Текст книги "Blind Date "

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Chapter Nine

“Well, that was a bust.” Charley sighs and drops herself onto my snuggle armchair. Her purse falls to the floor, and she kicks her heels off.

I wince as they hit my wooden floor, heel first. “The date? Why?” I almost forgot that tonight was her second date with Carter’s friend… The bastard behind my initial meeting with the man.

She groans. “He thought we’d… You know.”

“Bump bulls?”

“Yes. That. I had to disappoint him because I don’t have sex on the second date.”

“You’re on your period, aren’t you?”

Another groan, but this one sounds so much more painful. “Yes! And it’s like a thousand rabid woodpeckers are trying to drill their way through the walls of my uterus!”

I get up, walk to the pill drawer, and grab a packet of period pain pills. I throw them at her head. “Here, bitchypants. Take two of those.”

“Thank you!” She sighs and pops two from the foil strip, then takes the glass of water I hand her. “Anyway, long story short, he was apparently only in it to get his snake in my turban and that’s the end of that.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Oh, you sound real sorry.” She rolls her eyes.

“Hey, I tried!” I protest, sitting on the sofa and crossing my legs in front of me. “That counts for something, right?”

“S’pose,” she mutters, reaching inside the front of her dress and fiddling with her bra. She slides the straps down her arms, just avoids a nip-slip, and sets her bra in her lap.

Welcome to Best Friend Ville. Population: Crazy.

If I didn’t do the same thing to her, I’d be real pissed.

“I don’t know why you keep trying so hard. This is New York. There are thousands of guys that actually deserve your time. All you’re doing by going on these endless, useless, fucking shit dates is hurting yourself. Cinderella didn’t go to her fairytale, and neither did Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. Their fairytales came to them.”

“Meanwhile, Rapunzel whacked hers over the head with a frying pan,” she replies dryly.

“And I am so Rapunzel,” I answer. “But the point is Flynn Rider still came to her, did he not?”

“I guess.” She’s just grumbling now. “I already tried that though, remember?”

“Charley, you went two weeks without going on a date. That’s like waiting for the flowers in your window to bloom.” I roll my eyes. “Wait for them to die and come back. If it doesn’t work then, then go back searching. The only dates you’re finding are rotten and moldy.”

“Mmm. I’ll think about it. Anyway, how’s the issue at work?” She rolls her face to me. “You didn’t call yesterday so it can’t have been bad.”

I shrug and pick at a loose thread on my sock. “Yesterday was… odd, but okay. Today was the best. I didn’t see him even once. Didn’t even call or anything. It was like heaven.”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick.”

“Pretty thick is exactly how I feel.”

“You were alone with him yesterday, weren’t you?”

Best friends. Knowing what you don’t say since the dawn of time.

I tell her everything about the first day, from the trip to the artist’s studio to lunch to the two minute phone call as I updated him. I was super glad not to see him today because, honestly, I don’t know how much of him I can take. I think my Carter Hughes meter is getting pretty full.

I might need a vacation after this job is done. Or halfway. Whatever.

“Didn’t you guys agree not to be alone?” Charley questions.

“Yep.”

“And you broke it on the first morning.”

“Yep.”

“You know the chances of you finishing this job without kissing, sucking, or fucking him are incredibly small, don’t you?”

I sigh and cup my chin with my hands. “Yep. But I’m holding onto that little chance. Like when you rush to the store when there’s a sale on for those shoes you want but you know probably won’t be there in your size? They’re never in mine. So sex with Carter is my new coveted shoe that I absolutely won’t get.”

Charley pauses for a moment. “That actually makes perfect sense. Kudos.”

“Thank you.”

She swings her legs around the chair. “Now that’s out of the way—where’s the ice cream?”

***

Another day passes without seeing Carter.

I like it that way—always have, regardless of the client. Some can be overbearing and constantly question the way I do things. The worst one was a socialite whose husband had given her free reign with the whole house. It took months to complete, and in the end, I had to tell her husband very nicely that if he didn’t whisk her off somewhere nice on vacation for the final three weeks of the project, I’d be quitting and billing him for the mental health days I’d surely require.

