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That afternoon, Jordan checked his e-mail for the hundredth time. Two weeks. It had been two weeks since his steamy encounter with Becca in the elevator.
He ran his mouse across the pad, clicking and reclicking, trying his best to focus on something, anything other than Becca.
He hoped she would call, e-mail, send a carrier pigeon. Something to indicate that he wasn’t the only one jonesing for another taste. He promised her a taste. He hoped like hell that she would cash in.
All week he had tried to break down her resistance. At first, his ego led the charge, wanting her for another quickie in his office. But by Thursday, he realized that his day felt complete when he spoke to her, even if for only a minute. So this morning, he had set to work with the intent of making her see that he wasn’t just looking for another elevator romp. But he never even got to use his line.
Jordan was drawn to her vulnerability. Where other men might think she was easy, having sex with a stranger in a crisis situation, he knew there was more to her motives.
A soft voice coming from the intercom caught his attention. “Mr. Murphy. There is a Ms. Clarke here to see you.” He wasn’t expecting anyone. “She doesn’t have an appointment but she insists that you will see her. Rebecca Clarke?”
“Rebecca?”
“Yes, sir. Should I send her away?”
“No!” Jordan jumped out of his seat.
“I’ll be right there.” He smoothed down his tie and ran his fingers through his hair while rushing for the door to his office.
When he reached his secretary’s desk, the two ladies were engaged in casual conversation. Becca leaned against the high desk, her body cruelly covered up by a coat. The fragrant scent of coffee and the subtle scent of her perfume swirled in the air around him, taking him back to that day in the elevator and the mind-blowing sex they had shared. When she noticed him, she straightened her body, tugging at the belt of her coat. Her eyes blazed with desire, sending a wave of heat in his direction.
“Hi.” She spoke with a soft whisper.
“Hi.” If he had any intention of keeping her around, he was going to have to be more than monosyllabic. “Thank you, Janice.” He acknowledged his assistant, her blue eyes darting back and forth between them, no doubt trying to put together the pieces of their story. He ignored the blond woman’s questioning eyes and focused on Becca. “Ms. Clarke, come with me.”
Becca picked up the cardboard tray of coffee that sat on the desk. She walked toward him with the little wiggle that he had come to love. A sly grin curled at the side of her lips. When she walked in past him, his nose filled with the scent of her perfume, lilac or roses or daisies.
Whatever it was, it stirred his desire.
“I was hoping you could help me with something, Mr. Matthews,” she said just loud enough that his coworkers would think this was a business meeting. Not only was she drop-dead sexy, but she was smart and crafty.
Becca walked ahead of him into his corner office, and he motioned with his hand for her to enter. She sashayed toward his big black desk. Her nape was bare. It screamed for him to trail his tongue along her creamy skin. He watched her pull at the belt of her black trench coat; then he turned to close and lock the door behind them.
When he turned around, five and a half feet of raw sex appeal stared him right in the face. Her black coat puddled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but a black bra and matching thong. Spread across her hips was a black garter that held up black stockings. Becca held her weight on one foot as she stood before him even more beautiful than he remembered.
“I seem to have lost all my clothes,”
she said seductively. “Would you be willing to help me find them?”
“Absolutely not! Finding your clothes would be a crime against nature.” There was no reason for a body like that to be covered up at any time.
He stalked over to where she stood and pulled her to his body, her skin so warm and soft. Their previous encounter had prevented him from touching her the way he craved, their clothes an unwanted barrier that wouldn’t be a problem this time.
He grasped the back of her neck and smashed his mouth down on hers, unable to contain his need. Two weeks of pent-up sexual frustration wrapped around them, blocking out logic, nervousness,
embarrassment. There was only the two of them.
Her lips followed in his frantic rhythm. She gave as good as he was giving. Her hands snaked around his back and she squeezed him against her body, her palms flat against his shoulder blades.
Jordan’s hands roamed the length of her body, from her smooth shoulders to her supple thighs, and rested on her bare bottom.
Becca pulled away, her breath heavy as she gasped the words she needed to say. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted. Her hands made their way up and she kneaded her fingers in his hair.
“At work.” She kissed his nose. “In my car.” She kissed his neck. “In my bed.”
Jordan cleared his throat, certain that his words would be caught in the growing desire building from within. “What exactly are you doing when you’re thinking of me?”
“Would you like me to show you?”
