One Night for Love (5 page)

Breasts that he had suckled.

Heat rushed to his cock. He forced air to his lungs. The muscle in his jaw flinched.

Prim turned. His eyes clung to the V of her dress for the slightest moment. Prim’s breasts were soft and sweet and round. To slip his hands up over her breasts and kiss that soft firm flesh was all he could think about.

“Oh!” Prim said. Her hand clutched her chest. “You startled me. I didn’t expect … I didn’t—” She stopped when her eyes met his gaze. Her tongue chased out over those thick, wonderfully full lips.

This, this heat, this want, must be so obvious on his face, and it stilled her too. She felt it. Her breathing shortened. He took one step closer, tempting himself with her nearness and trying to determine the boundary of what seemed to be his boundless desire for Prim.

“Shall we go?” she whispered.

They should most definitely go before he acted on the desire that pulsed through him, the need to press his lips to her neck and wrap his arm around her waist and press her to him, her sex fitting close to his. Her breath was short and her pulse fluttered in her neck. A flush spread across her chest. The urge to push her backward through the door and kiss her senseless and feel those thighs wrap around him nearly overwhelmed him.

“Tristan?”

The desire in Prim’s voice heated him. He locked his gaze on her eyes. “Definitely,” he said. “We should definitely go.”

She brushed by him with the faintest whisper of a touch, and he forced his hands to remain at his sides. He wanted to reach out and grasp her. Pull her beautiful body to his. So much restraint was required. Months of restraint. The scent of Prim trailed behind her and he inhaled. He pulled open her car door and waited for her to fold her luscious body into his car. The legs with the indecent heels went last. He watched those legs, then pushed shut the car door. Tonight would require even more concentration than Tristan had anticipated.

*

Tristan sat across from Roger Macon and watched Macon’s eyes roam Prim’s décolletage for the thousandth time. Tristan’s hand, which rested on his thigh beneath the table, fisted. If he hadn’t wanted the deal with Flixster, he might’ve stood up and jabbed Macon in the nose. He might jab Macon in the nose regardless of his desire to close this deal. Macon had raked his eyes over Prim the entire night. Even now, Macon clasped his hand over Prim’s as he told her about some triathlon in which he’d participated.

Prim slid her hand from Macon’s grasp and pressed her napkin to her lips.

“Tristan, how did you ever convince this beautiful lady to stay on at Metro Media?” Roger asked. “I tried to woo her away when I heard that Ryan was selling to you.”

“I heard you started your attempt to woo Prim away from Metro Media way before I approached Ryan to buy the company.”

“You’re right,” Roger said and pressed his hand to Prim’s bare shoulder, and the urge to break all five of Roger’s fingers rushed through Tristan. “I did offer Prim a job a number of times, but she declined each one.”

“Prim is very loyal to her coworkers.”

The pulse in Prim’s neck flickered. Her tongue darted out between her lips. Tristan moved his gaze from Prim’s eyes to Roger’s hand on Prim’s bare flesh. The hand slipped away. The silence was uncomfortable. Was the heat that brewed between him and Prim palpable? If Roger couldn’t sense the chemistry, then he was a bigger dolt than Tristan thought.

The server stopped by the table and interrupted the silence. Tristan gave him his card for the check, and moments later they walked out into the cool night air.

“Well you’ve given me much to think about,” Roger said. He turned to Prim, a sly smile on his face. “I think we may have a deal.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Prim said. A smile burst over her face.

Roger used his announcement as an excuse to close in on Prim. He grasped her in a hug, pressed his body to hers, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

Prim pulled back. Shock entered her eyes, but she quickly recovered.

“Don’t forget, Prim,” Roger said. “My offer always stands, both for the job and the visit to my private island.”

Heat flamed through Tristan. What a boob. Who did that? And to a businesswoman? But perhaps …

Tristan’s gaze flickered between Prim and Roger. Had they been lovers? Had she slept with him too? Perhaps Prim had once found Macon attractive?

Tristan reached out and his hand gripped Roger’s hand. He squeezed just a bit too tight, and in Tristan’s eyes was the warning that this man should never ever touch Prim Baxter again.

“Thank you for dinner, Tristan, I’ll have my business-affairs team contact yours.”

