Impulses (2 page)

Within thirty seconds the doors to the elevator glide open. Its interior is just as exquisite as the main lobby. With its black and gold marble walls, gold trimming, two brass railings along the left and right side of the car and a full-length mirror on the back wall.

Grasping my hands together, I take a deep breath in and twirl
my silver amethyst ring around and around my middle finger of my right hand, as I do when I am anxious. But I endeavor to remember one thing: I am an educated young woman, who
is
confident. I just need to be given a chance––a chance to be a part of a meaningful work place. With that going around in my mind, I enter the elevator, and press the button for the twenty-first floor.

The doors ping open just as I finish straightening out my blouse, and clipping a tendril that had escaped for my hairpin.
I will be fine, I will be confident.
Repeating my mantra, I read the law-firm sign that sits comfortably on the wall opposite me. A black marble plaque, with Wentworth and Associates Law-Firm engraved very elegantly in gold. Double, frosted glass doors within a walnut finish frame are at the side of it. Steadying my increasingly shaking hands, I push open one of the double doors.

“Samantha Kennedy?” an assertive, high pitched voice calls out my name as I make my way to yet another desk with the firm’s name engraved upon it. The walnut wooden finish makes it both professional and elegant.

“Yes, Good morning,” I murmur, hesitating as I prepare to be scolded for my lack of punctuality.

“We have been expecting you, if you take a seat, someone will be out to see you in a moment.” She offers a small, brief smile before tucking her sun-kissed blond, shoulder-length hair behind her left ear, and then resumes performing her morning duties.

The reception area is quite remarkable. Two black leather couches set out in a letter L shape spanning across the two walls, a beautifully carved, walnut coffee table in front of them and highly polished, dark wood flooring.

I graciously lower myself into the inviting leather couch, and place my purse beside me. The material is soft and cold beneath my skin as I perch myself on the edge. I take a moment to observe my surroundings. Discovering various framed photographs on the back wall of the area, I push myself free of the cold leather sofa, and make my way over to inspect them with my heels clicking hollowly along the flooring as I approach.

They must be pictures of the lawyers here at the firm.

One is in his mid-fifties with receding black hair, a hint of grey dusted around his temples. A photograph of another man is hanging diagonally above. He’s elderly, wearing thick plastic, tortoiseshell, rimmed glasses and looks intimidating. I highly doubt he is one to be messed with in the courtroom. But the one that seizes my undivided attention is quite young, maybe very early thirties. I’m powerless to pull my gaze away; he has me hypnotized with those deep brown eyes, that silken, dark brown hair, a single lock hanging appealingly over his brow. He is drop-dead gorgeous.

If only I bumped into him last night, buzz cut wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“I’m sorry for being a little late this morning. It’s a vast building you have here.” I feebly attempt to make conversation with the woman behind reception, all the while still gazing into those enthralling eyes that have enraptured me, rendering me weak and helpless.

“Please, don’t apologize, Miss Kennedy.”

I’m startled by a seductively deep, masculine voice from behind. I turn abruptly, feeling as though I have been caught doing something forbidden.
It’s not like you have been caught with your panties down, Sam. Well actually, you wouldn’t mind him pulling your panties down
. My subconscious has just made this experience very awkward indeed, but damn, she’s spot on.

My breath catches. I stand face-to-face with, Mr. Hypnotic.

Dark brown eyes staring down at me with a minor grin dancing across his profile, making the left side of his perfectly sculpted mouth rise. His jawline is strong, chiseled and his hair, shiny and dark like melted, plain chocolate with light caramel tones laced through. He has it pushed aside to accommodate his off-center parting.

Pick your jaw up off the floor, Samantha, or you will need a mop and bucket to clean up the drool.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is soft yet so seductive, so promising. Damn, I could listen to that voice all day. His grin lifts into a full blown smile and it’s the sexiest smile I have ever seen in my life.

“No, honestly, I’m fine. It’s a lovely layout you have here, Mr…”

“Wentworth,” he holds out his hand cordially. “Hayden Wentworth.”

