His To Own (8 page)

"He didn't even bother to show up," Price said, not unkindly. "
I’m sure you saw the appointment on his calendar."

Laney nodded, feeling numb. She had. It overlapped a bit with something he'd obviously added himself -
V.
- which she'd assumed was his meeting with Vivian. Indeed, it appeared he'd chosen a romantic reunion over firing his sex partner cum assistant.

"We can be assured you won't make a scene?" Waters asked quietly.

"Of course," Laney agreed, shaking her head. Trying to shake off the numbness, the
hurt
. "I'll just get my things. I won't - you won't--"

Mortifying,
heartbroken tears were gathering in her eyes. Laney bolted before they could fall down her cheeks. There wasn't much in her desk - just a spare set of keys, a little plant she'd brought with her. She threw them all into a box and went to the break room. She took her secret stash of coffee and the spice bag and tossed them inside the box, too. At the last minute, she went into Michael's office and took a moment to look around. This would be the last time she'd share the same space with him. Even though he wasn't physically present, he was everywhere in here. His scent, the memories of the incredible things he'd done to her body… this was where she'd started falling stupidly, recklessly, hopelessly in love with him.

Laney dug the spice bag out of the box and set it on his desk where he'd be sure to see it. She grabbed a post it note and a pen and quickly scribbled a note, attaching it to the bag. It was the closest she'd come to telling him to go to hell. The words probably didn't even make sense, but it was how she felt, and she hoped he would feel even an ounce as horrible as she did right now, when he read it.

Waiting for the elevator to take her downstairs, Laney vowed to close the door on Michael Caine for good.

##

8.

Michael had a headache. It was the sort of pounding, unceasing agony that usually only tormented you after a night of tequila and loud music. But Michael had nothing fun to show for his pain, only a three hour conversation with Vivian that had left him drained and irritable. While Michael
hoped their breakup had been amicable before she took that position with the Royal Ballet Company, Vivian confirmed his suspicions tonight: she had only been bluffing when she left and that she fully intended him to chase after her and beg her to marry him.

Fat chance.
Michael shuddered at the idea of being legally married to such a controlling, primping, vacuous woman. Given their past relationship, Michael had felt he owed Vivian an hour to gain closure, but after he made it perfectly clear he had no intention of resuming their prior relationship the claws had come out and she'd spent the rest of the evening browbeating him. It was only when she'd started in on Laney - his office dalliance, as she'd called her - that he'd put a stop to it. The idea of Vivian knowing about Laney made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't define. Laney was
his
and he didn't want Vivian tainting her with ugly words. She made their relationship sound cheap somehow, when to Michael, the connection they shared was nothing but profound. He had never felt so
himself
with another person as he did with Laney and he wasn't going to let his ex-harpy jeopardize that.

His steps hurried at the thought of seeing Laney, her smile, her naturally submissive nature, her sweet, guileless eyes. He was disappointed when he didn't find her at her desk, but that just meant she was probably fixing his coffee in the break room. His mouth watered. Whatever she did to the bitter brown liquid was nothing short of sorcery.

But when he got to his desk, he frowned. A bag of powder - spices? - sat in the center, a post-it note attached to it. It was in Laney's messy, barely legible scrawl.

This was all you really cared about.

Michael's eyebrows drew together in confusion. What did that mean? What
was
this? Not quite sure why, he took the bag and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, note and all. He was going to find Laney and ask her what the hell was going on. But when he got to the break room, there was no Laney. Nor was she in the copy room, ladies room (and yes, he did go inside to check - empty), or back at her desk once he finished his rounds. Baffled, he spotted Price's ancient secretary (she insisted on being referred to as such; assistants, she claimed, were college interns) and marched up to her.

"Have you seen Laney today?" he asked.

She looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "She got the boot last night," she said, shrugging. "Shouldn't you know that?"

Indeed, that was exactly the sort of thing Michael should know. His mouth pinched into a tight line and he stormed into Price's office without knocking, his secretary's indignant squawks of protest following him inside.

"What is the meaning of this?" Michael asked, glaring at Price's smug face. The other man was leaning against his desk, his arms folded.

"I told you to get rid of her," Price said. "I know you were enjoying the… view, but she didn't fit in. She's not the type of girl to get you into the corner office."

"And what type of girl is that?" Michael asked through gritted teeth.

"One who can walk and chew gum at the same time," Price snapped. "I don't know what you're so upset about. The agency is sending over another temp this afternoon. I'm sure this one will give your dick the same single minded attention as the last little harlot."

Michael didn't think. He was blinded by rage. His arm swung back and popped Price right in the nose. The other man howled with agony.

"Consider this my notice," Michael growled. "I won't work with people who go behind my back."

"I'll sue you," Price screamed.

"Go ahead," Michael ground out. "I'll slap this place with a wrongful termination suit in Laney's name and go to the media with every dirty little secret I know."

"You'll go to jail," Price muttered. "You've got a confidentiality clause."

"But you'll be ruined," Michael insisted. "Fair trade. Or, you buy me out and we all walk away with what we want."

"That's not what I want." Price said bitterly, still clutching his likely broken nose.

"But it's all I'm offering," Michael said. "Let me know what you decide."

He stormed out, leaving Price's matronly secretary to fuss over his injuries. Michael was heading straight to Laney's - except, he realized with a mental growl, he didn't actually know where she lived. Because he'd never bothered to ask. She would have had to fill out paperwork when she was hired - paperwork that was automatically sent to the records room.

