizes-too-large jeans she'd worn till then.
When she came in a week later wearing an elegant black jersey dress that caressed her body, he'd said only, "Nice dress, Ms. Baird," and left it at that. Even though that dress made him want to stroke her all over, then push her up against a wall and do things that would make her realize once and for all that he was completely uncivilized under the suits.
He liked it a little rough, sometimes more than a little if he was honest, and that might be a problem with Charlotte, but they'd figure it out. Gabriel had never given up on anything in his life. When obstacles appeared, he found an alternate route. Even if it meant building that route with blunt determination and immutable will.
"Find everything okay?" he asked as her feet touched the floor.
"Yes." The damp tendrils of hair curling against her ears told him she'd thrown water on her face. Her skin would feel cool under his lips, he thought as she folded her arms and said, "Did you finish cutting up the tomatoes?"
He showed her the board. "Did I do it right? I take instruction well."
"No, you don't."
"You're right, I don't." Risking it, he tugged on a wet curl. "But I'll make an exception for you. Tell me what you like."
Charlotte's barely steady heart turned into a jackrabbit in her chest, her mind still hazy from the images he'd implanted earlier. "Wh-what?"
"In your sauce," he said, but Charlotte wasn't an idiot, even if he had left her totally off-kilter with the erotic things he'd said to her.
"Why would you do that?" she blurted out, her usual filters shredded.
"What?" said the big, gorgeous lion next to her.
"Never mind." Taking the onion, she cut off a piece. "Dice this." Then she picked up half a handful of fresh basil leaves, washed them off, and put them next to the chopped tomatoes.
Finishing dicing the onion, he left a neat pile on one side of the board. "Tell me, Ms. Baird."
Oh God, how had she gotten herself into this?
Charlotte's throat was suddenly bone-dry. Grabbing the glass of juice he'd poured, she took a long drink. And remembered what Molly had said to her back when Gabriel had first entered her life.
Be brave.
Charlotte had said the same back to Molly, and now her best friend was living a Technicolor life full
of adventure, love, and passionate happiness. It was a future neither one of them could've predicted.
Being brave had its rewards.
That thought in mind, Charlotte spoke her question before she could talk herself out of it. "What you said, about the desk. Why would you do that?"
Gabriel stilled. "Because having you come against my mouth would be the biggest fucking turn-on."
17
Private Games with a T-Rex
Charlotte put down the glass, her fingers trembling.
"No," she said, fighting her damn throat-choking shyness to get the words out, "I mean, there's nothing in it for you."
Charlotte knew about oral sex, knew men liked to do it sometimes, but she wasn't one of those pouting, sensual creatures who could bring the male sex to their knees. Richard had liked her at the start, and he'd had zero interest in it. Gabriel was about a thousand times more masculine than Richard, a million times sexier. Women probably went to their knees in front of him at the snap of his fingers.
She hated that image, hated it so much that she erased it from her mind with a vicious mental swipe.
"I'm not that altruistic, Ms. Baird, you know that." He played with a loose tendril of her hair again, twining it around his finger, then releasing it. "I always get something."
Swallowing, Charlotte looked up to meet his eyes, lost her breath at the dark intensity of his focus. "Wh...what"--she coughed in an effort to clear her throat--"would you get out of that?"
A slow smile that made her stomach tie itself into knots so tangled, she wasn't sure they would ever unravel. "Well," he said, shifting closer and backing her up until her spine hit the opposite counter, "quite aside from having feasted on the delicious taste of you, I'd have you all wet and limp on my desk with your skirt hiked up to your waist." He pressed closer, his erection thrusting against her abdomen. "It'd take me a second to unzip myself and--"
Charlotte was okay. She was fine. She was dealing with him, being aroused by him, and then without warning, her rational mind just shut down. Panic blinded her in a slapping wave, freezing her into place.