Thankfully, he laughed, winked, and the next day, they were on their way to Bora Bora.

Nice work if you can get it.

The restaurant is now totally bare. It’s day three and the floors are up, the wallpaper is pretty much all stripped, and the bar has been demolished. There’s nothing but wood, wood, and more wood. Also a bit of brick here and there. Apparently there was some cracked plasterboard beneath the paper, so that’s getting fixed up first thing this morning.

I just want it to stop looking like a building site so I can get in here and go wild with the design. I keep mentally rearranging pictures and décor every time I walk into this room. I’m itching to get stuck in and tear open the boxes of things that are sitting in the storage room waiting for the rest of their friends to join them.

Like… God. I love designing, I do. But I love being in the room and seeing it finished—making it be finished.

I can see it now in this room… How to position the pictures for maximum light from the new fixtures being fitted this afternoon. How to arrange things for privacy between tables. How to lay out the centerpieces. The exact angles of tables…

Yet everything will change when all the furniture has been delivered and assembled. I know I’ll change everything until I’m right back at the original design, and that’s the fun of it. Also frustrating, but fun just sounds way more positive.

Satisfied with how everything is going, I tell Dave to call me if he needs anything and grab a cab outside the restaurant. I settle back into the seat on the way to the office and flick through my planner. Aside from a couple of phone calls and a home visit, the next week is dedicated solely to Carter’s. Unfortunately, I’m a bit of a useless shit in these first few days.

I’m no wallpaper master.

I put my planner back in my purse, pay the driver, and get out of the car. The clouds are gathering in the sky above me, blocking out the sunlight and sending a slight chill through the air. I shiver at the thought of rain and head into the building. My heels click against the floor of the lobby area and I throw one of the security guys a wave before pushing the button for the elevator.

The doors open with a ping, and I get in. I jab the button for Donnelly Designs’ floor and step back. The doors slowly close, and I wriggle my toes inside my shoes just as a hand slips between the doors and forces them to open.

I swallow my groan as my eyes meet the emerald green of Carter Hughes’.

I knew it was too good to be good.

“Ms. Donnelly. Fancy seeing you here,” he comments smoothly, joining me inside the elevator.

“Yes, it must be so shocking, especially given that I work in this very building,” I drawl.

He adjusts his sleeve at his wrist and shoots me a sideways glance, smirking. “So you do. How are things at the restaurant?”

“Looks like a toddler went into it with a bulldozer.”

“Just as expected then.”

I look over at him, my lips twitching. “Absolutely. Are you here for business?”

“Actually,” he says slowly, turning to face me fully. “I’m here to see you.”

Well, this is going to go one of two ways. “You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Thankfully, the doors ping open. I push off the back wall of the elevator, only for Carter to beat me to it and slip out. He flattens a hand against the opened door edge to stop it from closing. “Thank you.”

I swear all I do is thank this man.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiles and follows me.

Carlos is sitting behind his reception desk, slumped forward and looking at what seems to be his Kindle.

I clear my throat.

He looks up, eyes wide. The Kindle quickly disappears. “Bee! You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“Obviously. Good book?” I query, walking up to the counter.

“Not bad. Could use a little less kissing and a bit more murder.” He shrugs.

I just about refrain from rolling my eyes. “Do I have any messages?”

“Mrs. Cortez cancelled again and requested you call her back. Your mother said to tell her—”

“I can imagine,” I cut him off. “Anything else?”

“Yes. She’s at Louis’ for the next two hours working on carpet and wallpaper samples.”

“Carpet and wallpaper samples, hmm?” I take the notecard from him with Mrs. Cortez’s phone number. “Did she say if they were his current ones or future ones?”

Carlos grins. “Nope. I’m going to bet on current ones.”

“I’d bet with you but it doesn’t count if we bet the same thing.” I turn to my office then spin back, almost bumping into Carter. “Hey, did my bookshelf arrive?”

I’d swear Carlos blushes. “It’s due for delivery tomorrow.”

I point the notecard at him. “And you’re sure it’s a bookshelf this time?”

