Management Skills (2 page)

Grant gazed about his office, all sleek pale European maple furniture and lush gray-blue carpeting. A row of gigantic windows, now hidden by gray vertical shades, dominated one wall. It was an understated and cultured space. After all these years, he still felt a little thrill of pride in SSG. He’d proven himself. He wasn’t just some rich dude with a hobby. He was some rich dude with a highly regarded theater tech company. And he’d enjoyed every minute building it. He now had eighty-six employees. Management was fun. It was all about providing resources. He nudged and nurtured and then watched his people soar.

The future of SSG was golden.

He returned to study his laptop. The numbers on the screen didn’t jive with the hardcopy estimate. He grunted. He’d have to corner somebody in accounting. But not until Monday morning. His people did not work late on a Friday night. SSG employees were out having fun, or cuddling up with their loved ones, or maybe sleeping. He leaned back in his zero-gravity chair, casual in his running shorts, perfectly satisfied with his own Friday-night routine—a long workout at the gym, a shower and back to the office for some solo thinking time.

He was rarely lonely. His work satisfied him. His brothers and sister were concerned with his solitary bachelor life and constantly tried to set him up with some friend of a friend. With seven siblings, he endured a lot of urging and cajoling. He always declined the blind dates. He could find his own woman. Once in a while he’d go out on a date. The encounters were pleasant and diverting, and occasionally sexual. But long term? No. He was looking for a less conventional relationship. He sought a deeper, more profound connection, one involving power exchange.

His laptop pinged gently. Another email. He got hundreds a day. He rarely read them. Georgia, his assistant, did that, vetting the correspondence, forwarding mail to the correct parties, sometimes answering for him. After Georgia’s sorting, he only had to respond to about three per day. It saved a lot of time.

The new email was from Allie Fairfax. Ah, yes, the spectacular Allie Fairfax, SSG’s newest production manager. She impressed everybody she came in contact with. Her first client, a country band headlining in Vegas, couldn’t be happier with her lighting design work. The only person upset with Allie’s performance was Ray—her old boss. He hated losing her and gave Goldberg infinite crap for stealing her away. Ray pretended to be cranky and resentful. In reality he was proud.

Allie was turning into a great asset to the company. And she was a beauty. Soft white-blond hair, earnest gray eyes, graceful movements enhancing a voluptuous figure. She was Silver all right. Her startled, nearly fearful reaction to being confronted with that name confirmed it.

The way her breath had hitched when he shook her hand brought his cock to life. He’d enjoy a little handshake with her again.

Instead he opened her email. It was a thank you note. She was thrilled to have been encouraged to attend the Live Design trade show. She briefly described some of the new technologies she’d seen. He was charmed by her enthusiasm and by the way she thanked him for something that benefited SSG.

Had she sent the email from home or from the office? He got up and walked down the hall to find out.

The door to her office was open. Her light was on. He peeked in. The lovely Allie Fairfax was working at her big maple desk. She wore a body-hiding linen suit. Hunched over her laptop, she sat on a metal folding chair. Her fancy zero-gravity executive chair was shoved into a corner.

He knocked on the doorframe.

With a little gasp, her head jerked up. “Sir.”

He loved the sound of her calling him Sir. It gave him some wicked, wicked ideas.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Allie. I just got your email about the ET Trade show. I was wondering if you had a chance to see the new PRG media servers.”

Her eyes struggled to stay focused on his face and not veer down his bare chest—and lower. Her posture tense, she bit her lower lip. He relished her nervousness. Nervousness meant she was sensitive and aware, delightful qualities in a woman.

Leaning against the doorframe, he asked her questions about the trade show. Her delicious anxiety was tempered by an eagerness to tell him about the new technology. He felt the slow pound of his blood.

There were no anti-fraternization rules at Synthos Systems Group. This spectacular woman wasn’t working for Sterling anymore. Allie was working for
him.
Flicking a glance at the abandoned executive chair, he strode into her office.

“You’re not using the chair?” He pulled the black metal monstrosity away from the wall. “It might be ugly, but it’s really comfortable. You should try it.” He made a show of slowly lowering his body into the chair. “Mmm. Wonderful.”

