Promoted to Wife? (10 page)

Emily's soft laugh dragged his attention back to the bed, but as soon as they locked gazes, amusement fled.

Those suits had a lot to answer for, hiding such a superb body beneath their severely cut angles. Perfectly rounded breasts that filled a man's hands. A curvy body with taut velvet skin. And a pair of strong muscular legs that would wrap firmly around a man's waist as he drove deep inside, again and again.

Swiftly he reached for the bedside table, pulled out a row of condoms and ripped one open.

He rejoined her on the bed, hooking his thumbs in her knickers and yanking them down, grinning as she gasped.

Desperate need bubbled up, quickening his movements as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, then took his position. And then, with a dizzying breath, he drove deep into her heat.

She gasped again, but this one felt as if it'd been wrenched from her very soul. Her back arched, head back, neck exposed and vulnerable.

He grasped her face in both hands and kissed her, urgent and hot, his blood throbbing, filling her up as he paused, fighting for dominance. Then she mewled beneath his lips, her hips bucking gently, urging him to continue.

With teeth clenched, he began to move.

Exquisite sensation. Hot friction. His breath raced, his heart pounding so hard he thought it'd explode through his chest. He thrust deep and was rewarded by Emily's hiss of pleasure, her whisper of delight ramping up his lust to breaking point. She moved with him, meeting him all the way, her hands on his hips, her ragged breath in his ear. When he gripped her butt, angled her up and plunged deeper, she cried out, her teeth sinking into his shoulder.

Just when he thought he couldn't get any hotter.

Her tiny bite stung, his skin slick with sweat and their loving. Her hips tilted up to him, her legs wrapped around his waist. “Zac…”

She was staring right at him, her cheeks flushed, that lush mouth open in an expression of pure eroticism. “I'm…it's…”

“Hold on,” he murmured against her lips as he increased his pace. She did as he asked, her legs tightening around him as she buried her face in his shoulder.

From deep inside he could feel her muscles contract, the threads of orgasm building. With a groan he went in for another kiss, unashamedly stealing her sounds of pleasure with his mouth, pulling them inside, then breathing them out.

Then it happened. With a thick cry she threw back her head,
her breath ragged and harsh. Deep inside her muscles squeezed, and in a sudden rush of incredible pleasure, he couldn't hold on any longer. With his fingers digging into her flesh, he finally let go, the scalding lust engulfing him on one almighty wave as he clawed his way through the hot depths.

The orgasm racked Emily's body with almost unbearable force. He filled every dark corner with pleasure, and her entire body shook from the force of it.

Elation bubbled from her throat as her body shuddered. She'd never been this close to this kind of…bliss. Yes, that's what it was. She felt completely alive and totally, completely spent.

“Wow.” She didn't realize she'd said it aloud until Zac pulled back onto his elbows and met her eyes with a satisfied grin.

“Thank you.” He gently swept her damp hair back from her forehead.

They were plastered together from the chest down, still intimately connected. Inside, she could still feel the deep erotic pulse of him, his heartbeat echoing hers. Yet his simple act of stroking her hair had her whole body in a flush, her skin tingling, wanting more.

She'd been without intimacy for way too long. And now she was overloading on it.

As if sensing her change, Zac slowly rolled from her, back onto the pillows, hands resting lightly on his forehead. And a few minutes later, with the musky scent of lovemaking still lingering, she finally heard his slow, deep rhythmic breathing.

She was glad he was asleep. It made escape easier.

Cautiously she eased from the warm bed, groped around the floor for agonizing seconds until she found her clothes, then quickly dressed, all the while with one eye on Zac.

It would be so very easy to crawl back between those sheets, back into his arms. Her body ached in a dozen intimate places, a satisfied, languid ache that eventually made up her mind.

No sleepovers. No weekends. No personal talk.

She'd made the rules, now it was up to her to follow them.

With bags in hand she crept down the stairs, across the cool living room and out the front door without looking back.