“Your mom watched as I ordered it. Definitely a bookshelf.”

“Just messing with you. Thanks.” I smile and open the door to my office. “Come in, Mr. Hughes.”

He follows me in and shuts the door just as I drop the card with Mrs. Cortez’s number in my trashcan. “Not a fan of her?” he questions, pointing to the trash.

“She’s cancelled her last four appointments. I have her number memorized at this point.” I dump my purse on the floor by my chair and flatten my hands on the desk. “What can I help you with?”

He tugs on his tie, then with carefully calculated steps, closes the space between him and my desk. He rests his hands on the desk in front of mine, and for the first time, I’m thankful for the mess I have between us, otherwise I’m certain he’d make sure our fingertips touch.

He leans forward, his gaze zeroing in on mine in that compelling way he has. I’m trapped in the intensity of his stare, and there’s nothing I can do but stand here and hope that my eyes aren’t giving away the flip-flop feeling in my stomach.

Shit.

“I have to go to California for three days to look over some things with my restaurant opening there,” he says quietly. “I wanted you to be aware that Julia will be overlooking things here, and there’s a high chance my sister might just stop in to be nosey.”

Awesome. “And if there’s a problem?”

“Then you call me. Julia will check in with you twice a day, and as efficient as she is, I’d prefer to handle any issues myself.”

“And you called me a control freak.”

“You are a control freak.” He leans forward even further.

I can feel his breath just ghosting across my lips. “I’m not.”

“You are. It’s why you dislike me so much.”

“What the hell does me supposedly being a control freak have to do with liking you or not?”

“Because.” He reaches one hand up and runs his thumb down my jaw. The backs of his fingers brush across my neck, and I swallow hard, drawing a tiny, knowing smile from him. “You can’t control what your body does when I’m around you. When I touch you.”

His hand dips over my collarbone until his fingers are dangerously close to dipping against my cleavage. I straighten, shoving off of the desk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If that was all… I have an appointment soon.”

He doesn’t move. He stands there stonily, the only part of him moving his eyes. They drop to my chest and flick back up, hesitating on my mouth when I lick my lips.

He really needs to leave. He’s undressing me with his eyes, for fuck’s sake. No—screw that.

The man is fucking me with his eyes, and he’s doing it damn well.

I take a deep breath and draw myself up to my full height. I’ll show him the door. I have to show him the door.

Screw this throbbing in my vagina. She’s the reason I’m in this situation. She can fuck herself later.

I stalk past Carter in the direction of the door. He’s quicker than me, though. His arm darts out and his fingers curl around my wrist, and he yanks me against his hard body. The air whooshes out of my lungs as our chests collide and he secures me against him with one strong arm.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs in my ear. “Responding to me. Like I can’t see it. I can. It’s written all over your pretty face.”

My blood, red hot, thunders through my body, and my cheeks flush. “You’re seeing things,” I whisper. “Please let me go.” I push against him, but he only holds me tighter.

“I deliberately stayed away from you yesterday. Do you know that?” When I shake my head, he continues. “After we had lunch, I knew I couldn’t be around you. You made the right choice in getting a taxi here. There’s no way, had you have gotten into that car with me, that I wouldn’t have smudged the fuck out of your lipstick, Bee.”

I run my tongue across the inside of my teeth as I consider what to say. What am I supposed to say? “Have you considered it’s perhaps best to coordinate with my mother and have her oversee this project instead of me?”

“A thousand times. But then I wouldn’t get to watch you while you walk and imagine you bent in front of me and your ass with my still-red palm print on it.”

Holy. What?

“It’s definitely best if you coordinate with my mother,” I breathe. His words have made every one of my nerves tingle, and right now, all my nerves seem to be in between my legs. “Three days.” I swallow. “This is destined for disaster.”

Like it always was.

“I agree,” Carter agrees huskily. “So if it’s destined, why not help it along its way?”

I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with one swift movement that has his lips covering mine. The hotness of his mouth on mine shocks me, and I fall victim to his powerful and commanding movements. He pushes me back until my butt bumps my desk and I’m falling backward onto it.