“Excellent,” Tristan said, his smile fixed to his face.

So adept was Tristan at business that Roger couldn’t tell Tristan wanted to squeeze Roger’s neck until the man’s head exploded. Roger got into the back of his car and his driver pulled away from the curb.

The valet appeared with Tristan’s car. Tristan would drop Prim at home and then leave. He pulled out onto Wilshire and headed west to Santa Monica. He couldn’t shake the thoughts that rattled about his skull. Thoughts of Prim and Macon, together, intimate. Anger flashed in his chest.

“You and Roger were involved?” Tristan realized the inappropriateness of his question the second the words slipped from his lips. And yet … there was this compulsion, this need to know whether Roger’s hands had also caressed Prim’s bare skin.

“What?” Prim’s gaze whipped from the passenger window toward Tristan. “Why would you ask such a question?”

Tristan knew better than to continue, and yet even with Prim’s hard glare that told him to take his question and stuff it, Tristan couldn’t stop. He was obsessed with a need to know, a deep gnawing that he’d never experienced with regards to the personal history of a woman. He needed to banish the visions of Prim and Roger that his mind had created.

“He paws you like you two have been together. Plus the comment about the island. Some women do like men with big bank accounts.”

“Stop the car,” Prim said.

“Excuse me?”

“Stop the car.”

“What? Why?” Tristan pulled to a stop at a red light. “Why would I—”

Before he uttered another word, Prim jumped from his Tesla and scrambled across the street. The light turned green and the cacophony of honking horns forced Tristan to pull forward. He turned right at the next light and circled back to where he’d last seen Prim. But when he pulled down Rodeo Drive, Prim was gone.

What a complete ass.

Prim rushed across Rodeo. She stopped in front of Mastro’s, opened the app on her phone, and requested an Uber pickup. Within minutes the town car arrived. She slid into the backseat and rested her head against the cool leather. Gone was her hope that she and Tristan could ignore what had happened between them at Mesquale and behave professionally. Tristan’s eyes had been on her the entire night. He’d watched every one of Roger’s obvious and unwelcome advances. During the six months of negotiations, Prim had grown used to ignoring Roger’s hints about his attraction to her and his desires for her. She always brushed them off until this evening. The weight of Tristan’s judgment as Roger made offhand and borderline crude remarks had nearly been too much to bear.

The muscle in Tristan’s jaw had flinched each time Roger pawed Prim’s hand or leered at her. Roger had acted as though Prim, as opposed to the cut of meat on his plate, was meant to be his dinner. At first, conscious of the effect Roger’s touches and lingering gazes were having on Tristan, she’d gotten a bit of a thrill, despite wishing it weren’t true. While she was a career woman who could provide for her every need and desire, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to the tiny thrill of having both these titans find her desirable. Two of the wealthiest men in the world both wanted her.

Until she realized that Tristan actually thought she’d slept with Roger for the deal.

Instead of congratulating Prim on her business acumen and professionalism and how she had managed to get the client to the yes, Tristan had accused her of sleeping with Roger Macon. What a douchebag move. Having spoken with a number of her B-school classmates, Prim knew that Tristan was not usually that kind of guy. According to her former classmates, Tristan was actually professional and fair, at least for a guy who bought companies and then destroyed them by breaking them apart.

The town car pulled to a stop in front of Prim’s home. She thanked the driver and jumped out. She had to find a way to fix this, find some sort of compromise that allowed her to stay at Metro so she might convince Tristan he was better served by keeping Metro whole and not selling it off piece by piece. A goal that she had three months to accomplish, all the while fighting this insatiable desire for her boss. She pressed her forehead to her front door and looked down at the keys she held in her hand. After tonight, her goals seemed impossible to achieve.

 “I’m sorry.”

Prim jumped at his voice. Her hand clutched the front of her dress. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” she said. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and not simply because Tristan had startled her. Heat cascaded through her body. Tristan was devilishly handsome; she was stunned by his looks even though she was irritated with his behavior.

“We can’t discuss this out here,” Prim said and inserted the key into the lock. “I have somewhat nosy neighbors and it’s after ten p.m.”

She opened her front door and flipped on the lights. She walked across the living room, distancing herself from Tristan and the heat that cascaded through her body. She crossed her arms and waited to hear what he had to say.

