Love Me (5 page)

Amusement glittered in her eyes. “Those are six hundred dollar shoes. If I don’t get those back, I’ll castrate you.”

“You’re avoiding answering.”
And still hiding something.

She sighed and leaned back, hands on her hips. “Have I called you insufferable lately?”

“I’m starting to think it’s a term of endearment.”

After a prim chuckle, she sobered, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can date you, Thomas. You’re still the executive working on my account.”

If that was her only reason for rejecting him, then he’d won. She wanted him, too. “It doesn’t matter. We can still work together. Keep it professional.”

“I know, but…”

“It’s a date,” he pointed out. “Not a lifelong commitment. Just to see if you and I can converse without fighting for more than thirty minutes. For all I know, you’ll put that pretty velvet spike heel right between my eyebrows.”

She bit at her lower lip, drawing it between her teeth. “All right. One more date.”

“You make it sound like a death sentence.”

He slid off the desk and moved around it. He’d let her have the barrier between them but he was done with it now. As he passed the door to her office, he locked it and closed the blinds on the door. He turned back to her and prowled closer. She backed away like a cornered fawn.

“Why are you running from me again?” he asked.

“I’m not,” she said, but she was still backing away. She paused, then amended, “Okay, maybe I am a little bit. It’s kind of something I do.”

“That’s okay. I’m good at the chase.” He caught her, then, and as his hands curled around those delicious hips and he jerked her close, she gasped. Her body was soft through the suit, molding to his with a lushness that made him simmer. “Want to know what else I’m good at?”

Her hands pressed to his chest. “Thomas, we’re in my office—”

“I locked the door.”

“Thomas,” she warned, her tone hard.

He kissed her. Kissed her with all the anger that had built up over the night, let it bleed away into the frustrated passion he’d been caging since she walked out on him. He wasn’t sure just what it was about her that ignited him, but when she surrendered with a desperate little whimper, he stopped wondering
why
.

He just gave in and let himself feel.

Her hips pressed tight against his, provoking him like a red flag to a bull, building that tight, needy pressure in his groin. He leaned into her, bending her back over the desk, forcing her to arch until her heavy, sweetly rounded breasts pressed into him. He dragged her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt and slid his hands underneath until he found hot, smooth skin. When he caressed her, she writhed, and he savored the shudders that flowed under his fingers, leading him up until he cupped her breasts and she gasped his name against his lips.

Tasting her mouth was no longer enough. He traced his lips over her throat, bit gently along her jugular, took deep-rooted pleasure in each soft, needy cry that rose when his teeth grazed her sensitized skin and his fingers played over her nipples, rolling them until they peaked to perfect hardness. Her hands flowed over his body, touching him with grasping caresses that pulled him into her, locked their bodies together until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He had to have her. Now.

He pulled back, looking down at her. She lay breathless on the desk, debauched and wickedly inviting against her scattered papers, clothing skewed and her hazel eyes turned to molten gold by longing. Longing for him. He held himself back long enough to kiss her lips again, a single soft brush, then gripped her hips and turned her over.

He maneuvered her facedown against the desk and parted her thighs with his knee. She arched, and God, what a vixen she was—nearly purring as she rubbed her own body to the desk, dragging her breasts over the blotter, rocking back until her ass ground against him. The seams nearly split as he shoved the skirt up around her hips.

Her pantyhose made her thighs glisten like cream—and ripped from the pressure of his fingers as he pushed her thighs even farther apart, spreading her for him, positioning her against the edge of the desk. He shredded the flimsy nylon with a single savage jerk until he could reach to run his fingers over her mound through the soft silk of her panties. She quivered, her voice breaking on a moan. She was bared for him, and he burned to see her like this: wild, ready, wet for him.

He tugged the panties aside and tasted her, traced the delicate pink of her folds with the tip of his tongue, delved deeper into her warmth until she was twisting, clawing at the desk, nearly sobbing as she pushed toward him. When his tongue circled her clit, she spasmed, raked her fingers over the blotter hard enough to tear the top sheet into furrows, and came with a ragged cry. He lingered on every wet burst, every damp trickle, licking it away until she gleamed, stroking her with his tongue until her cries bordered on agony.

“Thomas,” she gasped out, rigid and trembling. “Thomas!”

It was all the encouragement he needed. With one last taunting flick of his tongue, he withdrew long enough to unzip his jeans and push them down, freeing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he ripped open a condom and shoved it down his shaft. Once he was fully ensconced, he pressed against her moistness, raising a choked sound that he echoed. He held back for a trembling moment—and the anticipation made it that much sweeter when he rocked his hips forward and glided into her in a single smooth stroke.