He steadies me with his forceful grip. His other arm pushes stuff away until I’m properly perched on the edge, my legs open with him standing in between them. His hard cock pushes against my stomach as he leans into me and I curl my fingers around his neck.

I’m on fire. Everywhere.

He kisses me deeply, his tongue stroking mine, and there’s nothing but him and the raging pound of desire as it flows through my body. He eases his fingers inside the hem of my dress and up the inside of my thigh toward my aching pussy, and I know I should stop him, but oh Jesus. I can’t. My skin is tingling and my clit is throbbing in sweet anticipation of what’s coming.

He grazes his teeth across my lower lip as his thumb brushes my lace panties. My muscles clench at the gentle touch, and I tighten my grip on the back of his neck. His fingers slide my thong to the side.

I drop my head back, breaking the kiss, right as he rubs his thumb over my clit and pushes one finger inside me. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He kisses his way down my neck, each lingering touch only adding to the fire that is my want for him right now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is wrong. This is so. Fucking. Wrong.

He’s my client. It still doesn’t matter that we met before. He should not be finger-fucking me on my desk right now.

“See?” he rasps in my ear. “You can’t control this. You can’t control how fucking wet you are right now—for me. But you don’t want to, do you?” He pushes another finger inside me. “You might be a control freak, but only one of us has control over your body. And it sure as fuck isn’t you, is it?”

I want to tell him to fuck himself, but I can’t. “There’s a better use for your smart mouth,” I gasp as a jolt of pleasure sets my body alight.

“Better use for yours, too,” he retorts, nipping the side of my neck. “Look at you, Bee. Look at the way you’re riding my hand right now. What is it, baby? You want another?”

A third fingertip nudges the opening of my pussy, and my hips buck against his hand. I don’t, but I do. A whimper escapes me as he pushes a third inside me. The stretching of my pussy is far more pleasurable than painful, but I still drop my head back with a gasp.

“Hush.” Carter captures my mouth with his, biting my lower lip. “Your assistant out there doesn’t seem too bright, but it probably wouldn’t take him long to figure out what I’m doing to you.”

Carlos. Oh, fuck. “We shouldn’t—”

“Too late,” he responds without missing a beat. He kisses me again, even deeper than before, successfully making me forget whatever argument I was about to present to him.

He plays my body. My mouth with his tongue and my pussy with his hand. I’m like clay and he’s the master sculpture, each movement calculated for a perfect result—only this result is my orgasm.

And so it goes on. His fingers pumping inside me while his thumb circles my clit over and over, until my body goes taut and he forces my quiet cry into his mouth.

His fingers are still inside me as I drop my own to his hips and cup his rock hard cock with one hand. It’s straining against his pants, and I’m dying to slide inside them and work his pleasure from him as easily as he just stole mine from me.

Three knocks at my door cut through the room, effectively killing any plan for continuation either of us had.

They also bring me to my senses.

“Jesus fuck!” I hiss, pushing him away from me. My pussy immediately mourns the loss of his fingers, greedy little whore, and I jump up off my desk. I have to reach under my desk to put my panties back in place. “Two seconds. I’m just with a client,” I tell whoever is behind the door.

“Carlos told me it’s Carter Hughes. I only need a moment,” my mom’s voice responds.

Oh. Fuck. No. Fuck a doodle fucking doo, hell no!

Carter does his belt up as I turn and grab a fabric swatch book from my windowsill and put it on the desk, opening it to the drapes fabric section. I jab a finger at the chair for him to sit in.

He has the biggest shit eating grin on his face, far more appropriate for a teenage boy than for a thirty-two year old man. I want to rip off my panties and hit him across the face with them in the hope it’ll wipe that smile off of it.

I drop into my chair, and Carter scratches the corner of his mouth, looking at mine. I snatch up my phone and look at the screen. Shit. Lipstick smudged!

Damn it all! I knew I should have put the twelve-hour stuff on this morning.

I lick my thumb and scrub at the mark until it’s disappeared. He smirks, leaning forward and grabbing a page of the book.

“Bee!” Mom knocks again.

