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Looking her right in the eyes, I say, “Policy or no policy, you shouldn’t let people treat you like that. Seems like an untrustworthy group. And you’re better than them.”
She stares in surprise – confusion, sadness, and acceptance crossing her face. Then she carefully extricates her wrist. The elevator dings and we step in.
“Constance has had it out for me for a few years.” The words are quiet and tense, and I wonder if she’s ever spoken them aloud before. “I’ve been trying not to let her get the best of me, but lately…” She shakes her head. “That’s what I’m talking about, Nick. That’s what I’m up against. So, if you’re bored and looking for someone to flirt with, it’s not going to be me. I have too much to lose.”
She meets my eyes, and I’m humbled by the strength and resilience in them. I can’t imagine losing both of my parents and being on my own for so long.
But then… maybe we aren’t so different.
The elevator moves quietly to the ground floor. I suddenly feel closer to her–close enough to lean in and steal a kiss.
So I do.
It’s a chaste one, and Blair blinks in surprise as I pull away, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth.
“I’ll keep your secrets,” I promise just before the doors open. “I’d do just about anything for you, Blair Morrison.”
Chapter 6
Blair
I’ddojustaboutanything for you, Blair Morrison.
Nick’s sultry words come back to me and my knees weaken. I’m almost fully submerged in my bathtub, steeping in the feeling of how turned on I getevery single timeI replay that moment.
It’s ridiculous. Nick is just another man who thinks he can have it all. I set boundaries and he still doesn’t respect them.
Well… did he really do anything wrong?the little voice in my head asks.
I begin to think about all the things Nickdiddo to me the night I met him. How he played with my nipples for what felt like hours, licking and sucking and gently nibbling. I bring my own hands to my nipples now and as I begin to touch them I feel an electric surge directly to my center. I leave one hand on my nipple while the other one finds my clit, swollen and erect. I begin to make small circles on it, gasping with pleasure. I’m still thinking about Nick and how he touched me in all the right places. Remembering his broad shoulders and chest, with just the perfect amount of chest hair. I begin to speed up my hand’s motions on my clit. I tense my legs and my breath shortens. After a couple more minutes of this sublime pleasure, I come so hard I cry out. Fuck, I needed that…
I bask in the glow for a few minutes before deciding I need to get out of the tub.
Toweling off, I think about what I want to wear. I need to be at Nick’s in an hour. It’s a Saturday, not usually a workday for me, but this was the only day Nick and I could spend some time going over the files.
I’ve spent the last few hours doing some self-care – facial, pedicure, shaving my legs, and, of course, the orgasm… and telling myself it’s just a normal day of pampering.
But, staring at myself in the mirror, I look at my face and wonder what the fuck I am doing. Then I think of Nick’s lips and the feel of them on mine. A tease. A promise.
Groaning at just how distracted I am, I head into my bedroom to change.
Nick’s house is more understated than his father’s, but not by much. It’s a sprawling country home, shaded by oaks and maples. The grounds are pristine, with lush landscaping. The home itself is a French Country stone ranch with a multitude of French doors that open up onto the huge patio.
The slam of my car door echoes and I wince. One second, two—and the front door opens.
Nick stands there looking sinful in jeans and a t-shirt. How is that fair? As I walk toward him, the only hint of his age is the crinkling at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. I bite my lip and murmur a greeting.
“So,” he asks when we’re standing in the foyer, “would you like a tour?”
I raise an eyebrow and fight the urge to look at him, knowing he’s waiting for an answer.
“If you’d like,” I finally reply.
The thing is, while the Weaver empire is remarkable, I’ve worked with more than a handful of ridiculously rich families over the last decade. The numbers on the page no longer impress me. They rarely give you a hint as to the kind of person you’re dealing with.
I walk through the house with him while he points out features in the house he’s proud of. When we get back to the kitchen, he looks at me in anticipation and asks, “What do you think?”
I shrug. “It’s very nice. A little… empty.”