She was surprised. She’d expected everything from him but an apology. She’d anticipated that, like most men in positions of power, he’d regale her with every reason as to why what he’d said, how he’d behaved, had been justified, how he had the right to do and say what he pleased. So the words “I’m sorry” coming out of Tristan Rhodes’s mouth threw Prim off balance. Not what she’d expected at all.

“I don’t like you jumping out of my car.” His eyes slid down her body and the heat, even from across the room, hit her with force. “Especially in those heels.” His gaze held on her feet and then flicked back up to meet her eyes. “You could break that pretty neck of yours.”

Tristan stepped closer to her. A tiny gasp pulsed over her lips and her sex clenched. She was cornered, trapped, but not in a way that made her want to flee. Trapped in a way that made her want to step forward and press her body against his. Good God, the man was brilliantly handsome.

“It’s really none of your concern who I have or have not slept with,” Prim said. Her voice was soft and she stared at Tristan’s lips. Lips now so close to hers, lips she’d already kissed, lips she knew could give her so much damn pleasure. “You’re my employer. I think we’ve both made it quite clear what we want out of this relationship for the next three months.”

“Yes,” Tristan said. “Quite clear.” He was so close now, the heat of him, the nearness of his skin, the scent of him.

“We agreed to dismiss that night,” Prim whispered.

His lips were so close, those lovely lips.

“I’m finding it difficult to forget,” Tristan whispered, his voice rough with desire. His hand pulled at a tendril of her hair, and he pushed it behind her ear.

A tremor of desire thrilled through Prim. “You’re acting like a jealous lover, as though there’s something between us.”

“And you’re acting as though there’s not.” He grasped her shoulders and his lips were on hers.

Prim’s body betrayed her. Her knees trembled and Tristan wrapped one arm around her waist. She pressed forward against his body. His mouth slid open and his tongue slid across the seam of her lips until she opened her mouth and his tongue entangled with hers.

Hot tendrils of lust spiraled through Prim. His hand pressed up and over her dress and he cupped her breast. Her breath shortened. She sank into his touch, his kiss. She sank into her own want. Her hands clutched his dress shirt and then slid down over him to the edge of his pants, where she pressed her hips into him.

“Fuck, Prim,” Tristan said. He pulled away from her and grasped her jaw with his hand.

For an instant she thought the spell had broken and that they would both come to their senses—they knew better than to indulge their desires—but instead he wrapped her in his arms and lifted.

“Bedroom,” he whispered.

She clasped her legs around him. “Down the hall on the left.”

With her in his arms and his lips upon her, before she could change her mind, before he could change his mind, before either of them could consider anything but satisfying this desire, Tristan carried her into her bedroom.

He set her feet on the ground and his hands worked around her back and unzipped her dress. The liquid gold dress fell to the floor and puddled at her feet. Tristan stepped back and his eyes traveled over her flesh.

“I’ve wanted to look at you like this all night.”

She wore a black lace bra and panties. The heels remained firmly affixed to her feet.

“The shoes,” he said, his voice a commanding growl. “The shoes you keep on.”

He stroked his pointer finger over her lips. Her tongue darted out and caught his finger. She pulled it into her mouth. One languid pull. She rolled his finger around her tongue. He pulled his finger from her mouth and slid his hand into her bra. His finger tightened, hot upon her budded nipple. He reached around her and with a single motion her bra slipped from her breasts. His lips pressed to her neck and her head tossed back as he worked down toward her breast.

“It’s only been eight days and it feels like years. I can’t get your body out of my mind.” His lips wrapped around her nipple.

White-hot heat flashed through her. His hand trailed along her belly to her thighs. His fingertips traced the edges of the lace. Prim’s breath hitched in her chest as his fingertips teased her. He slipped his fingers under the tiny thread of fabric that held the panties to her hips and, with one swift tug, ripped them from her body. He slipped her nipple from his mouth, then his lips traveled to her other breast. The fingertips of his hand pressed up her thigh, slowly tracing upward. Her hips bucked forward. Her body remembered the pleasure his fingertips could give. She was hungry for him. She wanted the orgasm those fingers promised if only he would touch her, if only he would press his fingers to her sex, she would fall over the edge. His fingers traced up over her leg.