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“The surprises never end with you, do they?”
“I try to keep people on their toes.” Slowly, he drags his heated gaze down my chest. “I meant to tell you earlier how much I love that dress on you.”
“You’re not really going to get me out of it, are you?”
“Do you want me to?”
“N-no.” What’s wrong with me? Why am I suddenly hot and shaky and stuttering weak denials?
He must pick up on the imposter taking over my body, because a second later, he’s on his knees in front of me, his steady hands working their way under my skirt and up my thighs. He wedges my legs apart but stops short of touching my pussy.
“Tell me to make you come, and I will, Novalee.”
“I shouldn’t want it.”
“But you do. Don’t deny yourself. There’s no room for shame or guilt here.”
“I’m in love with him.”
“He’s not here right now. I am, and there’s no shame in taking care of your needs, just like the rest of us.”
“He’s not touching other women.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that, Ford. Letting this happen…” I shake my head. “It isn’t fair to him.”
“Maybe it’s not about fairness, right versus wrong, or loyalty. Maybe it’s about what every atom of your body is telling you right now. Stop giving and start taking. You’ve earned it.”
“I…I can’t.”
He pulls away, disappointment straining his features, but my traitorous whimper brings him back. “If you won’t let me do it, then get yourself off. You need this.” He squeezes my thighs. “You’re wound so tight you’re about to break.”
“I’m strong enough not to.” Pulling myself together, I inch away from the promise of his hands and the pleasure they can give me. The tempting escape they offer. “Everything I’m feeling right now is for him. I’m sorry.”
With a sheepish grin, he returns to his seat across from the minibar. “I understand. I hope you’ll forgive me for trying.” He pours himself another drink, and I wonder how his liver will survive if he keeps drinking it into early retirement.
He lifts his glass in a toast. “To you and Sebastian. May you have plenty of orgasms during your special weekend.”
A sad smile creeps across my face. Despite his friends, the endless women, the generous bank account, and the free-flowing booze, Ford Stryker seems like a lonely soul too busy outrunning life’s expectations to find his true potential in the world.
11
“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Ford stands in the doorway of my studio, his hands in his pockets as a wide grin animates his features. I glance at the clock and realize it’s almost five. I sent my team home hours ago because I couldn’t concentrate with the excitement over this weekend coursing through me, and I didn’t want to look like a lovesick fool in front of them. And yet, somehow, I got immersed in work.
“I can’t believe I lost track of time.” I jump up from my work table, the sketch I was working on instantly forgotten. “And what surprise? I need to pack for the weekend still.” In a frantic hurry, I put away fabric samples, clean up odds and ends that fell to the floor during the busy workday, and tidy workstations. Ford lingers in the doorway the whole time, watching with that easy-going smile of his.
“Leave it, Novalee. The mess isn’t going anywhere, but you are.”
“Wait…what?”
He gestures toward the hall. “We’re going for a ride before you head up to Sebastian’s floor.”
“Why?”
“Like I said. It’s a surprise.”
I’m not sure I like his surprises, but the longer I stand here arguing with him, the longer it’ll take me to get to Sebastian. I’m kicking myself for not paying more attention to the clock.
