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She looked at Julian, holding his velvety blue eyes with her own strong stare. “So this is an act ofcharity, just like you sleeping with your poor lonely widow is an act of charity?”
Immediately, she saw he didn’t like her tone. “Careful, Skylar. I won’t take kindly to you mocking a good woman’s grief.”
“And I don’t take kindly to you wielding your arrogance like a scepter. You really do see yourself as the god the press has dubbed you. The god that can drive women wild with pleasure. The god that can bring meaning to lonely women’s lives. The god who can give the poor, dried up, frigid Skylar McKenzie the orgasm that will solve all her problems. Her hurts. Her wounds—” To her horror, her voice cracked, and she looked away, hating how her heart was thundering but, even more so, how tears had filled her eyes.
She viciously swiped them away and then stood. Looking at him once more, she leaned down and softly said, “I don’t need your fucking charity. Or your fucking options.”
He looked at her but without any noticeable compassion. Yet he didn’t look arrogant either. His expression was completely neutral as he said, “I’ll give you time to think about it, Skylar.”
“Fuck you, you bastard,” she said. She picked up her clutch and stepped away from the table, showing him her back. She’d just made it to the stairs when he spoke.
“Skylar?”
She froze, her hand on the cool metal of the staircase banister, but she refused to turn around.
“Think about it but don’t wait too long to get back to me,” Julian said firmly. “Because I’m done waiting.”
His words sent jolts of electricity coursing through her body. Even so, she raised her chin, straightened her shoulders, and stepped down the spiral staircase. With every step, however, her knees wobbled, and she was eternally grateful that he couldn’t see.
21
Monday came too quickly, and after a long and exhaustive day filled with back-to-back meetings, investor shareholder reports, and a constant stream of emails into her already overflowing inbox, Skylar finally shut her office door and, as quietly as possible, turned the lock. She closed her blinds and switched off all the lights save her desk lamp.
She didn’t want to be interrupted.
Slipping off her heels so they wouldn’t echo on the marble floors of her office, she tip-toed to her desk and rolled back her chair, being careful that the wheels didn’t make a sound. Even the creak as she eased herself down onto the cool leather made her wince. She froze and waited for the inevitable knock at the door, followed by the death toll of a “Ms. McKenzie?”
But after waiting for a long and painful moment, all remained silent outside her office door. She was safe.
There was a bottle of expensive gin in her bottom drawer, and she twisted the key, cursing even that tiny noise. She grabbed the bottle and the single glass, careful that neither clinked against her sleek, ultra-modern metal desk that had cost Embrette a fortune. She cupped her hand over the cork to mask the barely audible pop as she slipped it free. The clear liquor slid down the side of the glass like rain cascading down a windshield because she worried a pair of hawk ears might hear if she simply poured into the center.
And when the drink was poured, she hit the Search bar on her computer.
Moments later, the magazine article she’d read on Saturday, the one accompanied by the almost-naked picture of Julian, opened.
That night, Julian had pushed her buttons. So. Many. Buttons.
When she’d walked away from him. Goliath, the doorman, had a car and driver waiting for her the minute she stepped outside, and that had made her even angrier, knowing that Julian had arranged it.
How dare he try to take care of her when he’d just proposed something so ludicrous!
How dare he try to save her, even from himself!
How dare he make her choose between two untenable options— an article that would put the two of them in close proximity or an article on her boss that might take him down. And if Hardy Priese came down, so might Embrette. And so might her own career.
She’d torn off her dress as soon as she got inside her apartment, dove into the shower, and tried to wash away the memories of the evening.
But it hadn’t worked.
Instead, as she’d lathered herself with her favorite soap, she’d imagined it was Julian’s hands stroking her body. As she washed her hair, she imagined it was Julian’s fingers massaging her scalp. And then, as she’d held the shower wand in her hand, the water sluicing over her body, rinsing off the suds, she’d imagined it was Julian’s mouth making her so wet.
Finally, she’d staggered out of the shower, pulled on a cute nightgown, and with her hair still wet, she’d fallen asleep.
Sunday, despite all her attempts to work at home, Julian had dominated her mind yet again. In the light of day, it was the visual images, not his touch, that permeated her thoughts. His eyes were a lush navy blue that made her think of a lake shimmering in the moonlight. The size of his hands, with his long but masculine fingers. His shoulders were so broad, so straight. She’d forced herself to stay at the computer until midnight, stopping only for brief breaks. Still, he’d commandeered her dreams.
And today, as she sat in her office conducting Embrette’s business, thoughts of him still wouldn’t let her be. By the time everyone was shutting down their computers for the day, her thoughts had spun one erotic fantasy after another. Her skin had been aflame, tingling with desire, and she’d been tempted, so damn tempted, to go to him and beg him to ease the ache that had grown in her breasts and between her thighs until she’d wanted to scream.
Desperate, she’d come up with only one viable solution to try and find succor.