Y
ou could learn a lot about a woman by the way her hands moved when she talked. Some waved them animatedly, some used touch either subconsciously or with deliberate effect. And some liked to keep their own personal space. Emily, Zac realized, was one of the latter. She made a point of avoiding any physical contact. No brush of the fingers when exchanging files. No accidental arm contact in the elevator or corridor.

At first he thought it was her steely determination to keep that line drawn, but she retained the personal boundary even when they were alone in his office.

He stared at his closed door, then down at the remnants of his devoured lunch burger before shoving it all in the trash.

It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter. Her response was a pointed reminder of his position—him boss, her employee. Yet last night they'd been more. With him buried deep in her wet warmth, her legs wrapped around his waist as they rocked in that age-old rhythm.

Yeah, it had been much, much more.

With a soft curse, he ripped his mind back to the present. A
hard-on at work was the last thing he needed, not when he had to deal with a hundred other things—like the upcoming Point One event. And then there was Cal, Victor and the whole VP Tech debacle.

He shoved back his chair and stalked to the door, yanking it open.

“Reschedule my one o'clock,” he said, knowing his voice came out too harsh. “I'm going out.”

Emily nodded and picked up the phone. “Will you be back for your three-thirty?”

No questions, just acceptance. Her composure rankled, her once-valued hyper-efficiency now just another thing that drove him crazy.

“Yes.”

He couldn't escape the building quickly enough, the sudden desire to get behind the wheel and drive urging him on.

So he did. He drove north, up the Gold Coast Highway, then turned right onto Waterways Drive and followed the signs to Seaworld. He passed Palazzo Versace, the Sheraton Mirage, the various takeaways.

On the way he made a few calls and set up more meetings. He succeeded in not thinking about Emily or last night until he passed Seaworld itself, until the road became narrower, the surrounding vegetation thicker.

The western arm of Gold Coast Spit appeared on his left, the sandy peninsula and watery inlet filled with yachts and recreational fishermen. The road continued, through the trees that formed part of Main Beach Park, until the Spit car park appeared.

He pulled in, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and cut off the engine. The classic AC/DC song abruptly ceased, giving way to the familiar sound of pounding waves through the trees and sand dunes ahead.

Easing from the car, he breathed deep, last night's rain salty and wild on the air. He loved this spot, even more than the small strip of private beach that flanked his house.

He grabbed a bag from the boot and pulled out a wetsuit before
heading toward the small board-rental shed. Ten minutes later he was jogging down to the beach toward the flags, a surfboard under his arm.

An hour passed before he finally called it a day, collapsing on the warm sand to let the sun dry him off.

Depending on which direction you faced, you could see the high-rises of Southport, the wilds of South Stradbroke Island or straight out into the vast Pacific Ocean. He'd been surfing here for years, had spotted whales, been caught in powerful storms that were a stark reminder of the power of nature and fragility of life.

How could he keep this thing with him and Emily out of the office when all he wanted to do was rip off her clothes? Hell, even in her usual office getup and those awful clunky shoes, he
still
wanted her. Yet if he wanted to keep her in his bed, he'd have to keep their after-hours affair a secret.

He hated secrets. Secrets turned people into liars, and he liked lies about as much as secrets.

With a grunt, he finally stood, his toes digging into the grainy sand as he made his way back to the car.

 

The soft swoosh of the glass door drew Emily's eyes up from her computer screen. Zac strode in, looking tanned and windswept. When he dragged a hand through his hair, leaving peaks in its wake, her heart did a little flip.

“Your father called.”

His brow dipped as he paused, hands going to his hips. “Right. Thanks.”

“You didn't give him your mobile number?”

“No.”

Emily paused, feeling as if she were missing something. “He says you're not returning his calls.”

“I know.” Zac continued toward his office, his mouth grim, shoulders rigid. She grabbed up some papers and followed him in.

He stood behind the huge desk, his yellow smiley stress ball in one fist as he gazed out onto Broadbeach Mall.

Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. They'd all had a laugh when one of his more difficult clients had given him that by way of apology. Everyone knew—especially the client—that Zac didn't stress.

Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. His profile was the very definition of contained frustration combined with deep thought.