Gabriel saw the change in Charlotte, felt it. She'd been a bundle of nerves before, but she'd also been a willing participant in their private game, her skin dewy and her lips parted. Now she was stiff and brittle enough to break. Backing off at once, he put plenty of distance between them and, because he was so fucking angry at the bastard who'd hurt her, picked up the knife and diced the damn tomatoes into mush.
He wanted to groan.
The months of abstinence were starting to show.
Hell, who was he kidding? Charlotte Baird had done this to him since the first day she'd stopped quivering in terror and started glaring at him when he pushed too hard. He was just feeling a little extra Neanderthal today because she was finally in his space--that he'd booby-trapped for her.
His kitchen had been bare as of a month ago. His mom, Isa, and Jake had had a field day when he told them to go wild. Of course, they'd been curious as hell about his sudden desire for supplies, but he'd managed to satisfy them with a little creative misdirection. At least for now. They'd no doubt get suspicious when his new "hobby" failed to eventuate in any actual food. Then again, maybe not.
After all, he did now have an instructor. "Did my family do a good job?"
Face glowing, Charlotte turned to him. "I could go crazy in this kitchen."
Booby trap successfully sprung.
16
In the Lair of the T-Rex
Satisfaction uncurling in his gut, Gabriel said, "I'll give you the door code. Feel free to break in and leave me delicious meals to eat." Having placed all the things they'd bought today within easy reach, he leaned on the central counter and watched her check out the cooktop and oven. The back of her neck caught his eye, made him want to nuzzle a kiss to the delicate skin there, draw her scent into his lungs.
Yes, he was well and truly hooked on Charlotte Baird.
"Didn't your mom teach you how to cook?" she asked absently, opening the oven to look inside.
Distracted by his fantasies of crowding her against the counter, his chest to her back as he cupped her breasts, it took him a few seconds to put his brain in gear. Thankfully, she was too in lust with his appliances to notice.
"Oh, Mom tried," he said, thinking only of the good memories and not the dark; he'd had more than enough of the latter today. "She used to say no boy of hers was going to leave home without knowing how to feed himself." Food was important to his mother, something she never took for granted. Gabriel had long ago guessed that after Brian abandoned them, she'd often gone hungry so he and Sailor could eat.
Willfully slamming the door on those memories, he thought of the years after she met Joseph, had Jake, then Danny. It made him grin. "At one point, she was riding herd on two ravenous teenagers, a ten-year-old, and an eight-year-old, as she tried to drum cooking skills into our heads instead of just eating skills." It had stuck only with Jake.
Charlotte turned with a smile. "You love your mom."
"Yep." As Charlotte came closer, he barely restrained himself from jumping over the counter to devour her. His Ms. Baird had no idea just how sweetly succulent he found her or she'd never have entered his lair. "What about you?"
It was as if someone had switched off the light inside her. "My dad was the cook in the family."
He caught the past tense. "He's gone?"
"They both are," she said quietly.
Gabriel didn't even think about it. Going around the counter, he tugged her into a loose embrace--making sure to move slowly enough so as not to startle her. That she came instead of going stiff soothed the primal craving in his soul, the one that shoved at him to protect her, take care of her, give her what she needed. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she said, staying against him. "My mom was sick for a long time."
He stroked his hand down her back, the delicate lines of her body holding a strength he'd always sensed but wasn't sure she consciously understood. "Cancer?" he asked, his conversation with his mother fresh on his mind.
Charlotte nodded. "I was twelve when she was first diagnosed." It hurt even now, but the pain was an old one, no longer jagged and stabbing. "She beat it at first, but it came back." Like a monster stealthily invading their lives. "I'd just turned eighteen when I kissed her good night one evening and she said 'sleep tight, baby' for the last time." Charlotte and her father had brought Pippa Baird home so she could spend her last days surrounded by the people she loved and the people who loved her.
She'd died in her own bed, held in her husband's arms.
"She wasn't in pain at the end," Charlotte said, her throat thick. That was important to her, that her sweet, strong, loving mother had left the world in peace, free of the debilitating pain that had all but crippled her. "It was as if her body knew it was leaving this earth, so it rallied itself to give her one final week where she felt like herself again."
