Management Skills (3 page)

He smiled, chuckling. “Who said anything about
my
office?”

She didn’t smile back. Her soft gray eyes gazed up at him, her expression disturbed. “I’m not a slut.”

“Ownership is about protection, about nurturing, about control. Not about using and abusing.”

She nodded. She might not agree to being owned, but she knew what the word meant.

“Well, I suppose I should get you dressed before I’m tempted again.” He pulled up the blue lace still bunched under the curve of her breasts. He smoothed the sheer material back.

She relaxed and smiled up at him. Wrong move.

The driving instinct to feel her soft, curvaceous body writhing beneath him took hold. Gently pinching her nipples through the sheer lace of her bra, he teased her into a fever pitch.

The sun was rising by the time Grant escorted Allie out to her car. She smelled like his woods and spice. Her exhausted body still vibrated from his attentions.

He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, along with an open invitation to go out to dinner. He promised no sex, no BDSM, no fooling around of any kind. Just a chance to get to know each other better.

She jumped into her car, fleeing back to her apartment. Why had she responded to Grant? Responded? She’d practically begged. Recalling how she’d thrashed on the floor of her office at SSG, blinded by lust, made her hot again. She’d loved every minute of it. But it was foolish to fuck the boss.

She refused to even think about Grant’s offer to own her. Been there, done that. Now it was time to concentrate on her career—not devote herself to a powerful man with powerful appetites.

After a scalding shower and a fourteen-hour nap, Allie prepared for her next business trip. But she couldn’t sleep off the memory of Grant. She kept seeing his perfectly proportioned, tanned body, his unshaven face and those extraordinary eyes.

And she kept feeling him.

He had ruled her body. One-and-a-half years of chastity had made her eager to submit to his intense erotic control. He’d bit and licked her body with his hot mouth, exploring every inch of her skin. She recalled the scrape of his incipient beard against her tender spots. Her heart had pounded so hard it hurt. She’d thrashed and cried beneath him as he’d given her wave after wave of shattering pleasure.

Enough. She had work to do.

She finished packing for a production consultation in New York. Designing the lighting for the off-Broadway play would take every bit of her energy and focus.

The weeks of work with the 59E59 Theaters in New York ended up being extremely satisfying. She loved her job. The clients knew it, too—she’d received an invitation to be the permanent lighting designer for the 59E59 Theaters. And she’d already gotten an offer to work as a production stage manager for the Palazzo Hotel in Las Vegas.

The possible consequences of having fucked Grant didn’t seem so scary anymore. Her future in entertainment technology was secure, if not at SSG, then somewhere else.

Lounging in her Manhattan hotel room, she took a long, loving look at some recent luxury purchases. Buoyed by the job offer from the off-Broadway theater company, she’d gone clothes shopping. Two tailored couturier suits, both in blue, lay on the hotel bed. One was a fabulous sky-blue nubby silk, the other navy linen. Both were classic, body hiding—and beyond expensive. She couldn’t believe how classy they made her look. Allie snapped some photos of the suits with her cell and sent them to Pilar.

The nuns would approve,
Pilar texted back.

Allie laughed. She missed Pilar and her sarcastic humor.

After grabbing her laptop, Allie headed downstairs to the video-conferencing facilities of the hotel. She had an appointment with her immediate boss, Dave Goldberg. Dave liked to be kept up to date on her progress and problems about once a week.

It turned out Grant participated in the videoconference, too. The mere sight of him and his purple eyes gave her libido way more erotic dynamism than it needed. She wanted him again. But the CEO of SSG was professional. He was only interested in learning about her creative lighting-design work. Goldberg had evidently been bragging about her.

When they cut the video connection, Allie realized she had to get her relationship with Grant squared away. Ideally, they’d just have a business association. She’d feel almost nothing when they met in person. If she were still hot for his bod, well, then she’d suggest being fuckbuddies.

But she would never, ever consent to being owned.

When her time with the 59E59 Theaters ended a month later, she packed up. Before she left she emailed Grant, asking for an appointment. Surely by now her hunger for him would have dissipated. Within minutes he called her cell.

“Hello, Allie,” he said warmly. “Coming back to California?”

The sound of his voice struck hard at a sexual nerve, setting her blood on fire. So much for feeling nothing toward him.

They arranged to meet at Tapas Barcelona on Castro Street the next evening. A date.