She enfolded him in liquid fire, and he lost control.

He braced one hand to the desk, arching over her, and fell into the near-maddened cadence of his thrusts. His pleasure. Her pleasure, as her body clenched around him and she whimpered, begged, screamed. Screamed for him, so hot and uncontrolled beneath him, pushing back to meet him on every thrust.

As he joined her, he arched his neck back and all he could think, feel, and smell was Brianna. He was completely lost in her…and he didn’t even care.

Chapter Six

Brianna lay boneless on the desk, her cheek pressed into last month’s GAAP report.

She was pretty sure she was bent over the polished mahogany planking with her butt in the air like a five-dollar hooker, sweaty and wet inside her suit, Thomas’s weight crushing the air from her lungs and his cock slowly softening inside her.

He shifted with a groan, his voice gritty in her ears.

No, she was definitely sure. Hooker. Sweaty. Wet. That had just happened.

This time, she couldn’t quite bring herself to mind so much.

“Promise me,” he said, his voice rumbling through her, “that when I get up, you won’t go running out this time.”

“It’s my office,” she murmured, “so I have nowhere to run.”

He chuckled, but a moment later his weight eased. The emptiness when he withdrew from her made her moan, pressing her thighs together. It was as if her body missed him already, wanted him back, his thickness caressing her from the inside.

Moving slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up and tugged her clothing back into proper order. She was wickedly sore, her nipples hurting from crushing and dragging against the desk. Her stomach somersaulted. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her with a claiming intensity that did terrible things to her. She couldn’t believe she’d let him do that to her. Push her down over the desk and…and just go at
her like that.

Only she could believe it, because it had felt too damned good. Even though any of her employees could have knocked on the door at any moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a thing.

She swallowed and set her skewed glasses right. “Well. I’m going to need a new ledger book.”

If she expected anything, it wasn’t the deep, full-throated laugh that rose from him. There was a warmth to it that made her shiver and a certain…earthiness. Not what she associated with this sardonic, forceful man. Caught off-guard, she turned away quickly, fumbling with the scattered things on her desk. God, they’d moved the desk across the floor; it was now canted several inches on one side, and she was lucky her computer monitor hadn’t fallen off.

His laughter trailed into a chuckle. “Here. Let me help.”

He moved to her side, picking up her pencil cup and slotting a few Sharpies back into place. They both reached for an overturned picture frame at the same time; their hands bumped, but he got it first and flipped it upright.

Thomas went very, very still, looking at the picture with a sudden and almost terrifying blankness. The languid—albeit almost playfully awkward—warmth that had been brewing vanished.

“Brianna,” he said, spacing each syllable precisely, “who is that?”

The blood drained from Brianna’s face, leaving her dizzy. The picture was of her and Michael, the day of their wedding. He was trim and dashing in his tuxedo. She held her bouquet, smiling with such radiance she looked like a different person. She wore that frothy white dress that childhood said was supposed to make all a little girl’s dreams come true. No one ever told those little girls that past the dress were more dreams. Deeper dreams. Dreams that could so easily be cut short and taken away.

She snatched the picture away and turned it facedown. “It’s no one.”

His gaze moved to her hand. Without even thinking, she ran her thumb over the paler band of skin on her finger, the weight of the ring a strange absence. His eyes turned flinty.

“You’re hiding something.”

She turned her back on him. “No.”

“Liars are easy to spot, Brianna. What’s going on?”

“I’m not a liar!” She hugged the picture to her chest. The edges of the photo frame bit into her sore breasts. “I just met you. You don’t get to interrogate me.”

“Maybe not.” His voice was colder than liquid nitrogen. “But I’d like to have known you were married before I asked you on a date. A better time to tell me? Before I slept with you. You lied to me.”

Her chest felt tight, like a scream had sunk its hooks into her from the inside and then balled itself up and refused to come out. “I didn’t lie.”

“I can’t believe you turned me into this man. The man that would break up a family.” He looked at her with such contempt she wanted to crawl under the desk and sob. Suddenly she felt like grade-school Brianna again, pathetic and unworthy.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice cracking. “None.”

“I thought I had an idea who you were. A strong, intelligent, capable woman who just needed to come down from her ice castle. I wanted to know more.” His upper lip curled. “But now I know that if I really want to know something about you, I could go ask your husband.”

The hurt burning through her turned cold. “Get out before I call security to escort you.”

His entire body was tense, vibrating with anger. But it was his eyes that nearly killed her; it wasn’t anger she saw there but a bitter sense of betrayal. Hurt. Resignation.

“No need,” he said. “I know the way.”

