Talking Dirty With the Boss: A Talking Dirty Novel (Entangled Indulgence) (13 page)

She raised her hands and put them against his chest but didn’t exert any pressure, her fingers resting lightly on him. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. But you know what? I’m sick of worrying about it. And I’m not much for following good ideas so…” She slid one hand up and around behind his head, her fingers threading through his hair. “You should kiss me. Right now. Before I change my mind.”

Luke didn’t need any more encouragement that that. He bent his head, found her mouth already waiting for his, and took what she offered. The kiss exploded through him like pressing the accelerator down on the Veyron. All speed and the rush of adrenaline. The sense of hurtling toward something very, very fast.

It made him want to let go, throw caution to the wind the way he did in a fast car. Made him want to be wild and reckless and out of control. And then her mouth opened under his and he tasted her own wildness, her recklessness, and it was like his own.

He moved his hands up her body, easing her T-shirt up with it, and she raised her arms so he could pull it off her. Then he reached around and unclipped her bra, letting it fall, baring her. She shuddered as he cupped the softness of her breasts in his hands, arching back against the car and gasping as he bent, taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking on her.

She was like one of his compulsions. Or an addiction. And this was definitely the way to handle it.

His hands moved down, pulling at the button on the fly of her jeans, easing the zip down. Her hands had found their way under his T-shirt, sliding over the bare skin of his chest, caressing him the way she’d caressed the metal of the car earlier. “Luke,” she whispered as he eased down her jeans, taking the little lacy thong she wore with them. “Perhaps we should slow down.”

But he wasn’t going to be able to slow down. He was racing now, around the track, faster and faster. There was no stopping and definitely no slowing down.

Desperation had him in its grip and he couldn’t get free. She was finally here, safe in his house and yet for some reason it wasn’t enough. She’d been hurt and he had to fix it. Make sure she didn’t think about the man who had hurt her again. Wipe the bastard off the freaking map.

He pulled her jeans off her, trying to be patient and failing. Eventually, he picked her up in his arms, carried her over to the Ferrari, and laid her down on the bonnet.

His fantasy was going to happen now. Right now.

She didn’t protest, though the metal must have been a cold shock against her skin, and he wanted suddenly to protect her from it, put his arms around her and hold her close, make her warm. But then her thighs clamped around his waist and her fingers were opening the fly of his jeans, fingers reaching inside to grab his cock. Christ, she felt so good, her hands cool against his heated skin.

“Tell me what you want, honey” she said huskily. “I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” he replied roughly. “Hot and wet. That’s all I want.”

Then he eased her back against the metal of the car and bent over her, spreading her thighs, covering her sex with his mouth. She arched, gasping. “Oh God…Luke… So good.”

And it was good. Unbelievably good. She tasted salty and sweet at the same time, as he thought she would. She was delicious and he wanted more.

He pushed inside her with his tongue, exploring her, loving the desperate sounds she made and the way her hips shifted beneath his hands.

“Keep still,” he ordered roughly against her thigh. “Think of the paintwork.”

“The paintwork? Are you freaking kidding…” But before she could get going, he went back to tasting her and the rest of whatever it had been she was going to say was lost under her soft cry. “Luke…
God
…”

He loved that. Loved that he could take her smart, snarky words away and render her speechless. It made him even harder than he already was.

Her hands crept into his hair, tangling and knotting. “Please. I need you inside me. Please…”

Jesus, he wasn’t going to complain.

He lifted his head, positioned himself between her thighs, then thrust deep inside the wet heat of her body.

That was good, too. Insanely good. He leaned over her, placing his hands on the bonnet on either side of her head, not noticing the paintwork. There was nothing in all the world but her. All golden hair and golden skin. Blue eyes and lush curves. She raised her arms to him, winding around his neck, lifting her hips, taking him in. Without reservation. Holding nothing back. So generous. As if he was the man she’d been waiting for all her life.