“Jesus, this is a meeting!” I call back, snatching a pencil. “Come in if you really have to.”

She does, apparently. With the same old look on her face as she always has… That disdainful downturn of her lips as she realizes my office hasn’t been tidied overnight. “What took so long?”

“Comparing curtain fabric swatches.” I tap my pencil against a page of the book. “Carlos said you were with Louis.”

“He double-booked,” she responds, disinterested.

Read: they got done early. I wonder if she knows that I know her meetings with Louis are less of the interior design kind and more of the interior exploration kind.

“Oh, okay. What do you need? We’re busy.”

“Can you find these vases? Stacy Vince wants six of them for her dining room but they seem to be absolutely nowhere. I think they’re commissioned pieces. I’ve tried to look but I can’t, and she’s left Carlos with three messages in as many days.”

“No problem.” I take the photos from her. They’re held together by a paper clip. “That all?”

“Yes.”

“And that had to be done right now because…”

“I’m hungry.” She smiles at me and then turns to Carter, her smile becoming even more dazzling. “Carter! How are you?” She holds her hand out to him.

Inwardly, I wince. Please don’t shake hands.

My mother does not need to clasp the fingers that, five minutes ago, were inside of me.

He stands and touches his left hand to her waist, then kisses her cheek. “I’m fine, Mrs. Donnelly, thank you. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful.” Mom fans herself as she steps back.

Crisis averted.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry. I have a busy afternoon and wanted to get a bite to eat while I can. I’ll leave you to it.” She takes a few steps back, but Carter shakes his head.

“Please, Mrs. Donnelly. It’s fine. I was just about to leave. I think we found what we were looking for, right, Bee?” He pins me with his gaze.

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “If you’re certain that’s the one you want. It’s hard to find sometimes.”

“Oh, absolutely.” The inflection in his word makes my heart clench with its implication. “Let me know if we get lucky.” He winks, then with one final smile at my mom, he turns and walks out of the door.

I don’t think he was talking about the pretend fabric.

Mom’s eyebrows shoot up, and Carter’s penetrating gaze is replaced by hers. “Now who are you trying to convince, you, that young man, or me?”

“Convince of what?” I look away from the door and focus on her.

“That you’re ridiculously attracted to him.”

“Please.” I shut the fabric book and get up to put it back where it belongs. “He’s very handsome, Mom, but he’s also a bit of an arrogant pig.”

“I see you’re trying to convince me.”

“I would have a response if I had any idea what in the hell you’re talking about.”

Mom walks up to me and pats my cheek. “I know you two met before, dear. Remember when he was here a few days ago?”

I have chills. I nod anyway.

“It was to inform me that your prior… relationship… Had no impact on his decision about the designer for the restaurant. He picked you for your credentials and not… otherwise.” For the first time ever, she looks slightly uncomfortable. “I’m a little put out you didn’t tell me, but I understand why.”

I frown. “Why aren’t you kicking my ass right now?”

She shrugs one shoulder and leaves that as her response.

“Mom. I fucked a client. Before he was a client. But still. And you’re not even mad?”

She waves a hand and walks to the door. She pauses, her fingers wrapped around the handle. Her dark, curled hair bounces as she looks over her shoulder at me. “Bee, I’m not happy. I’d like to think you can remain professional and not cross the line while you’re working together, but you’re a grown woman and able to make your own choices.”

Hello, guilt trip. I’ll just go and pack my suitcase for you.

“That said…” Her ruby red lips quirk into a half smile, and one of her perfectly shaped brows arches up. “If you’re do it with a client, you damn well picked a good one to do it with.”

“Uh… Are you drunk, Mom?”

She shakes her head, and with that, she opens my door and disappears through it.

I swear she laughs.

She must be drunk.

***

My mother knows I had sex with Carter.

My life is officially over.

I’m twenty-six and I don’t mind saying that she terrifies me. Hell yeah she does. She’s usually like a viper waiting to strike, which is why, two days after our conversation, I’m shocked that she didn’t uncoil herself and bite me in the ass for my actions.