When she got home, she told Pilar about her upcoming date with Grant. Allie left out the part about previous wild sex. Pilar was beyond excited and wanted to help her pick out a pretty dress.

That turned out to be nearly impossible.

Pilar and Allie both stood in Allie’s bedroom. A heap of blue clothing lay on the bed. All the outfits had been rejected by a scowling Pilar as being too conservative and boring.

“It’s almost a business dinner,” Allie insisted.

Pilar rolled her purple-lidded eyes. “No. It’s not. It’s a date. With a hot man. You can’t wear a work suit. You have to give him a hint of your assets.”

Grant was already quite familiar with her assets. But Pilar didn’t know that. “I suppose. But I’m not trying to seduce him, Pilar.” If Allie wanted to give him a thrill, she’d slither into her old Silver costume, now stored in a shoe box on the closet shelf. “I just want to get to know him.”

“Maybe we should go buy something new?”

“We don’t have enough time,” Allie said. “I’m meeting him in less than two hours. I have to shower and all.”

A soft smile played on Pilar’s fuchsia lips. “I have an outfit that would be perfect on you. Brand new, hanging in my closet.”

Allie blinked at her. The girl was wearing a bright green tube top and skintight lederhosen, along with a hundred necklaces of multicolored beads. “Something of yours?”

Pilar’s black eyes sparkled with humor. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. The outfit I’m thinking of is not my style at all.”

“So that automatically means it’s going to be perfect for me?”

“Yup. Continue rummaging through your blues, girlfriend. I’ll be right back.” Pilar ran off, leaving behind her scent of vanilla.

Pilar was a treasure, but she had zero taste.

Pilar returned with a shimmery periwinkle-blue dress, tags waving from a seam. “Mom bought it for me a long time ago. Supposed to be an interview outfit. I told her, ‘I’m a machinist, not a secretary,’ but she bought it anyway. It’s a stretchy knit, so it should fit.”

Pilar laid it on the bed. The simple nubby knit sheath was sleeveless with a square neckline. Allie loved the color and texture.

“I told you,” Pilar said. “It’s perfect. It’s even blue.”

Allie stroked the dress. “It is gorgeous. Feels gorgeous, too.”

She tried the dress on. It felt tight. She looked at her curvy reflection in the mirror. The dress
was
tight. And more low cut than she normally wore. Sexy, but pretty. “I really like it. Thanks!” She gave Pilar an exuberant hug.

“Have fun for me. And call me when you get back.”

An hour later Allie walked into Tapas Barcelona, looking relaxed. Her appearance gave no clue as to her real internal state. Which was anxious. Grant’s handsome virility did strange and unwelcome things to both her body and mind.

Grant looked elegant and downtown in a gray-striped suit with a gray shirt open at the neck. Just seeing him made her sex pulse with searing, slick bolts of fire. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. He smelled wonderful, woodsy-sexy.

“Hello, Sir,” she said.

“I do like how you call me Sir.”

She didn’t even realize she’d called him Sir. She obviously had some automatic and inborn regard for him. No wonder he thought she craved his domination. But she
didn’t
crave his domination. She craved his bod. And once they became fuckbuddies, she’d break the Sir habit.

The hostess led them to a handsome private dining room. The dark wood floors and deep-red walls were aglow with candlelight. Grant pulled out a tall leather chair for her at the intimate wooden table. The faint strains of guitar music drifted in from the main dining room.

The hostess took their drink order, then returned with his scotch, Allie’s sangria and a platter of cheeses with wedges of crusty bread.

“Are you originally from California?” Grant asked, taking a nibble of the appetizer.

“Yes.” She sipped on the fruit-heavy sangria.

“And your family?” The flickering candlelight hit the planes of his face, making him look even more masculine.

“It’s just been me and my mom since forever. She’s in Japan now, teaching English.”

“Japan. How wonderful. Have you visited her there?”

“I plan to. Maybe this summer.”

“Do you enjoy travel?”

“Oh, I love it. I love that part of my job. I’m really happy being a production manager.”

“This isn’t supposed to be a job performance review, Allie. I really want to get to know you. As a person. Not an employee.” He smiled and reached across the table to delicately stroke her fingers.

His touch sent a shockwave of desire pulsing through her body. She took a stabilizing breath. “I’ve never been abroad. My mom is the one with an adventurous spirit. Not me. She’s in Japan right now. I get my exotic travel urges satisfied by reading international thrillers.”

