Flashes of Me (19 page)

My challenge is a bluff. I doubt I can handle him. I haven’t had sex in over two years, all of my excess time and energy spent on the charity website and app I’m designing.

“I can handle you.” Nate’s voice deepens even more, his husky tones curling my toes. He meets my gaze, holding it.

In his eyes I see the temptation of locked doors and the lure of deep dark secrets, both of these impossible for me to resist. I lean forward, balancing on my toes, and Nate lowers his grim mouth until his lips are a lick away from mine. As he breathes out I breathe in, every inch of me conscious of every inch of him.

“But I won’t accept your challenge, Miss Trent, tempting though it might be.” He pulls away from me and the passion between us dissipates, evaporating into the cool air. “I only deal with professionals. I give them cash. They give me sex. There are no disappointments, no unreasonable expectations, no promises of love or forever.”

This is the second time he’s mentioned love. “I didn’t ask you for love or forever, Romeo.” I know who I am. I’m the girl a college boy screws in a back alley after a rave. I’m not the woman any man brings home to his parents.

“You didn’t have to ask me for love.” Nate watches me warily, his spine rigidly straight and his shoulders squared. “You grew up on a hippie commune. Peace and love are what you believe in.”

I jerk my chin upward, surprised he knows where I grew up. My past isn’t something I talk about. “You forgot freedom,” I point out. “Peace, love, and freedom are what hippies believe in.” I don’t follow my parents’ all-natural path, being too fascinated with technology and other modern conveniences, but I do believe in those three ideals.

“Yes, freedom. You believe everything should be free,” Nate says. “Including information that should remain private.” His voice is edged with disapproval. “You don’t have any desire for money.”

He’s correct. I don’t have any desire for money. I do, however, desire him. Too much. If he asked me, I’d drop to my knees, unzip his black dress pants, and suck him dry right here, right now, in the corporate elevator, uncaring of the security cameras, of our coworkers, of my rules.

“Put your blazer back on, Miss Trent.” Nate slams the brakes on my sexual fantasy. “I’m not interested.” His gaze flicks to my breasts.

“Bullshit.” I ball up the handkerchief and whip it at him. Nate catches the fabric and nonchalantly stuffs the handkerchief into the right pocket of his pants, his control infuriating me.

“You’re very interested.” I thrust my arms into the sleeves of the blazer and yank the garment closed. “Right now you’re wondering if my breasts are as full, as soft as they appear.” His eyes flash a warning I can’t and won’t heed, my pride smarting from his rejection. “You’re asking yourself how I taste, if I’m wet, hot, tight.”

The elevator doors open and I don’t move. I stare at Nate, huffing with indignation and sexual frustration. I want him and I know he wants me. Why won’t he touch me?

“This is your floor, Miss Trent.” Nate’s voice drips ice. His response should cool me down. It doesn’t. It heats me up, pushing me to the point of combustion.

“The answer is yes. I
am
wet, hot, tight.” I grab my backpack. “I’m all of that and more.” I stomp out of the elevator. “And Nate?” I glance over my shoulder and meet his glacier gaze. “I taste delicious.” The doors close between us.

He’ll be thinking about me all day. I strut down the hallway, my head held high, a jaunty bounce to my walk.

The office walls are painted gray. The industrial carpet and cubicle dividers are a shade darker. My coworkers are dressed in black and white, their suits crisp and their hair neat.

I call out cheery good-mornings as I pass people. A prissy woman with carefully arranged blond curls shushes me. A grim-looking woman clucks her tongue. Silence is the unspoken rule on the legal floor.

I don’t follow other people’s silly rules and wish the next coworker I meet a louder good-morning. My dad says I can’t help myself. I’m the evolution of the hippie, the offspring of two rebellious souls, genetically inclined for anarchy, taught to question everything.

All I know is I don’t fit in. Anywhere. I left the commune because the members wanted to restrict my computer time, their weak-assed attempt to convert me failing. I got booted out of the hacking community because I pushed too hard for peace and love. I certainly don’t belong here, at Blaine Technologies.

I venture deeper into corporate America. The sea of gray is constant and never ending. The lights are fluorescent. The hum of printers softens the quiet. Somewhere Mother Earth is weeping.

“Green,” Miss Yen, my boss, hollers, the tiny lawyer always knowing when I arrive. I hurry into her office, rapping my knuckles against the door as I enter.

My stylish boss clearly had no input in decorating her office. Ugly vertical blinds cover the floor-to-ceiling windows. An even uglier modern painting hangs on one interior wall, meaningless stripes of white and gray slashing a stark black canvas.