Swallowing, her eyes gritty, she nonetheless smiled. "We laughed so hard the night before. I can't remember why, but I remember her laugh, the brightness and the life of it."
"She sounds like a strong, amazing woman."
"She was."
Charlotte didn't know why she was telling Gabriel all this. He was her boss. Who'd admitted to flirting with her and in whose kitchen she currently stood... in whose arms she stood. The instant she consciously thought about that, she became aware once again of exactly how big he was--all of it hard muscle and burning heat.
Gabriel was far, far stronger than Richard had ever been, and yet Charlotte wasn't scared. Nervous, a thousand butterflies in her stomach now that she was focusing on his body, but not afraid. At least not at this precise instant when she felt so safe and protected. Right now, she could almost imagine stroking her hands up his chest to his shoulders, rising on tiptoe and kissing her way along the line of that jaw dark with stubble. It'd prickle against her lips, but then she'd reach his mouth and it'd be hot and wet and so good.
Pulse a staccato beat, she pushed away from him before the fantasy led her into making a humiliating mistake. "I'll get the water ready," she said, even though they didn't need it yet.
Releasing her with a final stroke down her back that made her want to whimper and burrow into him, he said, "Even I can boil water," and moved to fill the pot.
It was oddly intimate, watching him do something so unexpectedly domestic. Though of course, he brought that raw sense of contained power and prowling strength with him--it made him appear an intruder here, a dangerous creature playing at being tame. He must, she thought with a stab of pain that shredded the anger she'd tried to foster, really like this woman he wanted to impress. He'd made no such effort with the others.
She knew without asking that there'd be no red roses this time.
Blood leaden, she took the package of dry pasta and put it on the counter beside the cooktop. When Gabriel put the pot full of water on the cooktop, she stopped him from turning it on, her fingers brushing over the solid bones of his wrist.
"We should work on the sauce first since you're new at it." She curled her fingers into her hand, hoarding the lingering warmth of him.
"You mean it doesn't come out of a jar?"
"Behave," she said, not quite able to dig up a smile.
He reached across her back and to the upper cupboards, his arm brushing her shoulder. She wasn't sure if he'd done it deliberately, but when he brushed his arm against her body as he brought a glass down, she knew it was all very much on purpose. For some reason, though he was seriously interested in another woman, he'd decided to continue messing with her.
Her cheeks grew hot, blood pulsing with temper. "There are glasses at the end of the counter."
"Oops, I didn't see," he said and leaned his hip against the granite. "Want something to drink?"
"No." She just wanted this done so she could leave while he no doubt hooked up with his new woman.
Going to the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of water for himself. "Hey, look what I have here. Orange-and-pineapple-juice mix."
"Do you notice everything?" she asked, wanting to stab the tomato she'd picked up to chop.
Pouring her favorite blend of juice into a glass for he
Charlotte felt her eyes narrow. Enough. She might be shy and tongue-tied when it came to any kind of flirtation, but this wasn't flirtation on Gabriel's part. It was a moment's amusement. Because T-Rexes didn't date mice. They stomped on them on their way to other, sexier pastures.
"Tell me about the woman you want to impress," she said, slicing into the tomato with what she thought was commendable restraint. "Is it the model who called you up for the charity dinner?"
Gabriel considered his answer. He could either continue to mislead Charlotte, or he could tell her the truth. The problem with the latter was that he didn't know if she could handle the pressure of knowing he wanted her and only her. Hell, he'd restrain himself, hold back the full-on and relentless Bishop pursuit until she was more used to him, but she'd still be aware of his interest. It could ratchet up her nerves, make her pull away in panic.
"You don't have to tell me," she said, the blade moving faster. "I'm prying, I'm sorry." The apology was cool.
He smiled slowly at the first sign of real, deep-down temper he'd seen in Charlotte.
"She's exactly your height," he said, having come to one inescapable conclusion after weighing up all the facts: if he didn't tell Charlotte the truth, she'd roadblock him every inch of the way. Unlike many of the women who came on to him, she didn't see him as a trophy to bag and damn any other loyalty he might have. Charlotte Baird took promises seriously.