“I’m ashamed to admit I never read fiction. Ever. So maybe we should stick to talking about something safe, like politics?”

They both laughed. He opened his menu and she did the same.

She stared at the pages, intimidated. “A lot of choices.”

As if by magic, the waiter appeared, offering to help her interpret the menu.

Grant had other ideas. “We’ll be passing around and sharing our dishes, Allie. Mind if I order for us both?”

“Please do.” Grateful, she sipped on her refreshing drink, enjoying the way the candlelight danced on the strands of his dark wavy hair as he ordered. She was feeling pampered, taken care of. She liked it.

“Tell me about your family,” she said after the waiter left.

“My family is huge. I have six brothers and one sister. My parents still live here, but my sibs are spread out all over the world.”

“Eight kids, total? I can’t even imagine. Are your sibs all hard-driving and successful, like you?”

“You think I’m hard-driving?” he asked, looking concerned.

The memory of surrendering to his desperate fury in her office surged to life. “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

He laughed. A pleasant sound. He started talking about his siblings. None of them were zillionaire CEOs. He was proud of all of them.

“And then there’s the baby girl of the family. Karen. She’s an elementary school teacher in Wenatchee, Washington. She coaches volleyball at the junior high, too. Those girls are so devoted to her. I’ve been to a few of her games. Karen knows how to put a terrific team together.”

Putting together a terrific team was evidently an Edmonds family trait. An admirable one.

The tapas arrived. The rich intermingled aromas made her mouth water. She tried a bit of every one of the ten small plates of food. Exotic pan-fried dates stuffed with almonds and wrapped in bacon. Tasty chicken cakes flavored with pepper, onions and cilantro, served with a black-bean salsa. A pork stew Grant adored. He fed her a spoonful, going on and on about how the sherry melded with the pork juices like a fine molasses.

Grant ordered her another sangria. She could get used to this kind of care.

Next she tried tender shrimps cooked in a hot olive-oil-and-garlic dressing. Spectacular. Her favorite, by far, was the artichoke dish, pale hearts roasted with sun-dried tomatoes and garlic.

She sampled her fresh sangria, noting he hadn’t even touched his scotch. It was as if he wanted to be completely clear-headed—for her. She was starting to like him. Maybe they could be friends
and
fuckbuddies.

After the plates were cleared away, he captured her wrists with his hands. Sharp tension scissored into her crotch.

“So,” he said. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

“Yes.” She bit off the
Sir
that nearly dropped out of her mouth. “I’d like us to be lovers.”

He tightened his grip on her wrists. It wasn’t painful—unless she considered the sensations darting to her clit pain.

“My offer is to own you, Allie.”

“You’re saying we can’t be lovers unless you own me?”

He released her wrists. For the first time that night, he took a sip of his scotch. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“That’s extortion.”

“It’s not extortion, Allie. It’s sex with conditions. You’re free to say no.”

“I don’t get it. Why can’t we just be lovers? You were perfectly happy to fuck me silly the last time without conditions. What’s changed?”

“I want more. I want your complete and utter sexual obedience.”

Her head twitched. No. No way.

“Sexual obedience won’t interfere with your job or your outside interests. Your value to me is enhanced by your success. By your happiness. Only when your other obligations are satisfied do you come to me, eager, ready to submit to my sexual authority.”

Taking in his warm, sexy fragrance of spice and woods, she chewed on her lower lip. She wouldn’t mind submitting to his sexual authority at this very moment—right on the restaurant table. But as a relationship dynamic? No way.

She’d done the submission thing before. It had been fabulous for a while. And at the end, devastatingly bad. Serving Joseph, her ex-Dominant, had once fulfilled a deep need in her. Turning control over to him made her feel secure. Devoting her energies to ensuring his pleasure and contentment had satisfied her to her very essence.

Shifting uncomfortably in her leather chair, she said, “I don’t want to be owned. It’s too hard.”

“You’ve been owned before?” The candlelight reflected in his indigo eyes, making Grant look fierce.

“For two years. He was a dancer at the Vault. I was proud to make his life better.”

“Were you just a service submissive?”

“No.”

Grant studied her as if there was more to tell. There was, of course. But she didn’t want to talk about how sex with Joseph had gone south long before the rest of their relationship had died.

“What happened?” Grant asked.

“I guess we just grew apart,” she said, shrugging.