Flirting with the file clerk got him inside and his clearance hadn't been revoked yet. It took him five minutes to glean Laney's personal address and another five to get to his car. He patted his pocket, reminded of the mystery bag and strange note it contained. His poor Laney. She must have been so hurt and confused - well, never again, he thought as he pushed the accelerator pedal a little harder. Michael was going to make damn sure she knew exactly where she belonged.

##

Laney was a mess. She'd fallen asleep crying the night before, then woke up angry at herself for letting the situation get to her that much. The agency had already left her a message assuring her that she wasn't being held responsible for the dismissal and that they'd had difficulty placing people there in the past. They were impressed Laney had managed to last as long as she did.

The fact that she'd get a new job soon was of little comfort to Laney. It wasn't the loss of the job that had broken her heart, after all. Part of her wanted to march down there and insist Michael see her, insist that he tell her face to face that he wanted nothing more to do with her. A much bigger part of her, however, was terrified of the look in his eyes when he did; terrified that he wouldn't care, that she'd start crying again and he'd feel nothing but pity for her. That wasn't how she wanted to remember him.

"Get up," she ordered herself, and after another five minutes of
wallowing in self-pity, she did. After a hot shower Laney felt better, physically at least, and she put on her favorite pair of fuzzy pink pajamas. She had nowhere to be, so she might as well be comfortable. She was staring into her freezer, debating the pros and cons of frozen waffles versus frozen pancakes when her doorbell rang.

Puzzled, Laney went to answer it, glancing into the peephole before she opened the door. She gasped when she saw
Michael on the other side, ducking down as if he could see her, which was ridiculous.

"I know you're in there," he said after a minute of silence. Okay, maybe it wasn't so ridiculous. "I heard you gasp."

Right. Of course.

"What do you want?" she called out.

"You," he said clearly, with so much intent and emotion behind the word that Laney stumbled to her feet, undid the deadbolt and flung the door open.

"Me?" she asked meekly.

He nodded gravely. "You've pushed me too far this time," he said, sounding stern. "I'll have to punish you for leaving me like that."

"I didn't--"

"I don't want excuses," he interrupted, striding through the door and slamming it shut behind him. "I know," he said softer, cupping her cheeks between his hands. "I know what they did, what they said. It wasn't me."

"It wasn't you," she repeated quietly, dizzy with relief and hope. "But," she realized, frowning, "you have a girlfriend."

He frowned. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Vivian," she reminded him, as if he had only forgotten her name.

"Is my ex-girlfriend," he agreed. "Emphasis on the ex part. We broke up months ago. Granted, she apparently has trouble remembering that, but I'm very, very sure."

"Oh thank God," she muttered, throwing her arms around his neck. He laughed as she planted enthusiastic kisses all over his face.

“I may need a place to stay. I quit my job,” he confessed, and she only kissed him more, held him tighter, excited and awed by the idea that he cared for her that much.

“You can sleep on my couch,” she teased, bussing his nose, his jaw, the spot underneath his ear. “It pulls out.”

"Wait," he said, stealing another kiss before he pulled back. "I do have one question."

"What?" she asked, feeling giddy.

"This," he said, producing her secret spice bag from his coat pocket. "What on earth is this?"

She smiled guiltily. "You know how you always want your coffee black, nothing added?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I do."

"Well… that's the stuff I add to it that makes it delicious."

"You tricky little thing," he said admiringly. "I guess I've got two things to punish you for."

He moved faster than she did, capturing her wriggling body in his arms and brin
ging their mouths together. It was all right; she didn't really want to get away.

"These are very fuzzy," he said, nibbling on her lower lip as his hands moved up and down her pajama clad hips.

"Comfort clothes," she confided, nipping at his jaw before she looked at him with big, vulnerable eyes. "I was very sad."

"No more of that," he said
, lifting her against him until he could walk them both in the direction of her bedroom. "I hope you have a very sturdy, very comfortable bed."

It was the last thing they said for a long while. Laney felt something different in the way he kissed her, the way he touched her. Whatever impersonal, distant thing had remained between them was gone now. He was still very much in charge, very much intense, but now, that intensity, that sense of control was focused on her so completely that she could only just stand it without exploding.

Michael kissed every inch of skin he revealed as he pulled down her fuzzy pajama bottoms, then repeated the process with her top. He paid extra attention to the tips of her breasts (they appreciated it) and the sharp juts of her hip bones. He put his head between her legs and inhaled, tasted, sucked and licked until she was a panting, writhing mess. He held her thighs firmly apart, pinning her to the bed, keeping her wide open so he could do whatever he liked to her. She could only thread her fingers through his hair and hold on, mumbled pleas for him to stop, to never stop, falling from her lips.

He continued to lap at her long after the last of her tremors had stopped, long after she would have pulled away because her flesh was so sensitive.
They both enjoyed the torment. If this was her punishment, she would accept it gladly. His mouth moved over her until she was building again, and only then did he pull away, nuzzling fondly beneath her belly before he sat up on his knees. She was boneless, deplete and needy at once, content to watch him pull at the knot of his tie until he could slip it - and his shirt - over his head. His chest was a work of art and she longed to touch it but she knew how he liked being in charge and he obviously wanted her exactly as she was, laid out before him like an offering, arms and legs splayed so he could look his fill.

Michael's belt came next, then his pants, his shoes and socks already having been discarded at some point when she was insensible. He pressed the full length of his body to hers and she welcomed
it, wrapping him in a full body hug, legs around his thighs, arms finally landing on his back, yet another work of art. Her nails flexed against his shoulders and she felt his cock, the hard, warm weight of it pressed between her legs. He thrust a few times, teasing them both, and she pulled his head down to kiss him. He was only too eager, his tongue moving in and out of her mouth at a slow, unhurried pace.