His Illegitimate Heir (9 page)

Immediately, her jaw dropped. “Oh, Zeb,” she breathed as she wrapped one and then the other hand around his girth, one on top of the other. Slowly, she stroked up the length of him and then back down. Then she looked up at him and caught him watching her. “I am
impressed
.”

He thrust in her hands—but even that was controlled. They were standing in her kitchen, both shirtless, and she was stroking him—and he wasn't even touching her. Sure, the look in his eyes was enough to make her shiver with want because she was having an impact. The cords of his neck tightened and his jaw clenched as his length slid in her grip.

But it wasn't enough. She needed more. “Feel free to join in,” she told him.

“You're doing a pretty damn good job all by yourself,” he ground out through gritted teeth. But even as he said it, he pried one hand off the countertop and gripped the back of her neck, pulling her into his chest. God, he was almost red-hot to the touch and all she wanted to do was be burned.

“Stop holding back.” It came out as an order, but what was she supposed to do? If he was holding back out of some sort of sense of chivalry—however misguided—or consent or whatever, then she needed to get that cleared up right now.

She needed to tell him what she wanted—he'd already told her she had to, right? But she couldn't figure out how to say it without sounding sad about it, so instead, she fell back on the tried-and-true. “You've got what I want,” she said as she gave him a firm squeeze. “So show me what you can do with it.”

There was just a moment's hesitation—the calm before the storm, she realized. Zeb's eyes darkened and his fingers flexed against the back of her neck.

And then he exploded into movement. Casey was spun around and lifted up onto the countertop, her legs parted as he stepped into her. It happened so fast that she was almost dizzy. And
that
was what she needed right now. She needed his lips on her mouth, her neck, her chest. She needed his fingertips smoothly unhooking her lucky bra and she needed to hear the groan of desire when the bra fell to the ground.

“Damn, Casey—look at you,” he said in a tone that was almost reverential.

Casey's eyes drifted shut as he stroked his fingertips over the tops of her breasts and then around her nipples.

“Yes,” she whispered as he leaned down to take her in his mouth. His teeth scraped over her sensitive skin and then he sucked on her. “Oh, yes,” she hissed, holding him to her.

His hand slid around her back and pulled her to the edge of the counter and then he was grinding against her, his erection hard and hot and everything she wanted—well, almost everything. There was the unfortunate matter of her jeans and the barrier they formed between the two of them.

“This is what you want, isn't it?” Zeb thrust against her. “You want me to take you here, on the countertop, because I can't wait long enough to get you into a bed?”

Every word was punctuated by another thrust. And every thrust was punctuated by a low moan that Casey couldn't have held if she'd tried.

“God, yes,” she whimpered as her hips shimmied against his. This was better. Zeb was overpowering her senses, hard and fast. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to feel.

“I wonder,” he said in a voice that bordered on ruthless, “if I should bite you here,” he said as he traced a pattern on her shoulders with his tongue, “or here—” and he kissed the top of her left breast “—or...here.” With that, he crouched down and nipped her inner thigh, and even though she could barely feel his teeth through the denim, she still shuddered with anticipation. This was better. This was things going according to script.

“D, all of the above.” It was at that point that she discovered a problem. Zeb wore his hair close-cropped—there was nothing for her to thread her fingers through, nothing for her to hold on to as he rubbed along the seam of her jeans, over her very center.

But her hips bucked when he pressed against her. “Look at you,” he growled as he came to his feet. “Just look at you.”

She sucked in a ragged gasp when his hands moved and then he was undoing the button of her jeans and sliding down the zipper.

“I'd rather look at you,” she told him as she lifted one hip and then the other off the countertop so he could work her jeans down. “You are, hands down, the most gorgeous man I've ever seen.”

She let her hands skim over his shoulders and down his arms. It wasn't fair—there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. She was going to have to revise her opinion of men in suits, she thought dimly as he peeled her jeans the rest of the way off her legs.

“I can't wait,” he growled in her ear, the raw urgency in his voice sending another shiver of desire through her body. He pulled the thin cotton of her panties to one side and then his erection was grinding directly against her. “Are you on something? Do you have something?”

“I'm on the Pill,” she told him, her hips flexing to meet his. In that moment, she did feel desirable and wanted. His finger tested her body and she moaned into him. She might not be sensual or gorgeous, but she could still do this to a man—drive him so crazy with need that he couldn't even wait to get her undressed all the way.

“Now,” she told him. “Now, Zeb. Please.”

She didn't have to ask twice. He positioned himself at her entrance. “You're so ready for me. God, just look at you.” But he didn't thrust into her. Instead, it appeared he was actually going to look at her.

