That something, dark and promising, flashed in his eyes again. A new wave of heat landed on my cheeks. He laughed and turned toward me, propping one knee on the couch. “Is that so, Miss Wood? I happen to appreciate your ass on a regular basis as well. This skirt you’re wearing now is by far my favorite. Hugs those curves of yours perfectly. Made me drool on more than one occasion.”
Oh, he was good. I should have stopped there. We worked together. Nothing about this conversation was appropriate for coworkers.
My unruly mouth and I continued, “If I could, I’d frame your ass and hang it on my wall.”
Shut up, Tate. Shut up.
I threw a challenging smile his way but lost my gumption when his warm hands slid up my leg and rested just below my knee. No longer massaging, he trailed lazy fingers over my skin, up and down, back and forth. He held my gaze, stopping time and space with the smolder in his eyes.
“Tate.” His voice deepened. “Someday, very soon, I will hang you on my wall, but not in a frame.” With that, he leaned forward, straddled my legs and kissed the holy living heck out of me, shutting me up real fast.
Oh, I’d been kissed before. Not often, but that didn’t matter anymore. No way in hell would I remember any previous smooches after Franklin Reed’s assault on my lips. It wasn’t slow and romantic. It definitely wasn’t awkward or stymied by shyness. It was a full on, you’re mine, I’m gonna eat you alive kind of kiss.
I melted. I liquefied beneath him, and with one swift move, his heavy body covered me from chest to knees. His arousal was evident, like a steel rod between us. If it weren’t for the damned pencil skirt, my legs would have opened for him. They tried. Lordy, Lordy, they tried. Poor babies didn’t have any room to move.
He released me for a brief moment. “You taste better than I imagined,” he moaned, breathless and husky. I nearly shattered to pieces beneath him and groped the very thing that started the romp—his ass. It was every bit as glorious beneath my fingers as it was on the eyes. Rock hard, round and flexing with every roll of his hips against me.
He nuzzled my breasts and then, with agile fingers, unhooked the buttons on my blouse. Panic stole my breath when he tugged the cups of my bra and freed me from its binds. As if sensing my trepidation he slid a hand under my chin and tilted my face to meet his. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.”
His lips commanded mine, giving and taking, prompting me to move just the way he wanted. I committed to memory the sounds he produced while he trailed kisses along my neck, nipped at my chest, pulled my nipple between his teeth. When his tongue brushed across the hypersensitive flesh, I lost my bearings and grabbed his head, pulling him against my bosom. He licked, sucked, and nibbled, and I bit my bottom lip to keep from screaming. Holy shit, I’d never known such pleasure, never felt so alive. I was out of my mind already. If this went any further, if I gave in to this need, I’d fall hard and never recover.
Franklin’s phone vibrated against my thigh nanoseconds before it announced a caller with “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak. With a final flick of his tongue across my hardened nipple, he cussed and pushed himself off me, dug his phone out of his pocket, and disappeared around the corner. I righted my bra and scooted upright to button my blouse. It took several deep breaths to clear my head.
God, what was I thinking coming to his apartment? How could I face him at work? I needed to make a clean getaway. If our make-out session continued, I wouldn’t have the strength to say no. How could any woman say no to that man?
I tiptoed on rubber legs across the shiny wood floor and grabbed my shoes. Whispers that sounded heated and angry carried through the hall. Praying for well-oiled door hinges, I slowly made my escape. I scuttled down the stairs and back around the corner of the building, ignoring the rocks that dug into my bare feet. It wasn’t until I pulled out of the parking lot that I remembered to breathe. Through my rearview mirror, I watched him skid around the corner and rub the top of his head.
* * * *
Okay. Maybe my exit was a bit overdramatic, but I needed distance. Not mere miles, more like a state or two. Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected someone like Franklin to be attracted to me, let alone have fantasized a scene like the one we’d just acted out.
One-Date Tate.
Was it the alcohol? He seemed into me from the second I entered the bar. Or was that my imagination? The past few months, we’d teased and flirted at work. According to Nan, I was the only woman in the building he paid attention to. We’d never crossed the line, though. At least, it didn’t seem that way. Then again, what did I know?
My cheeks ached by the time I pulled into my space in the parking garage, and I forced the smile from my face. I’d been ravished by Franklin Reed. Holy crap. Could I ever look him in the eye again? On Monday, I would return to work and pretend like nothing happened. Simple. In a few weeks or months, Franklin and I would laugh about our meaningless tryst.
I entered the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. My neighbor, Jacob Smart, greeted me when the doors slid open and I stepped out.
“Hey, Tatum. Come here you gorgeous thing, give me a squeeze.” I obliged and enjoyed the familiarity of his arms.
“How was your day, Jacob?” I kissed his cheek and brushed a piece of white hair off his forehead.
“Great day, today. I’m exhausted. Headed to bed.” He patted my shoulder and turned to enter his apartment.
“Goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jacob and I had shared a hallway for three years now. I moved into the building shortly after my father died. Jacob bought the neighboring unit a week after I moved in. For a sixty-something retired bookstore owner and widower, the guy was as spry as a toddler on a sugar high. We had become fast friends and he’d always been there for me, like a favorite blanket or comfort food. Wise, gentle, and patient, he called me on any bullshit I might have been idiotic enough to feed him.
I became obscenely wealthy on my twenty-first birthday. Turned out my father acquired quite a fortune after his great aunt died and kept it a secret from my mother and me. Upon his death, the money came to me. My mother wanted nothing to do with it. She’d said, “Without Antonio, I wouldn’t enjoy it.” Although I’d never desired material things, I did splurge and buy a condo on Alki Beach, overlooking Seattle and the Puget Sound. I had invested the rest of the cash and hadn’t touched it since.
It was a good feeling to know I was set for life, but I liked working. I enjoyed getting up in the morning and having a place to go. I relished the office camaraderie.
I ended up at Cruse Investigations because Wallace Cruse was a kiss-ass mooch. He grew up with Dad, harbored some weird man-crush on him, and followed him around like a lost puppy. My father started the company when I was three, got bored, and sold it to Wallace. When I debated college, Wallace offered me a job with a cushy salary. I was nowhere near qualified, and I know he hired me to satisfy his weird need to please the man he coveted. I took the job only because I still didn’t know what I wanted to do when I grew up.
As the receptionist, I spent most of my day answering phones, directing calls, scheduling appointments.
The majority of our cases? Infidelity. The majority of our clients? The upper echelon of the Seattle social scene. I’d learned over the past four years that absurd wealth didn’t protect people from stupidity. It just made it easier to cover up their imprudence. After Wallace took over, Cruse Investigations quickly became the place to call when someone suspected a cheating spouse or significant other. We’d become the Jerry Springer of the private investigation world.
Wallace was the king when it came to schmoozing. King of Kiss-Ass that is. Lied through his teeth most of the time to land clients, but for some crazy reason, it worked, and he’d built himself a mini empire with my father’s company.
I