And something lonely and cold inside him responded to her. Warmed to her. He slowed down, despite the need that was hammering inside him, the urge that wanted him to go faster. Slowed down so he could watch her face. Watch all that beautiful passion move over it, watch her give in to it. Watch her let go.

She groaned, her fingernails digging into his back as she gripped on to him. “Please… Luke…now.”

He wanted that letting go, too. That wild recklessness he only ever found on a racetrack. The part of him only she had ever touched. He wanted to take some of it for himself. So he moved. Harder. Faster. Giving in to it as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter, as his breathing became ragged and broken, the empty space around them echoing with the sound.

She called his name again, her thighs gripping him like a vise, her body shifting restlessly beneath his as he forced them both higher. She clearly needed more, so he slid his hands beneath her, tilting her hips so he could go deeper. Then he eased one hand between them, down to the apex of her thighs, stroking her clit.

“Oh my God…” She gasped, then arched back on the car, the end of the word lost on a cry as her body convulsed around his. And he let go. Totally let go as the pleasure shot up his spine and exploded in his head like a firework.

His last coherent thought was that if the paintwork was damaged beyond repair it would all have been worth it. Totally and utterly worth it.

…

It took Marisa at least five whole seconds to remember where she was. Something cold and hard was at her back. Someone warm and hard at her front.

Underground garage. Ferrari. Naked. Sex. Luke.

Oh my God, Luke…

The hard warmth of the man resting against her moved and she blinked, staring up into a pair of silver eyes.

She couldn’t think of a word to say because goddamn that man had blown her freaking mind. And about every nerve in her body.

You. Hot and wet. That’s all I want.

Then he’d backed it up by taking her hard and fast and intense on the bonnet of his car, making her go up in flames. Completely.

Oh, but this man was dangerous. What had she been thinking? Well, she hadn’t, that’s what. She’d really liked the careful way he’d responded to her honesty. Not to mention when he’d told her what he wanted to do to her. Then, when he’d put his hands on her hips, she’d… Well. She’d wondered why on earth she was bothering to protest when she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

He adjusted his clothes, then his arms slid around her, gently lifting her up into a sitting position. “Are you okay?” He touched her lightly as if checking she was all there.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” Kind of. It was a little worrying how completely she’d let herself go, now that she thought about it. How completely she’d let herself go the last time he’d taken her, too. But perhaps the best way to approach that was not to think about it.

Luke had turned away and was now going about picking up her discarded clothes. He handed them to her as she slid off the Ferrari’s bonnet.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he held up the little lace thong she’d been wearing. “This one is ruined.” It was. The lace up one side of it was torn through.

Wow. He really had been desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what happened.”

Marisa smiled, taking the scrap of lace from him. “Don’t be sorry. And as to what happened? Us. That’s what happened.”

The tension in Luke’s expression didn’t ease. He frowned as she pulled her jeans up, stuffing her ruined panties back in her pocket and turning to get her T-shirt.

Perhaps he was worrying about the paintwork on the Ferrari, because boy was there a mark. A great big, Marisa-shaped mark. He was going to be pissed when he saw it.

His hand touched her back, fingers trailing down her spine. “Oh,” he murmured. “You have marks here.”

She went still. “You should see the car.”

“Did I hurt you?” His touch was so light, so gentle, she shivered.

“No. But you might have to spend some time polishing the bonnet.”

“I don’t much care about the bonnet right now. Are you sure these don’t hurt?”

She turned. Sure enough he wasn’t looking at the car but at her. As if she mattered more than the car. More than the mark on his precious paintwork. It made her chest tight.

“No, they don’t hurt.”

His frown had deepened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Of course. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I…lost control there. And…” He hesitated. “Things can go wrong if I’m not in control.”

The look on his face made her chest tighten further. As if something bad had happened instead of incredible sex. “What things are we talking about here?”

His gaze flickered. “I mean that it’s probably not going to make our situation any less complicated.”

