Darkest Ecstasy (6 page)

Oh buddy, you have no idea.
“Did you tell Angela that you would work with her on the brochures?”

“No.”

“She sure thinks you did.”

“Yes, I see that.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, messing it a bit. It looked better messy, which irritated Michelle even more. “But I'm telling the truth, we didn't discuss work on Friday.”

Either he was lying or he was telling the truth and Angela had found out about his promise to come down somehow. Which meant they'd spent their time together discussing... other stuff. Personal stuff. Or maybe they didn't talk at all. Maybe he kissed Angela like he'd kissed her. And maybe he didn't stop there.

Michelle's insides knotted. She swallowed hard, trying to force down the big lump congealing in her throat. It didn't work.

His expression darkened as he shifted closer. “Are you all right?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Swiftly, and with no warning, he jumped up, caught her by both arms, and pulled her against him. His gaze wandered over her face as his brows pinched together. “What's wrong?”

This time she took a deep breath in, and with more force, she pushed it out, blurting the word, “Nothing,” as she exhaled.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm fine.” Becoming increasingly aware of how close his big, hard body was to hers, she raised her shoulders, trying to pull her arms free. If he knew what she was trying to do, he didn't cooperate.

“Are you sure? You're breathing very fast.”

His proximity sure wasn't helping that.

“I'm sure,” she said, tugging on her arms again. “Please, just let me go.”

At last he released her. And she was sad he did it. Sad but also relieved. She hated how mixed up and confused she became around this man. Absolutely despised it. “Now, let's get back to business.” She tried to put a little force behind that sentence. She failed.

“What's wrong?” he asked, still standing much too close.

She sat, which at least put a little more space between her body and his. “Can we just get back to our discussion? I have other appointments.”

His gaze sharpened. “I really screwed things up with you and your friend—”

“I told you, I don't give a damn about your personal life. It's your business, not mine. Now please”—she motioned to his chair—“sit down so we can discuss your brochure.”

Instead of sitting, he placed a flattened hand on the table next to her and angled himself over her. “Why does that pretty face of yours get so tight every time I mention her name?” Grabbing her arms yet again, he jerked her to her feet. “And why do you pout those lips for me when I pull you near? Why?”

“I don't pout anything for you. Wow,” she said as she flattened her hands against his chest and gave him a hard shove. “Are you so egotistical that you think every woman is dying to be your next conquest?”

“I don't think that. But I do believe you want to sleep with me.”

She snorted. “That's ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

She glared at him, and he slanted challenging eyes back at her. She stood frozen in place, her gaze locked to his, and fought to breathe. She was angry. Confused. And . . . alive. So alive. More alive than she'd ever felt before. Electric currents zoomed through her body at the speed of light. Zaps and tingles and buzzing heat pulsed up and down along her spine, down her limbs. When she saw his gaze flick to her mouth, her heart started thumping against her breastbone.

He wouldn't kiss her here. Not in the office. Not now.

He yanked her against him and slanted his mouth over hers, and a tsunami of erotic heat slammed through her. She trembled as his lips claimed hers, and for a tiny fraction of a moment she forgot where she was. But when a distant phone's ring reached her ears, her common sense kicked in. And once that happened, desire turned to anger. White-hot and fiery. Her entire body stiffened as that rage charged through her. She was able to break the kiss. Her right arm arched up, her target set. But before her hand made contact with his cheek, a steel-like fist clamped around it and jerked it behind her back.

She was so furious tears burned her eyes. She blinked. “You bastard, what are you trying to do? Get me fired?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what the hell?”

“I'm . . .” As he stared into her eyes, his expression shifted from one unreadable emotion to another. At last he released her and stepped back. “I don't know what my problem is today.”

“Yes, well, all I can say is, you need to keep your hands to yourself if you don't want to be arrested. This isn't your ‘private club'.” She made air quotes.

“What did Angela say about my private club?”

“Nothing. But I figure if there is such a club, it would be the same as any nightclub I've been to, where that kind of thing isn't going to get you arrested.”

He didn't respond immediately. “Yes. To some extent, I suppose that's true.”