Filing cabinets line the perimeter, forming a wall of temptation I couldn’t resist. Their flimsy locks were no match for me. I scanned the contents one late night and found nothing of interest, Miss Yen keeping her secrets elsewhere.

She stands behind her black lacquer desk, her hands on her hips, a scowl on her beautiful face. Her dark suit hugs her slim body. A long silver scar skims across one of her cheeks. Gray file folders stuffed with paper are stacked on the desk in front of her.

My shoulders slump. I recognize these files, having spent six endless days compiling them. “Is there a problem with the expense reports?”

“Is there a problem?” The woman known as the dragon lady snorts. “You might say that. Finance rejected them.”

The finance department is Nate’s realm, staffed with employees as uptight and unbending as he is. “They rejected
all
of the expense reports?”

“All of them,” Miss Yen confirms. “If finance finds an error in one report their new policy is to reject the entire submission.” Her lips twist. “Supposedly they’re busy with security issues.” She glances at me. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Green?”

“Why would I know anything about that?” I strive to appear as innocent as I possibly can. If Nate had correctly named me as the culprit, Mr. Henley, Blaine Technologies’ head of cybersecurity, would have already fired me. He warned me that my next violation would be my last. It seems the company caps allowable employee offences at thirty-two.

“Leave the other departments alone and focus on this task.” Miss Yen pushes the stack of files toward me. “Confirm each and every line. Once Mr. Lawford sets rules he doesn’t deviate from them. If the expense reports have errors he
will
reject them again.”

“Yes, Miss Yen.” Nate’s sexual frustration is causing trouble for everyone, and I should feel contrite. What I feel is smug satisfaction. His control is severely compromised, my victory over him imminent. I haul the files back to my gray cubicle.

No one else sits in temp row. Kat, my friend and fellow intern, has been promoted. She’s spending all of her personal time planning her fashionista wedding to Mr. Henley. Anna, another best friend, is a new mom and works for her husband, Gabriel Blaine, the CEO and founder of Blaine Technologies. Both women are head over heels in love with their executives.

I have nothing except a sure-to-be short-lived sexapalooza with an Iceman and a charitable side project I don’t know how to launch. The pinch-faced lady seated one row over fills the air with floral-scented fumes. I add one crazy work neighbor to my list.

I toss my backpack into an empty desk drawer, log onto my computer, and peruse the first expense report, confirming line after line. The coding is correct. The numbers tie back to the receipts. The only mistake I find is a two-cent variance on one of the totals, a freakish error due to exchange rates and rounding.

Blaine Technologies is a billion-dollar company and the expense reports have been rejected for a two-cent discrepancy. I grin. Nate will be mine before the end of the week.

I tap on the keyboard and access his schedule. The security issues that have him concerned don’t include his account. His password, MoneyMan7, remains the same. I add “Think about Camille’s breasts” to his to-do list.

Mere minutes pass before he checks this line item as completed. Nathan Lawford is thinking about my breasts. This lifts my spirits and I hum happily as I examine the next expense report.

Is he stroking himself while he fantasizes about me? Has he closed his office door, unzipped his pants, and curled his fingers around his thick cock? His shaft will be as straight and as rigid as he is, the hair around his base blond, fine, and neatly trimmed.

I shift in my chair, my pussy moistening. He’ll pump himself vigorously, in sure up-and-down strokes, as unrelenting with his own body as he is with the expense reports. A dab of pre-cum will form on his tip. I lick my lips.

Will he taste as clean and as fresh as he smells? I’ve hacked into his medical records, the escort company he favors requiring regular checkups. Nate is healthy, virile, a male in his prime.

And he’s thinking of me, quirky, crazy Camille Trent. I unclip my phone from my waistband, open my blazer, and take a photo of my breasts. The black corset I’m wearing contrasts vividly with my ivory skin and the overhead lights deepen the shadow between my curves, making me appear even better endowed than I already am. I send this naughty image to Nate’s personal e-mail account, giving him more to think about.

Teasing my sexually frustrated executive brightens my otherwise dull day. I smile and apply all of my attention to the stack of expense reports, determined to follow the rules for once in my insubordinate life and give Nate the perfection he requires.

About the Author

Cynthia Sax lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.

Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.

Please visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com.

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Also by Cynthia Sax

The Seen Trilogy

He Watches Me

He Touches Me

He Claims Me

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Excerpt from
Breaking All the Rules
copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Sax.

FLASHES OF ME
. Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Sax. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition FEBRUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780062328182

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062328229

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