She pushed back against her insecurity as he studied her. She knew she couldn't measure up to his other lovers—a man that looked like him? He could have his pick of women. Hell, she wasn't even sure why he was here with her—except for the fact that she was...well,
available
. “Why are you stopping? Don't stop.”

“Is that how you want it? Hard and fast?” Even as he asked, he moved, pushing into her inch by agonizing inch.

“Zeb.” Even as she wrapped her legs around his hips and tried to draw him in farther. And when that worked only to a point, she wrapped her arms around his waist and dug her fingernails into his back.

That did the trick. With a roar of desire, he thrust forward and sank all the way into her. Oh,
God
. She took him in easily, moaning with desire. “Is that what you want?”

She heard his self-control hanging by a thread.

So she raked her nails up and down his back—not hard enough to break skin, but more than enough that he could feel it. He withdrew and thrust into her again, this time harder and faster.

“Yes,” she whimpered. “More.” She leaned her head back, lifting her chest up to him. “I need more.”

Without breaking rhythm, he bent down and nipped at her breast again.

“More,” she demanded because she was already so, so close. She needed just a little something to push her over the edge.

“I love a woman who knows what she wants.” He sucked her nipple into his mouth—hard. There was just a hint of pain around the edges of the pleasure and it shocked her to her very core in the best way possible.

“Oh, God—” But anything else she would've tried to say got lost as his mouth worked on her and he buried himself in her again and again.

The orgasm snapped back on her like a rubber band pulled too tight, so strong she couldn't even cry out. She couldn't breathe—she couldn't think. All she could do was feel. It was everything she wanted and more. Everything she'd wanted since she'd stormed into his office that very first day and seen him. Ruthless seduction and mind-blowing climaxes and want and need all blended together into mindless pleasure.

Zeb relinquished his hold on her breast and buried his face in her neck, driving in harder and harder. She felt his teeth on her again, just as he promised. And then his hands moved between them and his thumb pressed against her sex as he thrust harder, and this time, Casey did scream. The orgasm shook through her and left her rag-doll limp as he thrust one final time and then froze. His shoulders slumped and he pulled her in close.

“God, Casey...” She took it as a source of personal pride that he sounded shaky. “That was
amazing
.”

All she could do was sigh. That was enough. She'd take
amazing
every day of the week.

And then he had to go and ruin it.

He leaned back and shot her a surprised smile and said, “I should have guessed a girl like you would want it hard like that.”

She didn't allow herself to be disappointed, because, really, what had she expected? She wasn't pretty or beautiful or sensual or sexy, damn it all. She was fun and cool, maybe, and she was definitely available. But beyond that? She was a good time, but that was it.

So she did what she always did. She put on her good-time smile and pushed him back so he was forced to withdraw from her body.

“Always happy to be a surprise,” she said, inwardly cringing. “If you'll excuse me...”

Then she hurried to the bathroom and shut the door.

Nine

J
esus, what the hell had just happened? What had he just done?

Zeb looked down at Casey, mostly naked and flushed. Sitting on the edge of her kitchen counter. Staring at him as if she didn't know how they had gotten here.

Well, that made two of them. He felt like he was coming out of a fog—one of the thick ones that didn't just turn the world a ghostly white but blotted out the sun almost completely.

He had just taken her on her countertop. Had there even been any seduction? He tried to think but now that his blood was no longer pounding in his veins, he felt sluggish and stupid, a dull headache building in the back of his head. Hungover—that was how he felt. He didn't feel like he was in control anymore.

And he didn't like that.

He never lost control.
Ever.
He enjoyed women and sex, but this?

“If you'll excuse me,” Casey said, hopping off the counter. She notched an eyebrow at him in something that looked like a challenge—but hell if he could figure out what the challenge was.

This was bad. As he watched her walk away, her body naked except for a pair of purple panties that might have matched her bra, his pulse tried to pick up the pace again. He was more than a little tempted to follow her back through her apartment, because if sex in the kitchen had been great, how good would sex in a bed be?

He was horrified to realize that he had not just had this thought but had actually taken two steps after her. He stumbled to a stop and realized that his jeans were still hanging off his butt. He tucked back into his boxer briefs and buttoned up, and the whole time, he tried to form a coherent thought.

What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn't like him. For God's sake—he hadn't even worn a condom. He had a dim recollection—she'd said she was on the Pill, right? How much had he had to drink, anyway? Three beers—that was all.

Even so, he'd done something he associated with getting plastered in a bar—he'd gone home with a woman and had wild, crazy, indiscriminate sex with her.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, but it didn't help. So he went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. His hand—ostensibly the reason they'd come back to her place—throbbed in pain. He let the cold water run over it.