“Anyway,” she said, moving farther away from him so that she could focus more on getting to business and less on how hot he made her when he kissed her, or how incredibly thrilling it had been when he'd pinned her hand behind her back. “I have work to do. Since you can't seem to focus on business with me, I guess I'll turn your project over to Angela. I'll tell her you're ready for her.” Taking the long way to the door, circling the large conference table, to avoid getting within reaching distance of Tage, she made her way toward the exit.

Tage blocked her. “Would it be a problem if I insisted on working with you?”

“Yes,” she stated as she shoved past him. “It would.” Extremely aware of his gaze on her back, she yanked open the door and scurried out of the conference room.

She'd just walked away from a potential contract. Not because she was afraid of Angela, but because she was afraid of working with Tage.

That man was trouble. The more she distanced herself from him, the better.

Praying Angela couldn't tell how shaken she was, she waved her toward the conference room. Then she made a beeline for the bathroom to get herself collected.

W
hat the hell was that? Seriously, what the hell?

As confused as fuck about his behavior earlier, with Michelle, Talen stuffed his cell phone into his pocket and fisted his keys. It was almost seven. During his brief meeting with Angela, she had confirmed Michelle usually went home at about seven. He was hoping she'd told him the truth.

Somewhat anxious, he locked up his office and headed down the hall to the elevator. He checked his phone for messages while waiting for the elevator to make the slow climb from the ground floor.

One message. From his brother Malek.

The bell chimed, and the door rumbled open. The car was empty. He stepped inside, hit the button for the ground floor, and clicked through his text messages while he waited for the elevator to make its descent.

The bars on his phone grayed out. Damn elevator. He couldn't get decent reception in there. The car lurched, bounced. It was rough, slow, and jerky. Someone needed to call maintenance.

It stopped on the sixth floor.

That was her floor.

There was no possible way he'd get so lucky as to have caught Michelle at the precise moment she was leaving. Could he? The doors rolled open, and Angela stood there, smiling, as if she had planned everything.

Wrong girl.

No, right.

“Hi,” she said, full lips curled into a wide smile.

“Hello.” He motioned to the panel of buttons in front of him. “Going down to the parking garage?”

“Yes. I'm done for the day.” She flattened a hand over her stomach. “I was thinking about trying that new place down the street, Durmark's. I heard it was good. Would you like to join me?”

He really wasn't in the mood for company tonight, although he wouldn't have minded receiving an invitation from someone else. A very specific someone else. “Thank you for the invitation, but I have plans.”

“Spoken like a true diplomat.” She sighed and stepped closer. Now she was near enough for him to smell her cologne, to feel the heat of her skin. “Tell me, have I said or done something wrong? Or is it Michelle that has you so tight?”

“You've done nothing wrong.”

“Then it's Michelle?” She shuffled a tiny bit closer yet, and he felt himself leaning away. “What's the matter? Maybe I can talk to her. We're not the closest of friends, but I've been going out of my way to help her at work. She's still pretty new to the company.”

“That's very nice of you to offer, but no thanks. Has she left the office yet?”

“Oh yes. She left earlier than usual tonight.” She checked her watch. “At least a half hour ago.”

“Ah.”

Her smile faded slightly. “How about a rain check? I'll take you out to dinner tomorrow, and we can discuss your campaign.”

“A rain check sounds good.”

“Good.” Her grin was back up to full wattage as the car bounced to a stop on the parking level. “Well, I guess we'll talk later. I'll pull together some numbers and get them to you ASAP.”

“Thanks,” he said as he watched the doors open. He motioned her to precede him out into the lower level lobby.

She turned to look over her shoulder as she sauntered toward the exit. “You won't regret going with me. I promise.”

“I'm sure I won't.”

Angela stopped directly in front of the door and turned to face him, eyes lifted to his. Talen could tell she was waiting for him to do something, kiss her perhaps. But he couldn't do it. He didn't want to. He just gave her a nod and pulled open the door, standing aside to let her pass through first.

She tossed a stunning smile over her shoulder at him as she stepped through the open doorway. “Talk to you soon.”

“Yes, soon.” He had taken several steps toward his car when he heard her clear her throat behind him.

Swiveling, he turned. This one was far too aggressive. He didn't like aggressive women.

