Promoted to Wife? (9 page)

B
y firmly blocking out everything but work, Emily managed to get through the day with her sanity intact. It also helped that Zac had left around 2 p.m. and wouldn't return.

Apart from a few comments about her hair—all from women, she noted—and calls from both Cal and Victor, the day remained busy but uneventful. At seven she turned off her computer and locked up the office, deliberately leaving it too late to change her mind and go home.

At seven-fifteen she parked around the corner from Zac's street, killed the engine and sat in the eerie silence. As his assistant, she had full access to his elegant beachside house and his security codes. Yet she'd never had to use them for anything other than work purposes.

This was her point of no return. If she did this—

No. AJ would kick your butt for second-guessing yourself like this.

Her fingers tapped on the steering wheel as the sun gradually lengthened the shadows.

It was time.

Just as she placed a hand on the door, headlights suddenly blinded her through the rearview mirror. She hesitated, and a second later a sleek dark car drove slowly by.

Emily watched the sporty coupe crawl down Zac's street, past his house, then suddenly accelerate, leaving the distinctive scent of diesel fumes in its wake.

She shook her head then took a deep breath. Then she grabbed her handbag and scrambled from the car.

 

If Zac could've done a hundred and twenty down the packed Pacific Highway he would've.
Too slow, too slow,
his heart seemed to thump as the traffic sluggishly chugged along, only to stop again at the lights.

Gray clouds gathered overhead, heavy with impending rain. The steering wheel complained beneath his grip. He wanted her in his arms right now. Wanted to feel her mouth on his, her warm breath, her yielding skin.

Wanted her legs wrapped around him.

That mouthwatering thought had dominated his last few hours. He'd come that close to canceling his last meeting because of it.

Now he glared at the time—seven-forty—and softly cursed. “Come on, come ooooon…. Finally!”

Within five minutes he was home, the movement-sensitive porch light flicking on as the garage door slid up and the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

He grabbed the packages on the front seat, locked up and went through the inner door, tossing his keys on the entrance table as he strode down the hall.

He paused in the living area and placed the takeaway bag on the table.

“Emily?”

His voice echoed through the spacious silence, disappearing into the lengthening darkness.

“Yes?”

He turned. Her back was to his huge ocean-view window, the
steely clouds, turbulent sea and gently falling rain providing a dramatic backdrop to her shadowy figure.

“You've been shopping?” she asked as he flicked on a lamp.

“Food.” He noted the firm grip on her handbag, held like a shield in front of her. With one finger he lifted the other package by the thin handles. “And these are for you.”

She frowned. “You didn't have to buy me—”

“I wanted to. There's a difference.”

“Zac…”

“Just try them on. If you don't like them, I'll take 'em back. Please,” he added with a smile.

She blinked and her fingers tightened around her bag handles, eliciting a leathery squeak of protest. Then she sighed. “All right.” She took his offering, carefully avoiding any contact.

“Go on up,” he said, nodding to the iron-and-polished-mahogany stairs. “I'll bring up the food and drinks.”

Emily took the stairs slowly, highly aware of Zac's gaze following her ascent.

She paused at the top, the small entrance stretching out into what was obviously Zac's loft bedroom. She barely registered the dark furniture, the photos adorning the walls, the beautiful bay window revealing another perfect view of the Pacific Ocean. Her heart was pounding way too hard to notice anything except the rumpled bed jutting from the wall.

It was massive, covered in a wine-colored spread with mossy-green piping, black pillows tossed casually against the simple iron headboard. The covers had been dragged from one side, which told her two things. One, he didn't have a housekeeper. And two, he slept on the left.

Zac's bed. Where he slept. Where he and other women…

No. She turned away, coming face-to-face with her reflection in the full-length mirror. This was
her,
right here, right now. Zac was a good guy. Sure, he loved women—a
lot
of women—but he treated them with respect. He didn't cheat or lie to get them into bed.

Her head reeled as she dropped her handbag on the floor, then slowly placed the designer-boutique shopping bag on the bed.

