She swallowed, and his thumb, resting on her larynx, sent him that unsettling message.
But she averted her face, tilting her chin so she could see the wall clock in the board room behind them. "Clock's ticking," she said.
Breathe slow, breathe even. Breathe shallow. Stand straight. Don't writhe. Within her laced regimen of behavior, she could handle one arrogant bean counter. What kind of accountant looked like this? There should be a hidden camera somewhere, a TV show prank. What kind of accountant. . . could do . . . that}
Bracing his other arm so she was caged between them, Lucas had put his head down and brought his lips to the raised mounds. The tip of his tongue slid into the deep cleft. A teasing lick between the folds, barely touching ultrasensitive flesh, like a raindrop rolling down that tender crevice. His hair brushed her chin, her body somehow now canted into his so she could feel the pressure of it. All she had to do was lift her hands to slide across his broad shoulders, or put them inside the coat, to grip him at the waist. She'd seen that hard, lean body almost naked, knew what was concealed beneath the clothing.
Breathe. Slow. Even. Stay in control.
She pushed him away. Slap, hell. She punched him, though she was careful to choose the jaw and not the elegant nose or sweep of cheekbone.
Fire coursed through his gaze. For a blink, their deceptively civilized surroundings vanished and she thought he was going to wrest control from her, master her in truth.
Take her down and fuck her right here on the carpet as a double-edged punishment. God help her, her response to the thought, the shameful need which she could feel trickling down her thigh, was just there waiting, making her even weaker.
But he brought himself under control. One corner of his mouth lifted. "Nice jab. So who do you think won this round?"
She wanted to touch where his lips had been on her breasts. She thought if she did, she would come, just from bringing their two energies together like that. Her pussy was beating insistently, as if it had its own heart. It knew exactly what it wanted, unlike the higher, supposedly more sophisticated, organ.
"I pushed you away in ten seconds. I'd say the round is definitely mine."
"I'll let you have that, because I wasn't watching the clock." He leaned back against the opposite side of the doorframe now, which put her standing between the stretch of his long legs. "But if you make yourself come between now and the next time we see one another, the round will go to me. Because I'll know whom you're thinking about as you've got your fingers in yourself. You won't use a vibrator."
"Vibrators are far more efficient to deal with a passing urge," she said, tossing her head.
"Basic need fulfillment."
He nodded. "They are. But you'll use your fingers, sink them deep in your pussy, because you'll want the warmth of human flesh. Because you'll want to imagine it's me."
"Get over yourself," she advised, and stepped, graceful as a gazelle, over his polished shoes. As she headed down the hall, she knew she was fortunate not to have tripped and fallen, since her legs were less than steady.
"Cassie, your blouse."
She gave it a dismissive glance. He'd opened one additional button, so only the leading edge of the satin cups of the corset was visible, though of course, what was most noticeable above that were her breasts, the glimpse of cleavage considerably expanded.
Still, it wasn't porn, white trash level. It was as much as she might show if she was headed from the office to a night club to meet clients. It was way after five, after all.
"I don't have a problem with your boys getting the same view you got, seeing as they're not going to get a piece of it either."
Shouldering her briefcase strap, she kept going. And was brought up short one step later as he clamped down on her arm, turned her so her back was flat against the wall. His eyes might have beautiful doll's lashes. He might be an accountant. But the dangerous expression in his face left no doubt he was a man, and a lot bigger and stronger than her.
It made her breath catch in her throat, a sound of desire, and of course, damn it all, he saw it.
"You like the fact I can overpower you, don't you, Cass? That I don't let you get away with your freeze-out routine."
"Get off," she snapped. Even as it occurred to her that control was a very fine line when one was in the ring with a lion, with no whip or chair in reach.
"As far as your blouse goes, I have a problem with it." His fingers brushed the tops of her breasts, making her bite her lip, which did nothing to control the shiver still rocketing through her. Sliding the button closed again, he smoothed his hands down the front of the blouse, over the tightly bound curves, her rib cage, to settle on her hips. He brushed his lips over hers. "Do you smell yourself on my mouth? Just a faint trace from hours ago?"
When she closed her eyes, his lips moved to her nose, her temple. "You like the challenge of me, Cass, but you're afraid to enjoy it. You don't want there to be anything in your life you can't control."
"I'm not a child, Lucas. There are things beyond my control. Beyond anyone's control."