The indiscriminate sex was bad enough. But worse was that he'd just had sex with his brewmaster. An
employee
. An employee at the Beaumont Brewery, the very company he'd worked years to acquire. A company he was striving to turn around and manage productively.

And he...he couldn't even say he'd fallen into bed with Casey. They hadn't made it that far.

He splashed water on his face again. It didn't help.

He needed to think. He'd just done something he'd never done before and he wasn't sure how to handle it. Sure, he knew that employers and employees carried on affairs all the time. It happened. But it also created a ripple effect of problems. Zeb couldn't count the number of companies he'd bought that could trace their disintegration back to an affair between two adults who should have known better. And until this evening, he'd always been above such baser attractions.
Always.

But that was before he'd met Casey. With her, he hadn't known better. And, apparently, neither had she.

Zeb found the paper towels and dried off his face. Then he scooped up his shirt and shrugged back into it. He had no idea where his hat had gone, but frankly, that was the least of his problems.

He'd lost control and gotten swept up in the moment with an employee.

It couldn't happen again.

That was the only reasonable conclusion. Yes, the sex had been amazing—but Zeb's position in the brewery and the community at large was tenuous at best. He couldn't jeopardize all of his plans for sex.

Hot, dirty, hard sex. Maybe the best sex he'd ever had. Raw and desperate and...

An involuntary shudder worked through his body. Jesus, what was
wrong
with him?

He heard the bathroom door open from somewhere inside the apartment. He could salvage this situation. He was reasonably sure that, before all the clothes had come off, she'd said...something about work. How they weren't going to do
that
at work. If he was remembering that right, then she also understood the tenuous situation they were in.

So he turned away from the sink to face her and explain, in a calm and rational way, that while what they shared had been lovely, it wasn't going to happen again.

He never got that far.

Because what he saw took his breath away and anything calm and rational was drowned out in a roar of blood rushing through his ears.

Casey had a short silk robe belted around her waist. Her hair was no longer pulled back into a ponytail—instead, it was down. Glorious waves brushed her shoulders and Zeb was almost overwhelmed with the urge to wind his fingers into that hair and pull her close to him again.

Last week, he wouldn't have called her beautiful. She still wasn't, not in the classic way. But right now, with the late-evening light filtering through the windows behind her, lighting her up with a glow, she was...

She was simply the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen.

He was in so much trouble.

It only got worse when she smiled at him. Not the wide, friendly smile she'd aimed at every single person in the ballpark tonight. No, this was a small movement of the lips—something intimate. Something that was for him and him alone.

And then it was gone. “Can you hand me my bra?” she asked in the same voice she'd used when she'd been joking around with that beer guy.

“Sure,” he said. This was good, right? This was exactly what he wanted. He didn't need her suddenly deciding she was in love with him or anything.

“Thanks.” She scooped up her shirt and her jeans and disappeared again. “Do you want to try and catch the end of the game?” she called out from somewhere deeper in the apartment. Which was
not
an invitation to join her.

Zeb stood there, blinking. What the hell? Okay, so he didn't want her to go all mushy on him. But she was acting like what had just happened...

...hadn't. Like they hadn't been flirting all night and hadn't just had some of the best sex of his life.

“Uh...” he said because seriously, what was wrong with him? First he lost control. Then he decided that this had to be a one-time-only thing. Then she appeared to be not only agreeing to the one-time thing but beating him to the punch? And that bothered him? It shouldn't have. It really shouldn't have.

But it did.

“I'll probably head back to the stadium,” she said, reappearing and looking exactly the way she had when he'd first laid eyes on her this evening. Her hair was tucked back under her ball cap and she had his red cap in her hands.

It was like he hadn't left a mark on her at all.

But then he saw her swallow as she held his hat out to him. “This, um...this won't affect my job performance,” she said with mock bravado.

Strangely, that made him feel better, in a perverse sort of way. He'd made an impact after all.

“It changes nothing,” he agreed. He wasn't sure if his lie was any smoother than hers had been. “You're still in charge of the beer and I still want you to come up with a new product line.”

And I still want you.

But he didn't say that part, because the signals she was sending out were loud and clear—no more touching. No more wanting.

“Okay. Good. Great.” She shot him a wide smile that didn't get anywhere near her eyes.

In all his years, he'd never been in a postsex situation that was even half this awkward. Ever.

“I think I'm going to head home,” he said, trying to sound just as cool as she did.

As his words hung in the air between them, something in her eyes changed and he knew that he'd hurt her.

Dammit, that wasn't what he wanted. At the very least, there'd been a moment when she'd made him feel things he hadn't thought he was capable of feeling and the sex had been electric. If nothing else, he was appreciative of those gifts she'd given him. So, even though it probably wasn't the best idea, he stepped into her and laced his fingers with hers.