“A couple of times a week, Michelle grabs dinner over at her favorite restaurant. I think someone she knows owns it. The place is called Noodles. It's just down the street.”

“I've heard of it. Thanks,” he lied as he took longer, swifter strides toward his car.

“Have a nice night,” she called out.

“You, too.” He ducked into his car, poked the ignition button, and while the engine kicked to life, he looked up the restaurant on his phone.

It was less than a quarter of a mile away.

He pulled into the parking lot within minutes, despite the heavy rush-hour traffic. Hoping he would catch her before she left, he headed inside the modest family restaurant.

The interior was slightly tired. It wasn't the kind of place he would normally go for a meal. But the smells were mouthwatering.

Standing just inside the door, he scanned the open dining space, looking for her.

There. The back table. She was sitting with someone. A man.

She glanced his way, and suddenly he felt out of place. What the hell was he doing here?

Their gazes met, and his mouth went dry. Her eyes widened, as if she was shocked to see him. He couldn't blame her for being surprised. Now that he was standing here, staring at her as she was having dinner with another man, he couldn't believe he'd chased after her like this, either.

She lifted a hand, a small, polite wave, and after he returned it, she turned her attention back to the guy sitting across from her.

“How many?” a girl wearing a ponytail and a black uniform shirt asked as she bounced up to him.

“One,” he said. He might as well eat. It was the only way to not look like a fucking stalker, he reasoned.

“Follow me.” The girl led him to the table directly behind Michelle's. “Is this table okay?” she asked as she set a menu on the table.

“It's fine. Thank you.” He sat in the bench facing Michelle and tried to pretend he wasn't watching her. As he was giving his drink order to the waiting hostess, he noticed the man who had been sitting with her stood up. He was wearing a black uniform shirt, too. As the guy stood, he glanced over his shoulder—at him.

“I'll be back in a few with your drink.” The hostess scurried off.

Trying hard not to stare at Michelle, Talen checked out the rest of the restaurant, the long counter with a couple of patrons chatting quietly, the young couple at the table on the other side of the room, the family sitting by the entry, their baby propped in a wooden highchair, arms flailing.

He tried not to stare. He really did. But somehow his gaze ended up back on Michelle anyway.

She was watching him.

She thinks I followed her. Which I did. I'm not fooling anyone.

Ready to confess the truth, he went up to her table and jerked his head toward the now empty seat. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Her brows scrunched together. “I guess it's okay.” It wasn't an enthusiastic invitation, but it wasn't a get-lost-asshole, either.

He lifted an index finger, returned to his table, grabbed his menu, and finally took his seat across from her.

Now, this was better.

Her eyes hardened. “How did you find me here? Did you . . . follow me?”

“Not exactly. Your friend Angela told me you come here on Monday nights for dinner.”

“So, you did come here looking for me. Why?” she snapped.

“I owe you an apology.”

Her lips thinned slightly.

He continued, “What I did earlier today was unprofessional.”

“I appreciate the apology.” Her voice was a little short, her tone slightly clipped. The sound, and the way she was looking at him, made something tug inside him. It was the strangest feeling. Not a whole lot different from how he felt with Lei sometimes. He didn't like it.

“And I appreciate your ability to forgive me,” he said.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he felt another surge of emotion buzz through him. What was that feeling? Why did he feel it with this woman? What was it about her that made him think about her, dream about her?

She jerked her gaze down to stare at her plate, which still remained mostly full. “The food here is really good. I recommend the fried chicken.”

“Thanks, I'll try it.” Needing a little break from the tension between them, he searched the restaurant for a waitress. The only waitress he saw was standing next to the counter, talking to the man who had been sitting with Michelle. “Is he a friend of yours?” He indicated the guy with a tip of his head.

“Yes. A friend.”

“Then I'm not interrupting anything?”

“No, it's nothing like that. We're friends. Only friends.” She flicked her gaze toward the subject of their conversation. “Carter used to be engaged to my sister.”

“I see.” He saw no reason to ask why she'd said that in past tense. “You have a sister?”

“I . . .” She bit her lip. “Kathleen died last year.”

Damn. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. You couldn't know.”

