I nod.
‘I didn’t hear that.’
‘I want this,’ I groan, my fingers tearing through his hair, my mind completely scattered.
His laugh is throaty as he lifts me once more, but this time he eases me down to the floor, stroking up my dress as he goes.
I know outrage must show in my face, and I know he appreciates that.
‘You want me.’
Mortification, anger and impatience are firing bullets across my desire.
I reach down and cup his hard-on, my eyes issuing him with a challenge. ‘And you want me.’
He nods slowly, his eyes locked to mine. There is no mockery there now; instead I see something darker. Resentment.
‘I want you.’
He turns away from me, pulling his pants up, buckling his belt, his shoulders set square.
He turns to face me, his expression suddenly businesslike. ‘We’ll talk after the meeting.’
I blink. The meeting. Shit. It’s the reason I’m here but how quickly I’ve forgotten its existence.
My eyes fly to the clocks on the wall, each showing a different time zone. There are minutes to go before the others are expected, which means they could literally arrive now. I run my hands down my dress, then neaten my hair. No time to pin it back into a bun so I just smooth it with the palms of my hands until it sits neatly around my face.
I turn to face him, intending to ask for my underpants back. But the look he gives me is so fulminating that I lose my voice.
‘You look like you’ve just been fucked,’ he says darkly, and I sweep my eyes shut, shame spiralling through me.
What the hell has come over me?
I stalk towards him, my hand extended, waiting for the scrap of lace he must have somewhere, but he grabs my hand and jerks me against him once more.
‘I like the way you taste.’
And he pushes me against the glass, and his hand pushes between my legs, and he pads a thumb over my clit. I’m already at breaking point. His body traps mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He watches me from a distance as he torments me with his thumb, moving faster until my breath is ragged and my eyes are huge.
‘I want to taste you tonight. I want to spread your legs and dip my tongue inside you. Then I want to flip you over and take you from behind. You are so fucking hot when you’re turned on.’
I whimper—a sound of pure confusion—because the pleasure of his words combined with the torment of his touch is almost more than I can bear.
I swear—a low, throbbing whisper—as my pleasure bursts like a waterfall. I come. I come hard. And as I do he slips a finger deep inside me, swirling it against my walls as my muscles contract. He stays there as I fall apart and then he glides his finger out and lifts it to his mouth, sucking on it while his eyes watch me.
The door is pushed inwards. It happens so quickly. I am still breathless, and I’m sure my orgasm is written all over my face. It’s not like it was my first time, but this was Jack. He’s Jack Grant—seriously sexy.
He should come with a health warning.
I hear my colleagues move into the room and I turn away on the pretext of getting myself a coffee from the back of the room.
He still has my underwear, and the tops of my legs are wet with the evidence of my own satisfaction. My breath is uneven.
God, this is going to be the longest hour of my life.
* * *
‘Gem.’
Is that what everyone in the universe except me calls her? Her back has been towards me for at least three minutes and I’ve gone through the greetings and I’m waiting for her to turn around. I want to see her full red lips, her messy hair, her passion-soaked expression, and I want to know that I did that to her.
She angles her head sideways to greet Barry Moore, one of the transition team consultants on the Tokyo deal. ‘Hey...’
Her smile is cool, her expression calm. The only sign that she was ravaged by me only minutes ago is that her nipples are straining against the fabric of her dress—something that might be explained by the ice-cold air conditioning.
‘You did a great job on the summaries—thanks.’
‘You got my email, then?’ Her voice is calm and clipped, as always, those haughty, aristocratic syllables like plums in her mouth.
‘On the flight over.’ He nods, his eyes briefly dipping to her breasts so that I am flooded by an urgent need to bodily shove him aside.
‘Jack? Shall we begin?’
I draw my attention away reluctantly, turning to the manager of the takeover team. ‘Yes. Take a seat.’
I nod towards the table and find myself drawn to one seat in particular. I press my hands to the tabletop, right where Gemma’s legs were spread, and my eyes seek hers.
She meets them with fierce resentment.
She’s pissed at me.
I just made her come in what I gather to have been a spectacular fashion and she’s angry with me. Mind you, I guess I didn’t really choose my time or place well. Leaving her breathless and wet right as some of the company’s most senior staff filed into the room might explain her anger with me.
I sit down, my eyes not shying away from hers.
She chooses a seat at the other end of the table, on the opposite side. I cross an ankle over my knee and something catches my eye. Something dark and small. With a smile, I reach down and lift her underpants off the floor, palming them thoughtfully.
Her eyes are watching me and I see embarrassment creep along her cheeks, creating a hole in the armour of her professional composure. Her beautiful neck moves visibly as she swallows. And while I have her attention I lift my finger to my mouth and run it over my lower lip thoughtfully, tasting her openly.
Even from this distance I hear her sharp intake of breath and I smile.
I’m going to make her do that a lot.
‘I BELIEVE YOU have something of mine.’
Like my dignity. My self-control.
The meeting took almost two hours, and I managed to concentrate for the most part. But every now and again my insides would clench, reminding me that Jack had driven himself inside me—that he’d made me come against the glass windows of his boardroom and he hadn’t experienced the same pleasure. I should have felt satisfied by that, but instead I was annoyed. Like he had proved how easily he could tear me apart and I hadn’t done the same to him.
‘Yeah...’
His smile makes my heart pound. Desire is slick in my blood, heavy and needy.
‘So?’ I put my hand out, then retract it, remembering belatedly that he has a habit of yanking me towards him when I give him the chance.
‘So...’ He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the underpants. ‘I like the idea of you not wearing them.’
I roll my eyes. ‘What a cliché. Do you expect me to dress a certain way for you from now on?’
His smile is a flicker at the corner of his lips. ‘No...’
He wraps an arm around me easily, pulling me to him. Of course he doesn’t need my hand as an invitation. He