It was instinct that had her reaching out to cup the side of his cheek, her fingers brushing along the line of his jaw. “I’m fine, Luke. Nothing bad happened, okay? Only the most amazing orgasm ever.”

He said nothing, only stared at her, his expression enigmatic. Then his gaze dropped to the T-shirt she held in her other hand. “You can’t wear that, either.”

“Why not?” Then she spotted the grease stain on the side of it. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll…” Her voice trailed off as Luke took a step back from her and pulled his own T-shirt off and over his head. Then she found herself enveloped in cotton as Luke put it over her and tugged it down.

“There,” he said. The frown had vanished, replaced by a look of satisfaction. “Can’t have you going upstairs naked. Too many windows.”

The T-shirt was way too big for her, but it was so warm. And it smelled of him, the fresh, clean rain scent she’d begun to associate with him. She’d used to wear Alistair’s stuff all the time, pulling it on in an attempt to get closer to him somehow. Afterward she’d thought she wouldn’t want to wear a guy’s clothes ever again—it was too sad and desperate.

But this was different. Luke had put it on her. Like a claim of some sort.

And that’s not desperate?

Marisa shoved away the thought. No, she liked wearing his shirt. It wasn’t a big deal and it didn’t mean a thing. Especially if it meant she got to see this kind of view.

Who’d have thought the uptight man in a suit would be built like this? Oh, you couldn’t argue with the width of his shoulders but the body underneath… He was all tanned skin and sharply defined pectorals, and the muscles of his abdomen… Her fingers itched, wanting to touch.

His gaze darkened. “Upstairs,” he ordered. “Or else you’re going to find yourself on that bonnet again.”

“Hey, I’m not the one flaunting my gorgeous body.” She grinned, stepping away from the car, clutching her items of ruined clothing. “I guess you’ll probably be wanting to clean that, too.”

His gaze lingered on her for a long moment, before moving past her to the large mark on the Ferrari’s glossy paintwork. The frown appeared again.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.” His gray eyes found hers. “It was worth it.”

Warmth stole through her. “That’s quite a compliment. Especially knowing how long it’s going to take you to clean that off.”

“I’ll manage it. It was my idea in the first place.”

Yeah, it was. And she was having severe fantasies of doing it all over again, especially with him hanging around all half-naked and such.

Weren’t you
not
going to go there?

Oh, that’s right. Sleeping with Luke was supposed to be a bad idea, wasn’t it? Complications she didn’t need, et cetera.

“Marisa,” he said in a low voice. “If you don’t want a repeat of what just happened between us, you should probably keep your distance for the rest of the night.”

She probably should. She should probably keep right away from him. In fact, screw moving in with him. If she knew what was good for her, she should be keeping as far away from him as she possibly could.

She’d promised herself that there would be no more mistakes, and getting involved with Luke would definitely be a mistake. After all, he wasn’t looking for a relationship—at least that’s what he’d said.

Then again this was only sex, wasn’t it? And they’d crossed the line before. Twice now, in fact. So logically another couple of times wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Well, I could do that, I guess,” she said, unable to tear her gaze from the impressive width of his chest. “But we tried that before and it didn’t work. So maybe we need to test your method of control a little more. You know, take charge of it. See if we can’t…uh…wear it out, so to speak.”

He went still and she could see the tension in every one of those impressive muscles. “This better not be a joke.”

“It’s not. Believe me it’s not.”

Luke moved, reaching for her, his hand cupping the back of her head, drawing her in close for a hard, unexpected kiss. “Wait for me upstairs then,” he said. “I have to clean the car first. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Her heart racing, anticipation burning in her blood, she turned toward the door that led back up into the house.

It would be okay. It was only sex. Nothing more.

Chapter Nine

“Hey, where are you going?”

Marisa’s arm snagged around his waist as he tried to move from the black leather couch where they were lying. He stopped moving. “Your clothes are all over the floor.”

“That’s okay. They can stay there awhile, can’t they?”