If I were her, I think that’s what I’d have done. I’d have gone crazy… I think. The thing about it though is that she is right. I am a grown woman and I should be able to make the right choices.

Note the usage of the word ‘should.’ Clearly I’m incapable of doing such a thing… as evidenced by the situation I was in right before she came back.

I just… God. The way he makes me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever known before. Every touch is the instant heat of a freshly lit match, and each pound of desire is the gentle burning of a candlewick. His touch makes me feel alive, but more than that, it makes me feel wanted.

And in the end, that’s all anyone wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To feel wanted.

I’ve been wanted a lot. I’ve been lusted after and seduced and played with. I’ve allowed that to happen, but I’ve never really believed any of the guys I’ve been with, whether they were random one night stands or maybe casual fuck buddies. I’ve never sat back the next morning and thought to myself, ‘Gee, they really, really wanted me, didn’t they?’

I never experienced the rush of shattering self-control until I met Carter Hughes. I never knew what it was like to see resistance snap like an elastic band under too much pressure. I never thought I would… Not now.

He changed that. He’s like a magnet with his own intimidating pull, and no matter what, I’m finding myself more and more drawn to him.

I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be drawn to him. I don’t want to be the fly he catches in his web or the debris he pulls into his orbit with his gravitational pull.

Because that’s what it is… Carter Hughes has his own universe. One I know nothing about except for the fact he’s at the very center of it.

He just… commands everything. That’s perhaps the best way to say it. He commands anything and everything around him, and it seems that simple. I’m sure it isn’t. Nothing is ever simple once you scratch beneath the surface.

More and more, I’m feeling like I want to do that. I want to tear apart the layers that make him, him, and I want to scratch away the seemingly perfectness of his life.

No one’s life is that great. Or maybe he’s just one of the lucky ones. I don’t know.

I do know that I’m pretty mad at him for talking to my mother. Seriously—I don’t care how damn rich he is. I don’t care how many restaurants he owns or who the hell he thinks he is. He shouldn’t have done that.

Now I all but have my mother’s blessing to screw the ever loving fuck out of the man once this contract is up. I’m sure she’d feel very differently if she’d walked into my office instead of knocking, but hey ho…

I click on the email tab on my Internet browser and on a new message. I type ‘Carter’ into the ‘To’ bar and his email address comes up immediately. I click on it and type ‘Important meeting needed’ into the subject bar, hit shift, and start my email.

Dear Mr. Hughes,

An urgent matter has just come to my attention. Please let me know when you arrive back to New York so we can schedule a meeting as soon as possible.

Best wishes,

Bee Donnelly.

 

I send it and reach for the Sour Patch Kids sitting on my desk. The packet crinkles as I open it and grab two or three candies. My computer pings as a new email hits my inbox.

From: Carter Hughes (chughes@hughesrestaurants.com)

To: Bee Donnelly (beedonnelly@donnellydesigns.net)

 

Ms. Donnelly,

I expect to arrive back around midday. Can I interest you in a late lunch? I know a place that does great salads if tomorrow is your designated takeout pizza night.

Hope you’re well.

Carter Hughes

 

I smack my lips together as I hit reply. God… I really shouldn’t agree to this, but okay. He twisted my arm the second he said ‘takeout pizza.’

From: Bee Donnelly (beedonnelly@donnellydesigns.net)

To: Carter Hughes (chughes@hughesrestaurants.com)

 

Mr. Hughes,

I’m free for a working lunch at two p.m. Is this suitable for you?

 

From: Carter Hughes (chughes@hughesrestaurants.com)

To: Bee Donnelly (beedonnelly@donnellydesigns.net)

 

Ms. Donnelly,

That sounds perfect. I’ll collect you from your office at one forty-five. I’ll call ahead.

Also, consider bringing a change of underwear, otherwise I can’t promise you’ll be leaving with any on.

Actually, I know you won’t be.

Have a good day.

 

My jaw drops open at his audacity. What the hell?! Who does this man think he is?

I can’t even respond to that. More to the point, I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to respond to that.

I click the ‘x’ in the top corner of my screen and slam my laptop shut.

Arrogant fuckwad.