A startled look, the knife coming to a halt. "Really? I mean, you always date tall women."
"I used to." He tended to feel like a big ox around smaller women, but he'd changed his mind since meeting Charlotte. He was dead certain she could handle him--in bed and out of it. And he definitely wanted to handle her. Every small, perfectly formed part of her. "Then I met a woman with clear hazel eyes and soft blond hair I want to fist in one hand as she straddles my lap and lets me kiss her, my other hand unbuttoning her very sensible white work shirt... or her green cardigan."
Charlotte's breathing was uneven, her head slightly bent as she stared at the cutting board, her fine-boned hand tight on the knife handle.
The same part of Gabriel's brain that allowed him to make multi-million-dollar decisions in split seconds had him continuing when she stayed silent. "I now have all these extremely dirty fantasies of how easy it would be to handle her in bed." Oh, his body liked this line of talk, liked it a hell of a lot. "Though my imagination isn't confined to the bedroom."
Hoping she wouldn't glance at him and see the hard line of his cock pushing against the zipper of his jeans, he kept his distance despite his desire to do the opposite. "The lap fantasy? It doesn't end there. Sometimes," he said, "I pick her up and put her on my desk, shove up her skirt, nudge her black lace panties aside--and they're always black lace in this fantasy--and lick her until she screams my name as she comes against my tongue. Other times--"
"Stop." A breathless order.
"So," he said, wrenching so hard on the reins that his entire body protested the abuse, "you want an onion for this sauce?"
Bracing her hands on the counter after placing the knife very carefully on the cutting board, Charlotte sucked in gulps of air. His eyes, of course, went straight to her chest and to the ripe breasts he wanted to bite and suck and mold with his hands. She'd probably kick him if she learned the erotic dreams he'd had about her taking dictation while dressed only in a black lace bra on her top half, the rest of her as prim and professional as always.
He'd never had office-sex fantasies before, not even once, but now they drove him crazy; night after night, he woke sweat soaked and hard as fucking stone. Charlotte, of course, had the starring role in every single debauched dream produced by his subconscious mind. In some, she was on her knees, but his all-time favorite was the one of her in his lap or on his desk as he drove her to orgasm after orgasm.
Battling a groan and an erection that would not die--how could it with Charlotte so close, her cheeks flushed and lips just slightly parted as she attempted to temper her breathing--he grabbed the packets of seasoning he'd thrown into the cart at the grocery store while Charlotte chose the fresh ingredients. "I didn't know which ones you'd want," he said, "so I got one of most of the ones I thought you'd need."
"Chop the tomatoes." Shoving the board at him, she strode away. "Where's your bathroom?"
"Go upstairs and turn left. First door, then to the right."
It was a measure of her flustered state that she didn't question why there wasn't a bathroom on this floor. Instead, she padded quickly up the spiral staircase and into the master bedroom. He liked that she was up there, in the center of his domain. Taking the chance to grab an ice-cold glass of water in lieu of a cold shower, he managed to get his body under some kind of control.
Then he caught sight of her coming back down, her hand sliding along the polished wooden rail and her curves moving sexily in the jeans that fit snug to her butt. He loved those jeans, loved her friend Molly for talking her into them. He knew about Molly's input because he'd overheard part of Charlotte's conversation with her best friend the first weekend she'd come in wearing them. He'd been about to walk into the break room when he'd heard Charlotte inside, whispering furiously into her phone.
"They're too tight, Molly! I feel naked! I'm going to go to the department store and--"
Molly had clearly broken in then, and whatever she'd said, Charlotte hadn't disappeared off to replace her jeans--which weren't too tight. Nowhere close. They were just right, the boot cut giving her plenty of freedom to move. Thanks to what he'd overheard, Gabriel had known to say absolutely nothing about the disappearance of the two-sizes-too-large jeans she'd worn till then.