As I lean in to politely accept, the slightest contact of our touch sends a shock running up my arm, through my breast causing my nipples to strain, all the way to my stomach and hips. It’s like electricity––a magnetic field, drawing me toward him.

“I’m glad you agree with my firms’ layout, Miss Kennedy. Yes, we are professional, the most reputable firm in the entire San Francisco area, but we like to maintain a friendly atmosphere.”

His eyes are brimming with contentment as he regards me, politely waiting for me to converse.
Stop imagining him naked, concentrate on his words. He is more than a sexual source.

I really wish my subconscious would stop taking the moral high ground with her self-righteous bullshit, and leave me to gaze and drool over this gorgeous, hypnotic, fine sample of a man––who also happens to be my Boss.

HAYDEN

“Miss Kennedy, if you will follow me. I’ll give you a quick tour of the firm.” My voice sounds just as confident as normal, but this woman is making me feel like Jell-O. She appears anxious; could I possibly be channeling her anxiety?

You’re the one with the sixth sense now are you, Hayden? My subconscious mocks.

I am not calling it a sixth sense––I subconsciously roll my eyes––but more the feeling of empathy toward this woman. The last time I felt this way was with, Her. NO. Do not go there. Keep that thought in the box that you have thrown the key away for.

Miss Kennedy walks beside me radiating apprehension, as we retreat from the spaciousness of the reception area, and down the bottom of the reversed L-shaped corridor. Making our way to the office kitchen, I risk a peek down upon her slim body. She smoothes the black, fitted pencil skirt over her hips, and offers a nervous smile before sinking her teeth into her lower lip. The sight of her in those killer heels causes my blood heat immensely. I give way to an insubordinate thought and imagine them wrapped around my waist, the heels digging into the flesh of my buttocks…

“This is the office kitchen.” I stand aside, just on the threshold of the room and usher her in gently. “I have to warn you, Miss Kennedy, I consume a lot of coffee while I am working, so you will probably find most of your time in here making it, or in my office delivering it.” I cannot kerb the grin that creeps across my face.

She can deliver anything she wants to my office. I wouldn’t complain with that body leaning over my desk to collect paperwork.

She smiles awkwardly then hangs her head. Peeking down at the ground, she tucks a tendril of shiny, auburn hair behind her right ear, before peering back up at me. Damn, those eyes, mesmerizing crystal blue eyes, like the sun reflecting off the surface of the Mediterranean Sea, they’re breathtaking. She shifts her weight from each leg.

I quickly recover my equilibrium and lead her down the long corridor. “My office is just through here.”

Strolling toward the end of the hallway, we pass the offices of Victor Jackson, the eldest lawyer here at the firm, and defiantly not someone who you make a fool of. He is an old-fashioned guy, with old-fashioned values and was a dear friend of my grandfather. And the office of Alexander Wells; a man who, if you befriend him, you have a friend for life, if a task is within his power, he will make damn sure that he succeeds. A man you can turn to, a man you can trust if you need advice.

Pushing open my office door, I hold my arm out invitingly to direct her inside. Her bemused expression immediately disarms me.

I don’t bite, Miss Kennedy.

“I just need to go over a few things that the agency sent in your résumé, Miss Kennedy. If we can do that now, then it is all over and done with.” Could my explanation possibly sound anymore feeble? What is wrong with me? Why am I so nervous? It’s not my first day.

What is it about this attractive, auburn haired, blue eyed woman? This attraction; I don’t understand. I inwardly shake my head and sigh.
God, this is embarrassing.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Wentworth. Would you like me to fetch you a cup of coffee before we begin?” I delight in the warm tone of her voice; so sweet, so luring and now so confident, as she flutters her long lashes. The contrast between the woman who stuttered her way through her sentence outside and this self-assured, riveting woman in front of me is unmistakable. And I soon realize that those three little words will be revolving in my head all day,
before we begin.

My emotions are rife. My thoughts and the way my body is screaming out for her, craving to be alone with her. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

“Yes please, Miss Kennedy. Black––no sugar,” I mutter with approval.

