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“Great party, Des.” Gerald extended a hand.
Des shook Gerald’s hand and continued downstairs. Not his problem.
A crowd had already started to form in the lobby. The entrance area contained several groups of laughing couples, and the hallway to the conference room held even more. A few pairs danced to the music of Josh Groban, and he spotted a few clients hanging out by the punch bowl.
It would be a successful night. He could feel it.
A quick detour to his office yielded a tall cup of coffee, with the added bonus of two sugars. He normally drank his coffee black but with Wendy and her sultry jasmine perfume due to arrive at any moment, he couldn’t take the chance. Somehow the burst of sugar on his tongue helped distract him from scenting her like a wolf, and he wasn’t about to question his coping techniques. They’d helped him keep his dick in his pants for an entire year so they must be working.
An hour passed in a haze of conversation. It didn’t take him long to lose the button-down shirt he’d thrown over a T-shirt—yeah, he dressed casually, Cole could fucking suck it—though he dumped it off on his friend’s chair rather than his own. There was a heated argument going on in his office, and he figured he’d be nice and not interrupt since he and Cole were the dumbasses who’d neglected to lock their doors.
Fighting was one thing. But he’d make sure no bodily fluid was spilled in his office—unless it was his.
“You wish, Martin,” he muttered.
The drinks were flowing, the food was delicious, and the entire place smelled of cinnamon, hot cider, and pine. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, some more than others. He’d come upon several couples under the mistletoe that Cole had insisted Van hang up near the exit, though Des knew his partner hoped to lure her there herself before the night ended. Unlike him, Cole had no qualms about sleeping with his assistants. Nothing had happened between Cole and Vanessa yet, but Cole would make his move soon.
Luckily Des had a few more brain cells and knew where to draw the line.
Des did several loops of the party, determined to make sure all of his guests were having a good time. So many people grabbed him to talk that he didn’t notice Wendy’s absence right away. Cole and Van hadn’t seen her either.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Had something happened? It wasn’t like Wendy to blow off a work function. She was never anything less than diligent.
Just as he pulled out his cell to call her, a soft moan stopped him. His body tensed as he shifted direction.
Ah, Jesus, now there was someone in Cole’s office. That sealed it. Time to lock up.
Silently, he pushed the door inward. A lone figure sat at the desk, her back to him. It was a woman, judging from the hair tumbling down her shoulders. From her smell, that perfume that tormented his days and haunted his nights.
Then she turned, a flash of white clutched in one hand, the other buried beneath the voluminous skirt draped over the arms of Cole’s chair. He registered her sound of surprise, and the shock that emanated from her pores as she realized she’d been caught.
In Cole’s office. In his chair. With her hand between her legs.
Anger spurted hot and furious in Des’s chest, swamping the relief that she was okay. How could she be in this room, touching herself, when he’d had his dick on a chokechain for the past year? He’d done everything he could to keep his professional distance. For all he knew, all that time she’d wanted Cole.
Fucking Cole Warner.
He stepped farther into the room and slammed a hand against the door. It clattered shut. She gasped and leaped to her feet, the material from her hand fluttering to the floor.
They were ending this now.
He stalked behind the desk and yanked up the shirt from the floor. His shirt. She’d been holding his shirt, in Cole’s office. Moaning. Touching her pussy, making his mouth water from the scent he could’ve picked up if he’d been surrounded by a dozen other women. Hers would’ve overridden them all.
Catching it again, he slitted his eyes. She stood next to Cole’s chair, her breathing audible in the small space between them. Her chest lifting and falling, her chin swiveling back and forth as if she were debating making a run for the door.
As if she thought she could get away from him.
She lurched forward and he moved, clamping a hand around her wrist. A startled squeak escaped her before he covered her mouth with his hand, hauling her back against him. “Just be quiet. Do you want everyone to know what you’ve been up to in here?” He allowed himself one illicit brush of his face against her hair. She smelled of her perfume and soap and alcohol, something rich and sweet. Bourbon perhaps, except they weren’t serving that at the party.
Maybe that explained everything. His stalwart secretary was drunk.
He dropped his hand from her mouth. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Let me go.” She yanked her arm but his grip held fast.
“I asked you a question, Wendy.”
“A couple of glasses.”