No. They couldn’t. He had to go and pick them up, fold them. His sense of order had been disturbed and he wouldn’t be able to lie here and concentrate on her if he didn’t clean them up. But he couldn’t say anything about his compulsions, at least not the truth.

“I don’t like mess,” he muttered, pulling away her arm and getting off the couch, going over to where her clothes lay on the carpet. His were already folded and put neatly on a nearby chair. He picked up her jeans and put them with his.

“Hmm. I’m not sure how this living arrangement is going to pan out in that case. I’m not the tidiest girl in the world.”

He glanced at her. She lay on the black leather of the couch like a sleepy cat, all feline grace and sensuality. Her chin was propped on her hands, blond hair a wild tangle around her head. Or maybe not a cat. Maybe a thoroughly debauched princess.

Perhaps he should have thought this through better, the implications of having someone else in his house. Because he’d never lived with someone else. Not after he’d left home. Never wanted to live with anyone, to be honest, because it made keeping his condition a secret next to impossible. His needs were very specific and now the thought of having someone else around to observe him was…threatening.

Especially her.

He’d told her the truth when he’d said she mattered, which made it even more imperative he keep the OCD under wraps. Luckily having her here would help with the worst of the checking behaviors so he could manage them discreetly. And as for the rest, he’d manage those as well. He’d been doing so for a number of years and no one had ever found out. No reason for them to now.

“I have things the way I like them,” he said. “I’d prefer it if people didn’t mess up my space.”

Marisa grinned. “You know having a kid is going to blow your mind, right? Toys and vomit and cereal in the carpet. Crayon on the wall and—”

“Stop.” A strange sense of anxiety set in, his control slipping with each word she spoke. He tried to get a handle on the emotion, but had only marginal success.

Blond brows descended. “Hey, what’s up? I was only joking.” This time there wasn’t annoyance or irritation in her face. Only concern and…something else he couldn’t identify. He didn’t much like that, either.

Turning away, he picked up the T-shirt she’d been wearing. His T-shirt. “Nothing.”

There was a brief silence behind him. Then the sound of movement and her arms coming around him, her warm body pressing against his. He wasn’t expecting it, stiffening slightly. “I know the thought of a kid is overwhelming for you, too.” Her arms tightened. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” No one had given him a hug since he’d been a kid. His parents had never been physical people and he hadn’t been able to shake the sense that somehow they blamed him for the way he was. As if he could stop his OCD behavior if he really tried.

“For joking about the baby and for being snarky in general. I’m…” There was a pause. Then she went on. “I’m nervous, I guess. I know you wanted me here because of the baby, yet the baby isn’t coming for a long while so it’s just going to be me around. And I’ll probably drive you crazy and God knows you’ll do the same to me. But…” She stopped again.

He put his hands over hers where they rested on his stomach, the warmth of her at his back. “But what?”

“I guess I’m feeling a bit like a naughty kid caught messing up her parents’ house.”

Her honesty surprised him as it had downstairs. And yet he liked it. Liked it a lot. Slowly he turned around, keeping her arms around him because he liked that, too. Very much.

“I know this is going to be hard,” he replied, staring down into her face. Wanting to tell her more, tell her exactly why it was going to be so hard. But he couldn’t. He still remembered the look on Heather’s face—the first girl he’d ever really connected with—as he’d checked over his car the night of their first date. She’d laughed at him at first. Then she’d gotten impatient. Then annoyed. Then—worst of all—she’d been afraid. Of him and his craziness. He didn’t want to see that look on Marisa’s face. Ever. “I’ve never lived with anyone before and…we’re very different people.”

She frowned, studying him. “This is kind of a big thing for you, isn’t it?”

“Having you here? Yes. I suppose it is.”

Another pause.

“We should probably set some ground rules in that case. So we both don’t end up killing each other.”

A tension he hadn’t realized was there eased. She was smart, this woman. And while she was annoyingly stubborn about some things, she was also willing to concede on others. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “I should have thought of that first.”