Another wave of emotion washed through him, and suddenly he felt the urge to pull the sweet, strong, sexy little woman sitting across from him into his arms and hold her. Thankfully, the waitress chose that moment to approach the table. She looked at Michelle first, then him.

“Will you be joining Michelle for dinner?” she asked him.

He looked askance at Michelle.

“Sure,” Michelle said, sounding a little tense.

“Michelle told me your fried chicken is very good. I'll take that, please.”

“Okay. Salad?” the waitress asked.

“Sure. Blue cheese dressing.”

“I'll put a rush on your order.” She hurried off.

Michelle poked at the food on her plate. She definitely looked stressed. Talen figured it was probably because of him. Clearly the apology wasn't enough. Or perhaps it was something else.

“If you'd rather I go back to my own table, I will,” he offered.

“No, it's okay. Really.” She lifted her eyes to his, and he couldn't help staring into them. They were a dark, cool blue, the shade of deep ocean water. “I don't like being rude, but . . .” She sighed. “I'd sure like to understand what you are doing.”

“Doing?”

“You're playing this weird game with me, and I don't like it.”

Ah, the truth was finally coming out. “I'm sorry. If it seems I'm playing a game, it's not intentional.”

“Then why are you so hot and cold? One minute you're kissing me”—her gaze flicked to the side, and he followed the direction of her glance—“and the next . . .”

The waitress was heading their way, a bowl in her hands. She set the salad in front of him and asked if there was anything else.

“No, this is fine. Thank you,” he said. Then, when she was out of earshot again, he leaned forward and said softly, “I won't offer any excuses for my behavior. I've been an asshole.” Looking into those gorgeous eyes, he felt something happening inside, unspoken words pushing to get out. He tried to swallow them down, but they kept surging to the surface again.
I don't know what I'm doing, what I'm thinking or feeling. When I'm around you, something inside clicks, and these urges surge through me. To touch you. To kiss you.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, her lips parted, forming a small
O
. But she didn't speak. She simply sat there and stared at him. The longer she stared, the harder it became for him to inhale.

“I swear I've never been such an asshole before,” he whispered.

That confession earned him a tiny semi-smile, and instantly, he was breathing easier.

“Maybe I'm being a little bit of a bitch, too.”

“No, you aren't.”

One of her brows lifted. “I shouldn't argue with you on that point, I suppose. Okay. I've been a saint, and you've been an absolute bastard.”

His heart suddenly felt a hundred times lighter. “Good. Now that we've settled that, I hope you'll be able to eat.” He plunged his fork into his salad, lifted it, and filled his mouth with lettuce and blue cheese dressing.

 

This guy was either a total nutcase or . . . what?
He's gotta be a nutcase.

Just her luck, she had a soft spot for crazy guys. Case in point, the one man she had ever had a serious relationship with. The man who had broken her heart less than a month before her sister had died.

There were some similarities between Greg and Tage. She didn't know Tage well at all, but already she could see a few traits they shared in common. But one thing Greg had never been able to do was deliver what appeared to be a genuine, heartfelt apology. Nor had he ever been able to confess to any of his (many) faults. Not even when they were glaring in broad daylight. There were always excuses, explanations.

Maybe that was why she felt this little tug in her heart now, as she sat there watching Tage eat salad like he hadn't eaten a meal in weeks. He barely seemed to be chewing. He was able to admit his faults. And he could apologize.

But she was terrified.

Not only did he confuse her with his on-and-off, hot-and-cold game he was playing. But he was also way out of her league in the looks department. And he was miles ahead of her in the experience department, she guessed from his confidence. Would he turn around and dump her the minute she let her guard down?

Would he find someone else, someone prettier, someone who wasn't so freaking awkward around him? Like Angela.

Would he change into an egotistical asshole once he thought he had her? Given some time, would Tage fall into the same trap, of rambling off excuses for his mistakes?

Why me?
she asked herself.

As she poked at her salad, her thoughts wandered. When they'd been alone in his car, things had been going so well. The way he touched her, kissed her. She could melt right there and then, just thinking about it. But then he'd abruptly cut things off, rattled out an excuse, and practically run away... only to go to a club and hook up with someone else. Why?