And without another word, he walked out of her office and out of her life.

…

Thomas sat in his truck and stared sightlessly across the parking lot of the Golden Hand Casino. He should be driving away, but he didn’t have it in him to move just yet—and wasn’t sure if he could be trusted in busy traffic.

He should have known. Her furtive body language. That tan line on her finger. He’d thought it had looked old. Old enough that he could believe it was from an ex. But ex-wives didn’t have pictures of their ex-husbands on their desk.

More likely, she’d just made a fool out of both him and her husband—and made such a habit of it that she was more often without her wedding ring than with. Just like Nicole.

Nicole had left her wedding band on the nightstand every day. He’d wake in the morning and it would be there, mocking him. He’d tried to tell himself, the moment he realized that he wanted to see Brianna again, that she wasn’t Nicole. That not every woman was the lying, cheating bitch who’d used him, spat on him, and trapped him in a loveless marriage with nothing but nebulous promises of affection.

Maybe not every woman was Nicole, but he’d be damned stupid to ever trust one again. At least with Nicole it had all been there for him to see. The lies. The cheating. The laughter every time she broke his heart a little bit more.

But that sweet, trusting look on Brianna’s face when she’d clung to him…

The truth was, he just didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but a stupidly idealistic part of him wanted to believe her— No. He was a fool, and he’d just ruined another man’s life the same way Nicole and her countless boy toys had ruined his. He’d sworn he’d never ever touch a married woman. Never hurt another man the way he’d been hurt so many times. The taste in his mouth was bitter, the acid in his stomach vile.

He turned the key in the ignition. The truck came to life, roaring the angry challenge that seemed to be stuck in Thomas’s throat. He needed to drop this and walk away. Even more of a reason to get this contract, turn his back on Vegas, and never look back. Even if it meant losing his job.

To hell with his job—and to hell with Brianna Faulk.

Chapter Seven

Brianna rolled on her stomach, pillow hugged close, and eyed the cell phone flung at the foot of the bed. The project portfolio from MotoTek was next to it with the neat little business card insert and its square paper slip of temptation. Temptation with Thomas’s cell phone number printed on it.

It had been two days since he stormed into her office, and then stormed right back out of it like a tornado consisting of pure lust and anger. So much anger. She shouldn’t even be thinking about calling him. He’d probably taken himself and his California-surfer good looks back to the MotoTek offices in San Francisco, anyway. It had been days, and she hadn’t heard from him. Not about the contract.

Not about them.

She’d tried to keep herself busy, but her mind kept drifting back to him. When he’d found that picture of her with Michael, she’d frozen. Panicked. The way he’d looked at her hadn’t helped. She’d grown past letting anyone look at her that way, letting anyone make her feel like she was inferior by their standards. The fact that he’d dared had infuriated her.

But if she’d been honest with him in the first place, he wouldn’t have had reason to.

She’d only lied by omission. She didn’t owe him anything, but that bitter look of betrayal in his eyes…as if she’d torn open an old wound she hadn’t even known was there. She wanted to tell him the truth. To at least give a clean ending to something that had never even really begun and restore their business relationship so they could painlessly conclude their transaction and part ways. She could partner with MotoTek to remodel and rebrand the casino. Thomas could continue on whatever path he went down after they parted ways.

And she could forget about that burning knot of hunger that clenched deep inside her body every time she thought about how he’d touched her.

She glanced at the clock. Nine thirty at night. In Vegas, nine thirty was practically morning. He’d still be up. She had purposely waited until the kids were in bed. She didn’t want him to hear their voices in the background and have him fly off the handle again. Not until she had a chance to explain everything to him. She smoothed her hands over her fluttering stomach, made herself pick up the phone, and punched his number.

It rang two times before he picked up. He sounded tired. Wary. Angry. “Hello?”

“Thomas? It’s Brianna.”

He said nothing. The silence weighed long and dark between them. Accusatory. She took a calming breath, but her heart rate doubled.

“Are you still in town?” she continued. “I’d like to see you.”

“I’m still in Vegas,” he said after a long pause. “But I have no intention of seeing you. We can conduct business over the phone and via e-mail.”

She gritted her teeth. He was going to make this difficult, wasn’t he? “Please, I need to talk to you. In person. Would you be available to meet?”

“If this is a hookup call…” he said, his voice tinged with warning.

“It’s not.” She dug her fingers into the pillow until they disappeared into the plush cotton. “Whatever your damages are, they aren’t my fault. Don’t treat me like they are.”

“Then don’t use me to fuck up your husband’s life.”