Her mouth curved. “You should have. Instead you let the dumb blonde get there instead.”

Dumb blonde? He caught her chin in his hand. “You’re not dumb, Marisa.”

She rolled her eyes but a strip of color stained her cheekbones. “Uh-huh.”

“Is this about what I said to you in the supply room? When I told you that you were pretty and blond and not my type?”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

“Like I said, I remember everything.” He stroked her chin with his thumb. “And for what it’s worth I was wrong. It seems you’re very much my type.”

The blush deepened. “So, if I’m your type, I guess that means we’ll be doing something about…uh…this?” Her hand rested lightly on his abdomen before sliding farther down, fingers curling around his steadily hardening erection.

God, it had only been fifteen minutes since they’d last indulged themselves. He couldn’t be wanting her again, could he? Then her fingers tightened more, and oh yeah, he could.

“We could,” he said thickly. “What did you have in mind?”

“A few things. After all, it’s not Monday yet, right?”

Pleasure slid up his spine, stealing all coherent thought. “No. It’s not Monday till tomorrow.”

“Excellent. That means we have plenty of time, then.”

“Stop talking, Marisa. There are much better things you could be doing with that mouth of yours.”

She laughed softly. “Whatever you say, boss.”

…

“So how’s it going?”

Marisa, neck-deep in some meeting notes she had to type up, jumped as Christie plonked herself down on the edge of the desk. “I’m not enjoying this role reversal,” Marisa informed her sourly. “Just so you know.”

Her friend shrugged, unrepentant. “Now you know how irritating it is. So come on, tell me all the gossip.”

Marisa sighed, glancing toward Ben’s closed office door. She’d arrived late again this morning—Luke’s fault. Like it had been his fault all the other times she’d been late this week.

That first night they’d spent laying a few ground rules about how they were going to live together without killing each other. Marisa was allowed to sprawl out in the guest rooms that Luke had set aside for her, as long she left all other rooms the way she’d found them. It was kind of weird how anal he was about tidiness but she didn’t argue. It was his house, after all.

As they’d also agreed, the sex had to be over by Monday morning, which meant she’d gone to bed that night by herself. Only she hadn’t been able to sleep. Finally, she’d gotten up to get herself a glass of water and found a disturbed and agitated Luke wandering around the kitchen. They’d taken one look at each other and that had been that—no more sleeping alone, the rules adjusted to allow for Marisa’s presence in Luke’s pristine room.

Of course, that had meant keeping everything on the down-low when it came to work. Luke had been uncomfortable about it but he hadn’t been able to argue, what with their chemistry wreaking havoc each time they got close to each other. They had to deal with it somehow, and this was the best way.

It also meant that no one could know about the pregnancy or about her living with him, either, at least not until after the usual twelve-week mark.

Not that she was complaining. At all. She only wished she didn’t have to get up so early each day. A week on from her pregnancy diagnosis and the infamous first trimester weariness was beginning to kick in, though not, thank God, the nausea.

“I’m fine. Luke’s fine. The baby’s fine. Happy?”

“No.” Christie narrowed her gaze. “You seem tired.”

“Of course I’m tired. I’m pregnant.”
And sleeping with an incredibly sexy man who can’t get enough of me.

Christie nibbled on her lip. “How’s living with Luke going?”

Marisa cast another surreptitious glance around for any suspicious eavesdroppers. “Actually, it’s going surprisingly well.”

And it was.

She loved his house, for a start. A modern, architecturally designed series of boxes set into the cliff top, with massive views over Auckland’s blue harbor and the green of the islands in the gulf beyond. As she’d suspected, Luke’s tastes ran to minimalism, which meant white walls, dark carpet, and no art on the walls. Yet what he had instead were large windows and their views, and lots of light and sun, making the whole place seem airy.