When she came in a week later wearing an elegant black jersey dress that caressed her body, he'd said only, "Nice dress, Ms. Baird," and left it at that. Even though that dress made him want to stroke her all over, then push her up against a wall and do things that would make her realize once and for all that he was completely uncivilized under the suits.
He liked it a little rough, sometimes more than a little if he was honest, and that might be a problem with Charlotte, but they'd figure it out. Gabriel had never given up on anything in his life. When obstacles appeared, he found an alternate route. Even if it meant building that route with blunt determination and immutable will.
"Find everything okay?" he asked as her feet touched the floor.
"Yes." The damp tendrils of hair curling against her ears told him she'd thrown water on her face. Her skin would feel cool under his lips, he thought as she folded her arms and said, "Did you finish cutting up the tomatoes?"
He showed her the board. "Did I do it right? I take instruction well."
"No, you don't."
"You're right, I don't." Risking it, he tugged on a wet curl. "But I'll make an exception for you. Tell me what you like."
Charlotte's barely steady heart turned into a jackrabbit in her chest, her mind still hazy from the images he'd implanted earlier. "Wh-what?"
"In your sauce," he said, but Charlotte wasn't an idiot, even if he had left her totally off-kilter with the erotic things he'd said to her.
"Why would you do that?" she blurted out, her usual filters shredded.
"What?" said the big, gorgeous lion next to her.
"Never mind." Taking the onion, she cut off a piece. "Dice this." Then she picked up half a handful of fresh basil leaves, washed them off, and put them next to the chopped tomatoes.
Finishing dicing the onion, he left a neat pile on one side of the board. "Tell me, Ms. Baird."
Oh God, how had she gotten herself into this?
Charlotte's throat was suddenly bone-dry. Grabbing the glass of juice he'd poured, she took a long drink. And remembered what Molly had said to her back when Gabriel had first entered her life.
Be brave.
Charlotte had said the same back to Molly, and now her best friend was living a Technicolor life full
Being brave had its rewards.
That thought in mind, Charlotte spoke her question before she could talk herself out of it. "What you said, about the desk. Why would you do that?"
Gabriel stilled. "Because having you come against my mouth would be the biggest fucking turn-on."
17
Private Games with a T-Rex
Charlotte put down the glass, her fingers trembling.
"No," she said, fighting her damn throat-choking shyness to get the words out, "I mean, there's nothing in it for you."
Charlotte knew about oral sex, knew men liked to do it sometimes, but she wasn't one of those pouting, sensual creatures who could bring the male sex to their knees. Richard had liked her at the start, and he'd had zero interest in it. Gabriel was about a thousand times more masculine than Richard, a million times sexier. Women probably went to their knees in front of him at the snap of his fingers.
She hated that image, hated it so much that she erased it from her mind with a vicious mental swipe.
"I'm not that altruistic, Ms. Baird, you know that." He played with a loose tendril of her hair again, twining it around his finger, then releasing it. "I always get something."
Swallowing, Charlotte looked up to meet his eyes, lost her breath at the dark intensity of his focus. "Wh...what"--she coughed in an effort to clear her throat--"would you get out of that?"
A slow smile that made her stomach tie itself into knots so tangled, she wasn't sure they would ever unravel. "Well," he said, shifting closer and backing her up until her spine hit the opposite counter, "quite aside from having feasted on the delicious taste of you, I'd have you all wet and limp on my desk with your skirt hiked up to your waist." He pressed closer, his erection thrusting against her abdomen. "It'd take me a second to unzip myself and--"
Charlotte was okay. She was fine. She was dealing with him, being aroused by him, and then without warning, her rational mind just shut down. Panic blinded her in a slapping wave, freezing her into place.
Gabriel saw the change in Charlotte, felt it. She'd been a bundle of nerves before, but she'd also been a willing participant in their private game, her skin dewy and her lips parted. Now she was stiff and brittle enough to break. Backing off at once, he put plenty of distance between them and, because he was so fucking angry at the bastard who'd hurt her, picked up the knife and diced the damn tomatoes into mush.