She nods and murmurs with a friendly smile, “Mr. Wentworth, please…call me, Sam.”

I stare audaciously as the sexiest receptionist I have ever hired exits my doorway, tempting me with the rhythmic swaying of her hips, her slim figure, her long legs that seem to go on forever; it’s such a rewarding sight.
But to see, and feel what the clothes are concealing; skin on skin, would be beyond gratifying.
My subconscious chooses now, when the alluring, Miss Kennedy has exited my office to pipe up with some leering comment. I wave a dismissive hand at him, my mouth curving as delicious images are given life in my mind’s eye. And with that, I stride toward my desk and lower myself into the plush leather of my chair.

While I wait patiently for my coffee I vaguely contemplate on how to address my errant considerations? Do I push them aside? Just disregard them? Do I retract the position offered to her, because of them? Do I tell her the exact reason why? What would she think? No––I can’t broadcast that I want her bent over my desk with her skirt rolled up to her hips. Or that I want to run my hands all over her body; that I want her to bring me more than just coffee and paperwork––I want her to bring me pure pleasure and ceaseless passion, the butterflies that you experience when––with all your will, your body screams out for a touch, even just the slightest of contact.

Why am I even feeling this way? My body never reacts this way to a random woman. I just don’t understand.

I can already feel the magnetic pull that she unknowingly holds over me, the spark that I long ago abandoned––forfeited, in an attempt to save myself from making the same mistake again. The feeling is bewildering. I’ve made a considerable amount of psychological changes during the prior eight months and so enduring feelings such as this, is something that I have to ratify. Dissect and analyze, so to speak.

I will not allow history to repeat itself.

I reach over my desk and recover her résumé. Beginning my perusal, I strive to seek something––anything that I could utilize to build a stable foundation between Miss Kennedy and myself, a common interest even.

Could you possibly be any more
desperate?
A familiar small voice croaks at me with disdain.

With the scornful statement hanging like a thick blanket in the air, I’m prompted back to reality, to where I now have to compete in this complex obstacle course to reel in this woman––the woman who I only just met less than thirty minutes ago. Would she even be interested?

Of course she wouldn’t…why would someone like her be interested in you?

But in that moment, something whispers faintly in the back of my mind, slowly prevailing over the neglected, deserted part of my psyche that I have discounted. I got to get her in my life and not just my work life either.

A faint double tap against the surface of my office door pulls me from my current, slightly unnerving task at hand. I peek up over the white sheet of paper that I grasp between my fingers. A smile steals its way across my face immediately when I see her all-white, confident, flirtatious smile enter my office. My God, she is a sight for sore eyes.

“Mr. Wentworth, your coffee.”

She strides through my office and stands to my left behind the oversize mahogany desk. Bending down to place the mug on my coaster, I inhale her scent, so sweet, so enticing, like candy and marshmallows. In a transient moment, I find myself wanting nothing more than to taste her flesh, wanting my tongue to glide freely with ravenous, sensual licks. God, she is so seductive, and I feel like a testosterone enraged teen.

Her breast scrapes my bicep and my entire body tingles as sparks fire, sending shivers down my spine. The surge of the passing contact affects me like a drug taker experiencing his very first fix, heedless to the fact that he will soon succumb to the addiction. I gaze into her eyes, aware that I have just indulged in my first dose of the delectable, Miss Kennedy, and secretly determined to do something I have never done, and jump in feet first…if she is willing.

“Black––”she murmurs, “no sugar.”

Finding it increasingly challenging to maintain an innocuous thought around this woman, I ponder over finding a solution to this, quite frankly, frustrating state of affairs that I have landed myself in. She offers a small gratified smile, and before I know it, she is sinking into the leather chair that resides in front of my desk––the desk that I envision clearing in one fluid sweep of my hand and claiming her on, right now.

I stand and stroll over the open area and close my office door, before retracing my steps and resting against the left corner of the desk. With my legs crossed at the ankles and the parchment in hand, I take an attentive sip of my coffee.
This moment is not going to last forever, Hayden.
I need to slowly peel back the layers and find a mutual topic, or something.