With trembling fingers she yanked her shirt free from her skirt, then plucked open the buttons until it hung loose on her shoulders. She'd packed a toothbrush, deodorant and condoms crammed in with a handful of bra and knicker sets, choosing anything remotely seductive while visions of Zac's gorgeous ex-girlfriends taunted her selection. But now, standing half-dressed in front of his unforgiving mirror, she hesitated.

He'd bought her a gift…most likely lingerie. Men were predictable like that.

She stared at her reflection. She'd picked out a red lacy bra this morning, but the thing had itched so badly she'd quickly swapped it for her favorite white cotton one with tiny blue flowers.

She pulled off her shirt, hands on her hips and studied the bra in the mirror. Clean, pretty. But still white cotton.

Swiftly she grabbed the shopping bag, frowning when she pulled out a simple white shoe box with Martinez Valero in blocked roman lettering.

Shoes. So…
not
lingerie?

She peeled the lid back, expecting something red, high and flashy—stripper shoes.

But the gorgeous strappy-sandal creation nestling in black velvet sent her feminine heart beating faster. With a gasp, she reached in and reverently pulled out one shoe.

It wasn't the tiny rhinestone-encrusted buckles that got her, nor the four-inch white-satin-covered heels. It was the fluttery arrangement of sheer silver organza petals that fell along the white leather T-strap from ankle to toe.

“Oh, my—” They were gorgeous. Quickly she toed off her black office shoes, then reverently slipped on Zac's gift.

After buckling the straps, she straightened.

Her breath caught at the sight. Wow. By some miracle her legs looked longer. She hiked up her gray skirt to mid-thigh then turned side-on. Yep. Legs definitely longer. And skinnier.

“Magical shoes,” she breathed, staring at her wide-eyed reflection until her eyes came to rest on her bra.

She quickly fished out that morning's reject from her bag, swiftly got it on, then stepped back, surveying herself with a critical eye.

It was too small. The cups barely held in all that boob. She tugged, then dug her hand in, repositioning her breasts. Nope. Still about to pop out. With a resigned sigh, she focused on her hair, pulling out the ponytail, then tipping her head down to fluff it up.

The sight that greeted Zac as he padded soundlessly up the stairs stopped him in his tracks.

Emily, her butt in the air, shaking out her hair, skirt hiked up to reveal shapely muscular thighs, curvy knees and a pair of strong calves. Deceptively long legs that complemented the shoes perfectly.

But then she straightened and placed her hands on her hips, and he nearly dropped the wine.

A smooth torso, hands on her flaring hips, emphasizing an hourglass waist…and then, the most magnificent pair of breasts he'd ever seen. The lush mounds were encased in a fire-red bra, the cups sweeping so low they barely concealed her nipples.

His breath came out in a strangled gurgle and Emily whirled, wide-eyed.

As he stared, a flush spread slowly across her cheeks, hands fluttering as if deciding whether to cover up or not. Blood began to pound thickly, expectantly.

“Don't move.”

She froze, fingers laced demurely in front while he took in his fill.

He ran his gaze unhurriedly down her lush body, paused on the shoes before coming back up to meet her eyes with a satisfied grin. She met his gaze, as if daring him to comment.

The only thing that gave her away were those fluttering lashes.

With slow deliberation he placed the takeaway bag and bottle of wine on his armoire. “Do you like the shoes?”

She moved, her weight transferring onto her back foot. “I
do,” she got out after clearing her throat. “They're absolutely beautiful.”

So are you,
he wanted to add, but sensed that such an obvious compliment would only make her more nervous. Instead he poured the wine and offered her a glass.

Trepidation slowed her approach. It amused him to see his normally unflappable assistant so wary, so out of her depth. Dressed in a skirt, a bra and a pair of high heels.

It also flared something deeply male inside, firing his blood and quickening his breath.

She was all his for the night.

Oblivious to his heated thoughts, she took the glass, murmured her thanks, then took a sip. But when he reached out to run a finger over the curve of her bare forearm, she jerked back.

“Sorry,” she muttered, first wiping the wine from her hand, then dragging a finger up the glass to catch the rest.

“You missed a bit.”