She studied his face and then the futuristic metal chair and grimaced. “It looks like a creepy black metal skeleton.”

“I have a chair just like it. I love it.” Grunting happily, he stood and patted the mesh seat. “Let me show you some of this chair’s secrets.”

Her face relaxed into a grin. She walked over to the chair and, grasping the suspended armrests, she dropped into the seat.

“Huh. It really is comfortable. Like sitting on air.” She leaned her head back and sighed. Loudly.

Resting his hands on the armrests, he took in her subtle scent of spring flowers. He rotated the chair to the left and to the right and then back to the middle. “See, it moves back and forth. The chair also adjusts up and down, by these levers at the base.”

He raised the chair higher, bringing her body even closer to him.

“Got it.” Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Her soft gray eyes were wide. “Thanks for showing me.”

Her tone of voice, her expression, was a cry for mercy.

He had no intention of being merciful.

He raised the chair even higher. “Do you have any idea what you did to me at the Vault, Silver? Seeing that brute strip away your resistance? Your eyes the color of wild storm clouds, outlined with black, promising so much heat and drama? And how you delivered. Piece by piece, that savage peeled off your armor, leaving you vulnerable, writhing, desperate to submit to his force. Are you that same wondrous woman?”

She moaned, pressing herself into the chair. “No. I’m not. It was an act. Okay? A dance. Everybody and his brother had fantasies about Silver. But I’m not Silver. I’m Allie. I’m not a slut. I don’t respond to force. I don’t writhe. I don’t. I’m an ordinary woman, okay? Really, really ordinary.”

“There is absolutely nothing ordinary about you.” He leaned in closer, holding her captive on the mesh chair. The air seethed with tension.

“I remember you from the Vault, okay? I do,” she said, gasping for air. “But this is wrong. You’re my boss.”

“Do you want me to go? No harm, no foul.”

With a cry, her arms shot up to embrace his neck.

“Good choice.” Grasping her waist, he jerked her out of the chair with both hands. He nudged her up against the wall, shutting the office door with his foot.

Her mouth was slack with lust, her charcoal eyes bright with desire. At her look, at her willing surrender, his cock ached and throbbed. That part of him wanted to pound into her, use her, but he had bigger plans for this spectacular creature than a quick, onetime release.

He unbuttoned the first button of her jacket. “I remember your silky, pale skin bound by those few slices of metal. Your act fueled my sexual imagination for years. What have you got hidden under here for me now?”

Her hands dropped to her sides and she shut her eyes, moaning softly.

He continued to undo the jacket buttons. She wasn’t wearing a blouse. She wore only a pale blue lace bra. He gently pulled off her jacket, leaving her lush, large breasts open to his delectation. The bra was some sort of sheer half bra, barely covering her dainty pink nipples. His blood boiled. Restraint was going to be way harder than he thought.

Growling low in his throat, he pressed her shoulders into the wall. He passed his tongue over the top lace of her bra. Her nipples softly pebbled under his pressure. His tongue worked to push down the lace, draw out her nipples. She shuddered. He kissed her glorious breasts. Soft and smooth, swelling with arousal. Nipping and scraping, he teased her knobs with his teeth, making her cry out with pleasure.

Her sensitivity marveled him.

There was nothing dainty about her nipples now. Sharp and hard, they demanded attention.

He dropped to his knees on the carpet.

Her eyes flew open, distressed. “Oh, don’t stop! Please—”

He slanted a look up at her and she quieted. Her skirt had a long row of buttons down the front. He unbuttoned her skirt from the hem up. Slowly, oh, so slowly. Squirming restlessly, she shoved her fingers in his hair.

He refused to alter his pace.

Nothing good ever came from rushing. The perfect release came from stoking fires to near pain. He planned to teach her the ecstasy of orgasm delay. All night if he could. She whimpered softly.

Finally he undid the last button at her waist and her skirt dropped to the floor. She wore nothing underneath but a blue lace thong. Running his forefinger along the top of her thong, his breath caught. The temptation to take her was nearly irresistible.

“Make love to me now,” she whispered raggedly, rolling her hips.

“That’s what I’m doing, Silver.”

She made sounds of despair. Her unsatisfied heat made his erection throb.

Take her now. Tear off that scrap of lace and shove into her.