“Thank you,” he said in a low whisper. “I know we can't do this again—but I had a really good time tonight.”

“You did?” Clearly, she didn't believe him.

“I did. The ball game and the beer and...” he cleared his throat.
And you.
But he didn't say that. “It was great. All of it.” He squeezed her fingers and then, reluctantly, let go and stepped back. It was harder to do than he expected it to be. “I trust this will stay between us?”

That wasn't the right thing to say. But the hell of it was, he wasn't sure what, exactly, the right thing would be. There was no good way out of this.

“Of course,” she replied stiffly. “I don't kiss and tell.”

“I didn't—” He forced himself to exhale slowly. Attempting to bridge the divide between boss and lover wasn't working and he was better at being the boss anyway. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with,” he said as he turned toward the door. “At work,” he added stupidly.

“Right. See you at work,” she said behind him as he walked out and shut the door behind him.

Just as the door closed, he thought he heard her sigh in what sounded like disappointment.

Well. He'd wondered what she'd seen when she'd looked at him.

He wished now he didn't know the answer.

* * *

All told, it could have been worse.

Her team had won and she'd gotten a bobblehead doll for Dad. She'd gotten to drink some Percheron Drafts, which were like memories in a cup. She'd gotten permission to do something similar—new, bold beers that would be hers and hers alone. None of that was bad.

Except for the part where she'd kind of, sort of, slept with her boss. And had some of the most intense orgasms of her life. And...and wanted more. She wanted more with him. More beers at the game, more short walks home, more time exploring his body with hers.

That part was not so good, because she was not going to get more.

Casey made sure to avoid the executive wing of the brewery as much as possible. It wasn't that she was avoiding Zeb, necessarily. She was just really focused on her job.

Okay, that was a total lie because she was avoiding him. But it was easy to do—in addition to overseeing the production lines, she was hiring new people and then training new people and resisting the urge to take a sledgehammer to tank fifteen because that damned piece of machinery had it coming and she had the urge to destroy something.

But underneath all of those everyday thoughts lurked two others that kept her constantly occupied. First, she had to come up with some new beers. She already had a porter in the fermenting tanks—she wanted to start with something that wasn't anywhere close to what the Beaumont Brewery currently had.

And then there was Zeb. He to be avoided at all costs. Besides, it wasn't like she wanted to see him again. She didn't. Really.

Okay, so the orgasms had been amazing. And yes, she'd had fun watching the game with him. And all right, he was simply the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, in or out of a suit.

But that didn't mean she wanted to see him again. Why would she? He had been everything she had expected—handsome, charming, great sex—and exactly nothing more than that.

She wanted him to be different. And he was—there was no argument about that. He was more intelligent, more ambitious and vastly wealthier than any other man she had ever even looked at. And that didn't even include the racial differences.

But she wanted him to be different in other ways, too. She felt stupid because she knew that, on at least one level, this was nothing but her own fault. The man had specifically asked her to tell him what she wanted—and she hadn't. Men, in her long and illustrious experience of being surrounded by them, were not mind readers. Never had been, never would be. So for her to have expected that Zeb would somehow magically guess what she needed was to feel gorgeous and beautiful and sultry—without her telling him—was unfair to both of them.

She didn't understand what was wrong with her. Why couldn't she ask for what she wanted? Why was it so hard to say that she wanted to be seduced with sweet nothings whispered in her ear? That instead of rough and dirty sex all the time, she wanted candlelight and silky negligees and—yes—bottles of champagne instead of beer? She wanted beautiful things. She wanted to
be
beautiful.

Well, one thing was clear. She was never going to get it if she didn't ask for it. Let this be a lesson, she decided. Next time a man said,
Tell me what you want
, she was going to tell him. It would be awkward and weird—but then, so was not getting what she wanted.

Next time, then. Not with her boss.

Casey wasn't sure what she expected from Zeb, but he seemed to be keeping his distance, as well. It wasn't that she wanted flowers or even a sweet little note...

Okay, that was another lie—she totally wanted flowers and the kind of love letter that she could hang on to during the long, dark winter nights. But the risk that came with any of those things showing up on her desk at work was too great. No one had ever sent her flowers at work before. If anything even remotely romantic showed up on her desk, the gossip would be vicious. Everyone would know something was up and there were always those few people in the office who wouldn't rest until they knew what they thought was the truth. And she knew damned well that if they couldn't get to the truth, they'd make up their own.

So it was fine that she avoided Zeb and he avoided her and they both apparently pretended that nothing had happened.

It was a week and a half later when she got the first email from him.