“Where?”

“Here.” With a firm hand he pulled her to him, leaned down and gently licked the drops from her bottom lip.

Her breath strangled out, her eyes fluttering closed.

Zac grinned. He took a sip of his wine before placing both glasses down and going in for another kiss.

Warmed from Zac's mouth, the semisweet liquid slipped past Emily's lips and she groaned, swallowing.

His hands on her arms firmly pinned her as he deepened the kiss, spiked with the bite of alcohol and flamed by need. Her breasts began to throb, pushed up against his chest, and she let out another groan when he wedged one hard thigh between her legs.

So hot. So, so hot.

Through the haze of desire, she felt him nudging her backward, and suddenly her legs met resistance. The bed.

They both went down, his grip tempering their fall, lips still tasting, teasing. The satin cover gave her goose bumps until Zac swept his hands over her stomach—her most sensitive spot—and she shivered in earnest.

At his deep chuckle, she forced her eyes open.

He was above her, that lock of too-long hair flopping forward, giving him a rakish edge. She couldn't make out his eyes in the shadows, but as his palm slid firmly up her belly, the slant of his mouth revealed the utter seriousness of his intent.

After months spent lusting after
the
Zac Prescott, he was finally here, in bed and touching her. This amazing, gorgeous man wanted
her.

Then his hand cupped one breast, his thumb finding her hardened nipple, and all thought fled. The half-curve of his smile twisted the hard knot of desire inside her.

With slow deliberation, he peeled down one bra cup and her puckered nipple sprang free. His mouth swiftly covered it, the damp heat a mixture of joyous delight and shocking intimacy.

When his teeth gently scraped the sensitive flesh she gasped, her back arching, longing spreading deep into her belly, then creeping lower, fanning the blaze of arousal.

He nudged her back up on the bed, settled himself between her legs, then proceeded to lavish undivided attention on her breasts. He stroked the swelling curves, then teased the nipples into hard nubs with first his fingers, then his mouth. A myriad of sensations burst like small zaps of electricity over her skin, forcing her breath into a ragged gasp.

“Zac. Please…”

“What?” His grin was too innocent as his mouth closed over her breast. And his tongue…oh, lordy, his tongue danced a wicked rhythm over her painfully engorged nipple.

“Can…you…ahhh…”

“Keep going?” His thumb stroked her other nipple and all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut, arch back and let the sensations ride her. “Stop?”

“Yes…no… It's…” Her breath strangled out as he licked the hard nub, then gently blew on it.
Too wonderful. Too amazing. Too…

“Too much,” she managed to gasp.

“Hmmmm.” When he pulled back, her eyes sprang open. With infinite concentration, he slid his hand down, over her belly,
skimming the indentation of her belly button, to finally stop at her waist where her skirt had bunched.

Panic spurted as he rocked her hips, gently easing off her skirt. She hadn't had time to change into anything remotely seductive, but as he peeled off her skirt to reveal white cotton bikini knickers, she needn't have worried. His eyes were glued to her face, watching her expression, her reaction.

Like the one she obviously made when he cupped the most intimate part of her and a wave of heat roared over her skin.

He grinned again. “Too much?”

Without waiting for an answer, he ran a knuckle over the elastic waistband before gently sliding inside, his ragged groan as he tangled in her curls a mix of delight and need, mirroring hers.

The urgency in his bruising kiss was unmistakable, his lips, his tongue making her drunk with desire. She couldn't resist when he nudged her legs farther apart, his skillful fingers easing firmly inside her with a purely possessive growl that rocketed through her blood. She was so very aroused, so very wet for him. And he knew it.

When Emily's tongue tangled gently with his, it nearly sent Zac over the edge. Her teasing hot mouth, those luscious breasts pressing into him, combined with the slick warmth enveloping his fingers. He couldn't wait any longer.

With a groan he wrenched away, feet hitting the floor as he ripped off his shirt, then fumbled with his belt and zipper.

He pulled down pants and boxers, cursed as they got tangled in his shoes and socks, then finally kicked them into a corner of the bedroom with a grunt of frustration.