“Do you want me to give him a message next time he calls?”

Startled, he turned to her. “No.” He tossed the stress ball back onto his desk. “I'll call him.”

“But you don't want to.”

His silent frown told her she was right, even though he'd rather she not be.

“Zac, whatever happened between you and your father—”

“—is not something I want to talk about.”

The shutters slammed down so abruptly that Emily took a step back. With warm cheeks, she said, “I understand that. But when I was ten, my sister ran out, and I spent thirteen years not knowing if she was dead or alive. When she finally found me, do you think I still cared about all those stupid arguments we'd had years before?”

His eyes widened in brief surprise, weakening the frown.

What are you doing? Shut up, shut up, shut—
“People make decisions based on emotion, not what's logical,” she said quickly. “That's how they make mistakes. And if Victor's trying to make an effort you should at least hear him out.”

She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly appalled. Then without another word, she spun and headed out the door.

Emily slapped her notepad on her desk before taking a deep breath. She didn't know what was worse, revealing that small nugget from her past or Zac acting as if last night had been a complete fabrication of her overactive imagination.

Well, she couldn't take those words back now. But was it enough to sway him?

With a sigh, she sat heavily in her chair. Yes, he had to
maintain their professional boss-employee front to throw off any suspicion. But did it have to feel so real?

She clicked through her e-mails absently.

She'd finally managed to deflect Zac's familiar non sequiturs that made her totally aware of herself as a woman, and then he went and did a one-eighty. After last night, she'd been prepared to fend off any intimate comments, to remind him they were at work and should act appropriately. But that had never materialized.

What had happened to the flirty, good-humored Zac of before, the guy she'd been able to keep separate from her personal life?

The vibe was all wrong. He was painfully polite. No, more like… She chewed the end of the pen thoughtfully. Disinterested.

Because she'd finally succumbed to his charms, slept with him, and now the chase was over, he wanted to move on?

“Emily? Do you have a minute?”

She didn't have to turn to know he stood at the door: his eyes burned a hole in her back. Instinctively, she straightened, clicking off her screen saver to reveal the Point One schedule.

“Actually, I'm in the middle of—”

“This is important.”

She stilled, hand on the mouse, then sighed in resignation.
Here it comes.

He remained standing as she walked in, then closed the door softly behind her. Her senses barely had time to register his familiar aftershave, that warm radiating body heat as he walked past her to take a seat behind his desk.

She sat, crossed her legs and waited.

He stared at her in silence. And to her credit, she stared right back.

“I don't want this to be awkward between us,” he finally said.

“Awkward?”

“Us working together, given our…arrangement.”

“I don't feel awkward.” She gave him her best “restrained and composed” look. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Because if you want out, I'll understand.”

“Do
you
want out?” His eyes narrowed.

“I asked first.”

A wry grin creased Zac's face. “What are we, in eighth grade?” Then more seriously, he added, “I don't want out.”

Well, so much for your theory.
“Well, neither do I.” Her chin went up as she met his eyes, firmly ignoring the little cheer her body made.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

They both paused, Zac scrutinizing her with the same intensity he reserved for a particularly difficult problem.

“Do you think I'm over my head with the Point One event?” she suddenly blurted out.

He leaned back in his chair. “What do you think?”

“It's a challenge.”

“Which is what you wanted.”

“Yes.”

“What you've done so far is good, Emily. And we're a team here—use the staff to get whatever you need done. And keep me posted.” His smile was brief. “And while we're in the office, it will always be about work. This is a Valhalla project,” he added. “I know it's yours, but it's also mine. We both make this work and we both benefit.”

With a nod, Emily rose to leave.

“Emily.”

She paused, glancing back at him.

“Are you free tonight?”

And just like that, last night came flooding back, playing away in her mind like an erotic movie taken off pause. Despite herself, she felt excitement tingle her skin.

“Yes.”

His mouth curved and suddenly he seemed like Zac again. “Then I'll see you after eight.”

“Sure.” She left his office way more discomforted than she'd gone in.