Determined to manage her—and his lust—he seized her curvy thighs. He turned her to face the wall. She planted her palms high, bracing herself. Arching her back, she lifted her lush ass, offering, inviting.

Inhaling deeply, he wrestled for self-control.

A tiny tattoo of an angel winked up at him. He kissed her rounded cheek. “Oh yes,” he murmured into her satiny skin, scented with woman and lilac. “I remember this tattoo.”

He laved Allie’s angel in slow strokes, making the woman, and the angel, tremble. He grasped the T of her thong with his teeth and jerked up.

She spasmed as the lacy crotch cut into her clit. Her breath sucking in on a sharp, wailing gasp, she whirled to face him. “What are you waiting for?”

Her anguish made him harder and hotter. He stood up. She was perfect, a wild sexual thing, sensitive and giving and greedy. Allie Fairfax was everything he wanted in a woman.

He intended to manage and mold her sharp passion.

“I’m ready, Grant.” With a desperate cry, she pulled off her thong and pushed the damp mass against his chest. “Feel how ready I am.”

He slid his finger over her drenched clit. “Mmm. How much foreplay can you take, babe?”

“None. None at all. I—”

His lips came down hard on hers, his mouth and tongue telling her
he
would determine how, and when, he’d make love to her. She moaned into his mouth, submitting.

Breaking the kiss, he caught her waist and moved her across her office. She made a strangled noise. He lifted her onto the seat of the zero-gravity executive chair, pinning her waist to the mesh.

He admired the splendid, impatient woman he’d fixed to the chair. Rich and full breasts, cinched-in waist, rounded hips, a bare muff. She still wore her heels.

She was made for sex.

Her thighs fell open. Her vulnerability lashed at his control.

Slow down.

He knelt in front of her. His tongue danced over her smooth mound. Slipping and sliding over her wet clit, his tongue circled, moving back and forth, a liquid action, slow. She sobbed sharply, flailing. He forced her to stillness.

“Don’t come,” he ordered.

She whimpered but obeyed. Her submission pleased him.

His tongue dipped into her gash. Her back arched, and she groaned, trying to control her response. He nipped and laved. Finally she screamed. She’d reached the point of no return. He continued to kiss and nibble. She howled, writhing, convulsing, again and again, until finally, limp and perspiring, she could only whimper her pleasure. He stopped his sensual assault and dragged her up against his chest. Her pelvis pressed against his erection.

She breathed heavily, barely conscious. He held her close, comforting her with sweet words of praise. Her body, her heat, her sounds of pleasure, aroused him even more.

Allie stirred. Making sounds of animal desire, she stroked his erection through the silky material of his running shorts. Her quick recovery and aggressiveness took him by surprise. Blood rushed to his rigid cock, making it burn.

“Let me please you,” she whispered.

He jerked his wallet out of his shorts, pulled out a foil, kicked off his shorts and sheathed himself.

And then, snarling in bliss, he dragged her to the carpet. From deep inside her came a sound, a cross between triumphant cry and desperate groan. Her eyes were insane with lust.

He inched into her wet, willing heat, feeling her flesh squeezing, quivering around his cock. He sank into her and her breasts trembled, nearly sending him to the edge. He thrust, making her shudder violently. Thrusting again, he drove harder, deeper. Her head thrashed with every surge of his hips. Gritting his teeth, he pushed her hard, and harder still, whipping her into a frenzy. Suddenly, she bowed beneath him, screaming. With a gasping shudder, she stilled, satisfied. He continued to plunge, streams of pleasure shooting through him. A massive release shook him. She hungrily consumed his spasms.

When she stirred again, he straddled her. His eyes flickered over her breasts and still-spiked nipples. He drew a finger gently across her reddened chest. She was as responsive as he’d hoped. “I love making you flush.”

She seductively arched her back and stretched her arms over her head. The subtle scent of lilac and woman enveloped him.

“You’re way too conceited,” she said.

“You think?” He bent to scrape her left nipple with his teeth, giving her a full-body spasm.

He couldn’t get enough of her sighs and moans—and her welcoming heat. “I want to own you, Allie. Do you know what that means?”

She inhaled sharply. “You want me to be your office slave?”