“Stop assuming that’s what I’m doing.” Deep breaths again. She couldn’t fly off the handle. Couldn’t lose her temper. She rarely lost her temper, but Thomas just seemed to be able to push her buttons. “I just want to talk.”

“Why?”

“You wanted the truth, didn’t you?”

“And I got it.”

So much for deep breathing and calm thoughts. She snapped. “Listen, you pig-headed, arrogant, close-minded
prick
,” she hissed. She tried to bite the words back, but they poured from her lips in a furious torrent. “You have no idea what it is you got. You assumed. I’m trying to be honest with you. So let me.”

His answer was so long in coming that she thought he’d hung up. Then he chuckled and murmured, “You called me a prick.”

“That’s because you’re acting like one,” she growled. “And you don’t have to sound so amused by my cursing.”

“Then stop sounding so funny when you do it.” He let out a sigh so heavy it crackled through the receiver. “Fine, we can talk. Where?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no way around it. She had to invite him to her house. Maybe she could wait for him on the doorstep and break the news of her family to him over a drink at dinner. Or maybe after three drinks. She could work her way into a confession on her own terms. If she told him she wanted to meet somewhere neutral, he would probably still think she was hiding something. And she was. It wasn’t just a husband. But how long could she hide the kids from him? And why bother?

Once he saw them, he’d make his excuses and go back to wherever he belonged. Their brief dalliance would be over, and she’d have cleared her name from adultery. So what if the thought of coming clean made her palms sweaty? It didn’t matter. It was time.

She clenched the phone tighter and forced the words that would seal her fate to come out. “My house. Tomorrow at six.”

“I’ll be there,” he said. “No more lies between us, Bree.”

“No more lies,” she promised, and wondered what she was getting herself into. “Now get a pen.”

She gave him her address, then hung up. Her palms were sweating, her body shaking, but this was far from over. Now came the hard part. The hardest part of all.

Waiting until tomorrow so she could come clean.

…

Thomas was fairly sure he was about to get punked by Chris Hanson.

Maybe Jerry Springer.

Yeah. Springer had a bigger audience.

He stood on the walk and eyed the front door. There was probably a camera crew in the bushes and another inside Brianna’s sprawling ranch-style house. The husband was probably waiting upstairs until Jerry gave the secret signal. Jerry would say
lowlife
, and the esteemed Mr. Faulk would jump him. Jerry would wait just a little too long to call his security monkeys to pull him off. Just long enough so that when they replayed the video for the studio audience, they’d pump their fists and scream
Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!
while the fight rolled on.

And Thomas would deserve every single blow.

Why was he even here? So she could rub his nose in her infidelity? So she could have some kind of emotional revelation with her husband, while Thomas watched on? Maybe she even intended to use Thomas as an excuse to end her marriage.

He sighed and rapped his knuckles to the door. It cracked open.

“Thank God. You’re la—” Her eyes widened. “Crap.”

She slammed the door in his face.

Then latched it.

What the hell was she up to now?

“Damn it, Bree,” he called through the door. “We said no games. What are you doing?”

“We said no lies but I’m not playing any games.” The thick oak door made her voice hollow. “I thought you were the— I thought you were my sister. You’re too early.”

“I’m not—” He checked the time. He was
actually
early. He was never early. “Okay. Fine. So I show up ten minutes early and it’s a social faux pas worthy of slamming the door in my face?”

No answer. He groaned and glanced over his shoulder. No sister. No one. Just an empty yard, and around the corner of the house, he could just barely make out the edges of a multicolored…kids’ play set…

Oh. Oh, hell no.

A little snake of panic bit at his insides. “I’m leaving.”

“Don’t.” Her exasperated sigh came clearly through the paneled oak. “What if we reschedule? I’m not really in the mood to go out. I’m tired.”

His stomach turned. Toying with him again, and he didn’t even have one foot in the front door. And why the hell did she have a swing set in her yard? “Why did you tell me to come here if you didn’t want to see me?”

The latch slid. She cracked the door open again. One liquid hazel eye peeked out. “I’m just— I’m not—”

“You’re not what?”

“I’m—” Her lips pinched together. “Oh, screw it. Come in.”

She opened the door fully. He stepped across the threshold, his eyes taking in every inch of her body even though he didn’t even know if he
liked
her right now. She wore a pair of black slacks and a sparkly tank top that hung to her curves. “What’s going on, Bree?”

She shrugged stiffly. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet.”

“I gathered that.” He crossed his arms. “Look, let’s not make any unnecessary drama. If it was just a one-night thing, let it be that so I can walk away. Or tell me what’s really going on.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m trying.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it? You’re a mass murderer? You eat people for dinner?” he asked, and then his gaze drifted to the pictures on the wall.