Disappointingly there were no bonsais or Zen gardens, but there were lots and lots of books. And though he didn’t have art on the walls, he had abstract sculptures in pleasing, organic forms here and there. She also liked the heated lap pool, even if he didn’t have a Jacuzzi. The lack of which was more than made up for by the massive spa bath in the rooms he’d set aside for her.

“Surprisingly well, huh?” Christie gave her a measuring look.

“Yes. Surprisingly.” If “surprisingly well” meant having a lot of sex. “Are we done here?”

“Details. You normally inundate me with details. But I’m not hearing any now. This is intriguing.”

Marisa gritted her teeth. Then said quietly, “Okay, you got me. So we’re sleeping together. A lot. On any surface that happens to be handy at the time. The dining room table, the kitchen counter, the car, the—”

“Hey, I didn’t say I
wanted
details, okay?” Christie said hurriedly, flapping her hands. “In fact, I’m more than happy
not
to hear them.”

“You did ask.”

Her friend folded her arms and scowled. “Can we leave the intricacies of your sex life till later? What I’m most intrigued about is that you have one. Especially when you told me that you and Luke wouldn’t be having any kind of relationship.”

“Fine, so we’re in a sexual relationship. But that’s all it is. And while we’re on the subject, could you keep your voice down? We have to keep it secret. Those stupid rules and all that.”

Christie’s eyes widened. “A sexual relationship? That’s ‘all’ it is? You know how lame that sounds?”

“It’s only sex, St. John.”

Are you sure? Can it ever be only sex, when the sex you’re having is with the father of the baby you’re currently pregnant with?

Marisa ignored that thought. She couldn’t think about anything more. About anything deeper. About the way her heart beat faster whenever Luke walked into the room. Whenever he looked at her. Whenever he touched her. A quickening of her pulse that had nothing to do with sex…

“Sex is never only sex, Mar,” Christie said sagely. “Believe me. I know.”

“It is when your feelings aren’t involved. And neither of ours are.”

But her friend’s brow furrowed. “So that’s it? You’re going to keep sleeping with him until you’re over it?”

Marisa leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “That’s the plan. Never had any problems with it before.”

“Hate to point it out to you, but that was before you were pregnant. Or sleeping with the father of your child.”

Damn her friend. Damn reality. She didn’t want to think about the implications or her stupid feelings. Or about what would happen when the baby came and she and Luke had to start being parents. It was all too much. Too hard.

She swallowed. “So what’s your point, St. John?”

Christie chewed on her lip again. “I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“We won’t, I promise you.” Marisa plastered on a smile. “Now can I get on with my stupid meeting notes?”

Ten minutes later she was still sitting there, staring at the screen with not another word of her meeting notes typed, unease sitting in her gut.

It was just sex. That’s all it was. Exciting, bone-shaking sex, but just sex all the same. She wouldn’t allow it to be anything more. Getting emotionally involved with a man like Luke was the last thing she wanted. He may not use or deceive the women he slept with, but the fact that he’d said he didn’t want a relationship was warning enough to steer clear. She couldn’t face another broken heart, not after Alistair. And soon there’d be a baby, and that was enough to have to deal with all on its own.

Besides, she was supposed to be seizing the day. And she couldn’t seize the day with Luke around.

Braced by the thought, Marisa tried to concentrate on her notes but was interrupted by the chime of a new e-mail. Always ready for distraction, she checked who it was from.

Luke.

Her heart gave a strange little leap as she opened it.

Marisa,

I’m free for lunch. Would you like to join me?

Luke.

For a second she stared at the adorably formal line of text on her screen. Lunch? With him? What was that about? He’d never asked her before.

But you want to go.

Marisa put her finger in her mouth, realized what she was doing, and dropped it again. Well, what if she did want to go? It was only lunch.

Sure, honey.

Then she thought about it and added,

As long as you can answer one question: what underwear am I wearing today?

The reply came back almost immediately.

The black lace thong with the silver embroidery. But you’re not wearing the matching bra. You’re wearing the white cotton one you like to wear a lot. Probably because it’s comfortable.