"But not your reaction. That's what the corset's about. To remind you that the rest of the world may be out of control, but you never will be."
Cassandra opened her eyes, stared up at him. "Is that what you enjoy, Lucas? Kicking in people's doors, just to see if you can? I guess destroying mine gives you a real charge, doesn't it?"
His brow creased. "Cassie, what—"
"My name is Cassandra, you arrogant ass." She pushed him, hard enough that she was able to take advantage of his surprise and jerk away. It may not have been the smoothest retreat, but it was a swift one. She made it to the relative safety of the admin area before he could catch up.
She was safe from him here. She just wasn't sure if she was safe from her vibrating body, her own dark urges, or her aching, confused heart.
Matt was signing some documents his admin had apparently left for him at her desk.
Peter was sprawled, relaxed on the couch, tie already loosened, while Jon stood talking to him.
Steady. Next chess move. Remarshalling her strategy, Cass painted on a cool smile, extended a hand to Matt. "I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr. Kensington."
He straightened and took it. She ignored the gooseflesh that his brief grip sliding over her skin gave her. Her hormones were in overdrive and Kensington was just too damned attractive. Like all of them. Despite the pheromones that radiated from his every gesture, she was pleased that at no time had she detected anything suggesting he wasn't entirely faithful to his wife. Of course, ironically, that would just enhance his appeal to women.
"And you, Miss Moira. Though you're welcome to call me Matt."
"Thank you, but I find it best to keep business relationships on that level. It ensures professionalism and keeps our minds on getting the job done."
"It certainly does," he responded with a cryptic smile.
Turning, Cass found Lucas in the hall doorway, hands in the pockets of his slacks, tawny hair falling over his forehead, enhancing the intent eyes. Tear the dress shirt open down the front, loosen the tie, and he could be a calendar pinup. A package that screamed sex, particularly the way he was studying her, calculating the meaning behind her every word and movement, figuring out how to dismantle everything she'd tried to build for herself.
Oh, yeah. She was going to have to hang in there, keep matching him, even as there was a part of her that wanted to run away or worse—not fight at all. Then she recalled his infuriating words about her, about why she wore the corset.
Think you know everything about me, Lucas? See if you predicted this, She turned to Ben. "Mr. O'Callahan, will you let me take you to dinner? Mr. Johnson would like to show his appreciation of your expeditious handling of the legal obstacles."
If Ben was surprised by the offer, he didn't show it. Giving her a sexy Irish smile, he plucked her light overcoat off the coat rack by Alice's desk. "A business dinner that doesn't end up on Matt's tab. How can I refuse?"
She nodded. As he helped her into the coat, she delayed freeing her hair from the collar.
As she expected, Ben loosed it, his hands sweeping it from beneath, knuckles brushing her neck as he let the clipped tail tumble down her right breast. While his touch produced an erotic ripple on her nape, she resented that the power of it seemed to come from the memory of Lucas's lips there, the way he'd pushed her into climax a month ago.
"Just dinner," she added with a smile. "I don't mix business with pleasure. While we're doing business, of course."
"Ah, a carrot to get this deal closed as quickly as possible. I love a manipulative woman.
I'll see if I can get Lucas and Matt to hurry this all along, so I can find out if you're bluffing." Ben grinned.
"Good night, gentlemen." She allowed him another practiced smile, the right amount of distance and warmth combined, promising nothing, and nodded to Matt, Jon, and Peter.
Then she shifted over to Lucas. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Adler."
"I'd appreciate it if you were here at eight. So we can take care of the preliminary details we discussed. Don't be late."
She noted the clipped edge to his words, and how his attention was on Ben's hand, resting at the small of her back, a bit low. If his little finger dropped a millimeter, she suspected it would be on the top of her buttock. Giving her the temptation of more, with the most discreet of contacts. They must practice this. Keeping business and pleasure separate on the surface, but making it impossible for a woman to conduct the former without thinking of the latter.
She shrugged, nodded. Later tonight she'd dissect her strategy for tomorrow. For now, she just wanted to be away from him, where her pussy didn't vibrate like a damn dinner bell every time he spoke, or leveled those eyes on her. Of course, that made her remember his earlier offer of dinner. What would it be like to take him to dinner, then take him home? Wake up with his smell around her, her face buried in his throat, body resting against the hard chest? Feel the cool metal of his medallion against her temple?