Yes, it very much was that bad.

One of the photos, at least a few years old, was of Brianna. She held a baby. There were other kids in the rest of the pictures, and he didn’t think they were her nieces and nephews.

And the man from her desk photo was in all the portraits, smiling as if he was the luckiest man in the world.

Ah, shit.

Slowly, as if he were on autopilot, he turned back to her. His limbs felt wooden. So did his lips as he said, “You’re married. With kids.”

Her shoulders hunched. “I have three kids, yes. And my husband—”

“To hell with this.” He reached back blindly, grappling for the doorknob. He could barely see her pale, stricken face through a white-hot sheen of fury. “I don’t want to hear anything about your husband. I don’t want to hear your excuses about how cold he is, or how he’s never home. You have
kids
, Brianna. Kids and a family. I’m not going to be the one to rip it apart.”

Thomas jerked the door open and walked out—and nearly walked into another woman. A younger woman, a blond with wide, confused eyes, stood on the doorstep, staring at him as if she thought he would hurt her. He ducked around her, careful not to touch her. He’d never hurt anyone, but that didn’t mean he wanted human contact right now. He should have trusted his gut. Brianna was definitely married.

Married, and he’d been played for a fool.

Halfway down the walk, a warm hand caught his elbow with surprising strength. “Stay right there.”

She spun on her heel and walked back to the house. A teenaged boy hovered in the doorway, watching them with his mouth twisted into a curve of sullen resentment. Brianna said something to the boy, shut the door, then stalked back down the path. Thomas felt sick. Why had he stayed, and let her boss him into sticking around?

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alight. “I’ll have you know I’m not the type of woman who cheats on her husband.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Do you have some other explanation for the pictures? Divorcées don’t keep shrines to their exes. I’m divorced, and I’m fairly certain every picture of her I didn’t
burn
ended up down the garbage disposal.”

She cocked her head. “When were you married?”

“A while ago. As in, not right now. Ever wondered how that felt?”

Her face fell. She dropped her fists to her sides. “Not really. You’re right. A divorcée wouldn’t still have pictures up. But I’m not divorced.”

“That makes no sense. The only way you could be not married, but not divorced, is if…”

Oh.

Thomas, you idiot.

“Is if he’s dead,” she finished. Her slim hands planted against his chest, shoving him gently backward. “He’s dead. If you’d let me finish, you’d have heard me. I have three kids, I’m a single mom, and my husband is dead. There. Happy?”

Happy? He’d been an asshole to a woman who didn’t deserve it. He should just give up and walk away, but he couldn’t. Pride choked him—pride, and that damnable need that roused every time he looked at her.

He swallowed hard. “No. I can’t say that makes me particularly happy. How long ago did he… When did he…?”

“A few years ago. And I didn’t want to tell you right away.” She let out a tired, dry laugh. “I mean, who wants to date a single mom of three? It’s something you ease into after a few dates. Not right away. Not like this. But…we kind of skipped the date and hopped right into…”

“More like out of our clothes. That’s what you meant when you said you don’t normally do this.”

She nodded. No wonder. She had kids to care for, to protect. She wouldn’t want strange men around until she was sure her children would be safe with them, and it wouldn’t be fair to bring men into their lives who might only be a temporary presence when they’d already lost their father. And he was definitely a temporary presence.

Then again, he wasn’t sure he was ready to even think about being a father figure, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and gripped her shoulder gently. “I’m an idiot.”

She smiled weakly. “No. You just bit off more than you could chew. At least now you’ve got your excuse.”

“Excuse?”

“You know. Why it wouldn’t work.” She wrapped her arms around herself. A defensive barrier—against
him
. “So you can walk away with a clean conscience now.”

She had the future all figured out already—including his reaction to her news. With any other woman, she would have been right. But for some unknown reason, Brianna wasn’t just
any
woman. He couldn’t walk away from her so easily. She felt too damned good in his arms to let her go. “You think I’ll give up that easily?”

“I saw the look on your face when you realized I have kids. It was the look of a man with his head in the noose. Let me tighten the rope for you and make it a little easier. I’m thirty-two and a single mom with a lot of baggage. Zach’s thirteen and miserable. Katelyn’s six and thinks she’s twenty. Cody is eight, lives in his own world, and thinks Transformers are real.”

Thirteen? So she’d had her first when she was only nineteen?

He never really envisioned himself with kids. Never even pictured a family of his own. And the idea of dating someone with kids had never even crossed his mind. He never would have considered getting involved with a woman who had children. Not because he didn’t like kids. He did.