Sapphire (12 page)

Her blood heated rapidly, desire responding to his strength, the way he held her, looked at her. She loved it. She couldn’t bear it.

“I like it this way, yes—the power and the release. Do I love watching you come apart in my hands? Yes.” He voice turned rough. “Yes. And you love me to do it.”

“Sounds like you have me all figured out.”

“Did I study you? Yes. Anyone going up against a master negotiator would.”

“So you manipulated me with sex.”

“You could have used your safe word anytime, Taylor. You just can’t admit you want this as much as I do. That you need someone to force their way through your defenses.”

“I thought this would be a fling. Blow the charge and we’re done.”

“No. No fling for me. I want it all.”

“So, this is what, true love?”

His eyes glinted gold annoyance. “You like to laugh at the concept. Are you so unlovable?”

“I need time to think.”

“You can think here. You’ll stay here again tonight. Do I have to tie you up?” He tightened his hands on her wrists, observing her closely. “Is that what you need?”

She smiled. It must have looked wrong, judging by the concern flitting across his brow.

“What I really need to do is pee—all that wine.”

He laughed, releasing her. “Don’t take too long. The steaks are almost ready, and we can watch the sunset while we eat. We can talk about this more.”

She turned back and awkwardly kind of waved at him. She almost said goodbye, but no one said that just for a short trip to the bathroom. He blew her a kiss, the ocean breeze tossing his hair.

In the kitchen, she grabbed her cell and pulled her evening clutch from the drawer. The faux jewels pricked her fingers, giving her a bit of reality to stave off the rising panic.

Finding a pad of paper, she scrawled one word on it.

Moving quickly, she headed out the front doors, thumbing on her phone to call a taxi company. If anyone saw her, they might have remarked on the barefoot woman with loose red hair jogging down the road, carrying a jeweled purse.

She ran even though she knew Kirliss would understand the message. What she’d never been able to bring herself to say.

And he’d know, too, what he’d asked of her that she simply could not do. So she’d written it for the record.

Sapphire.

When the cab dropped her off, barefoot and disheveled, she went up to her condo and took a long bath. Her body still ached from all the ways he’d possessed and aroused her. Her heart ached, too, as if he’d penetrated that along with every other corner of her being. All of it would fade with time. And she would have the memory of a wild weekend.

To preserve the memory, although not entirely sure why she wanted to, she pressed a rose—the first one he’d given her at lunch—using the technique her grandfather taught her. The flower changed behind glass. She could see the spiral in it, how it echoed the nautilus. The dark shadows setting off the brilliant petals.

She didn’t hear from Kirliss.

On Monday morning, Steve took one look at her face and sent out for lattes. He brought hers in, along with a sugar-crusted donut, and set them on her desk.

“Do I look that bad?” She tried to sound wry.

“Actually, you look like someone ran over your puppy. I guess I don’t have to ask how the date went.”

She bit into the donut, the glorious rush of sugar and fat hitting her bloodstream almost instantly. Better than drugs.

“Well, you wondered who would win the title match? I did.”

Steve frowned. “With all due respect, Ms. Hamilton, if that’s winning, I would have rooted for you to lose.”

Taylor opened her mouth to snap back, but he’d already turned away to his desk. A tide of emotion rose up, choking her. She couldn’t just give in to everything Kirliss wanted. She’d worked too hard to have control of her own life, just to hand it over. Especially someone who could make her feel like she had, putty in his hands. What wouldn’t she let him do to her—and get her to beg for it too?

Her coat arrived via courier later that morning. There was no note. She sent his laundered jeans and shirt back with the courier.

A final exchange to balance the ledgers again.

Over the week, the roses wilted and faded away on her dining room table, until Taylor finally sent them to the building compost bin.

Adam Kirliss wasn’t coming after her. Not that she’d wanted him to. He’d pushed for a hostile takeover and lost his bid. Still, part of her—M, perhaps—had thought he wouldn’t give up so easily.

Work kept her busy until well into the night, every night. Acquisition of a competing firm commanded a great deal of her attention. Which was how she liked it.

Work had always been the answer. Buried in it, she could concentrate on thinking. The world made sense that way. She ignored the aching in her heart, an emotional turmoil that defied all logic.

It hardly seemed possible, after a forty-eight-hour relationship—if that was even the right word—that she still thought about the man. Hot fantasies took her by surprise at the strangest moments. Images from that night, the fierce desire, yes. But also how he’d looked at her, the tender, drowning kisses. His bare feet on the sand of the beach. Sometimes funny things at work made her think of telling him. How he’d appreciate that particular irony.

She saw the memos from him. The commanding tone, his incisive vision, all reminded her of how he’d taken control of her and made her feel.

The plunging sense of freefall. Desire. Excitement. She’d maybe felt happy.

One morning, after feeling as if her mind had run all night, sapping any sleep she’d managed, Taylor made coffee and decided to replicate that egg-white omelet he’d made her. Oil and garlic, browned, not burned. She didn’t have all the veggies. And the herbs weren’t right. None of it was right. She even picked up her phone and looked at his number. She could call, play it casual.
Hey, what all did you put in that omelet and how’ve you been anyway?

If he would even take her call.

The phone rang in her hand, startling her so she nearly dropped it. Her heart leaped in a glad rush, until her brain caught up. Not Kirliss, but her mother.

“Hi, Mother.” Taylor shoved her tasteless and cooling omelet aside.

“Happy Birthday, dear!”

Really? Taylor glanced at the calendar. No, it had been two days ago. Not one person had remembered, not even herself. Actually it was shocking her mother had remembered, if belatedly.

“Thank you. How have you been?”

Her mother started crying. Taylor sighed, steeling herself. She hated this, the emotional diarrhea. She cleaned up the kitchen while listening to the story—how the latest boyfriend had split, taking the last of her cash. That last job hadn’t worked out, they were unfair to her.

“I need help, baby girl,” her mother sobbed out. “Please, baby Molly—can you help your old mother out of a tight spot?”

For the first time in years, it didn’t grate on her.
Molly.
The name whispered through her mind in Kirliss’s rough tones, just the way he’d murmured it in her ear while he thrust inside her, those long, sweet strokes that undid her.

She’d written checks before—and sent them with bitterness. Each one cutting a little deeper. Layering on another scar. This time it didn’t feel like such a big thing anymore. Her mother had always been helpless. She would likely never change.

But Taylor could. Molly could. What was she making the money for anyway?

“Of course, Mom. Just give me the address.”

Taylor wrote the check and added more than her mother said she needed. It wouldn’t be the last time her mother asked, and this would have to stop, but all that could wait. She put the check in a note card with roses on the front. Hesitating only a moment, she wrote, “I love you, Mom.”

Another piece of the cold inside melted away.

Taylor popped the card in a mailbox on the sidewalk. The white envelope slid away, a message into the world. She tipped her head back to the warm sunshine, remembering how good it had felt on her naked skin. Another thing Kirliss had given her.

She stopped at Steve’s desk on her way into her office.

He held up a finger, assuring whoever was on the headset that something was on the way. “What’s up, boss?”

“Sorry about that. I could have waited.”

He shrugged. “I figured it was important.”

She almost blushed, but the surge of rightness, a kind of hopeful joy kept her going. “It’s not, in the grand scheme—but, when you have time, would you see what it might cost me to rent out 21 Blue Zoo for a couple of hours?”

Steve pursed his lips, taking notes. “Client party? Do we need catering?”

“No, a private deal.”

“Bartender?”

“Maybe a bartender could get us started and then take off—give us privacy. I don’t know if I can have this or not.”

“I’ll check it out. Even if this is your tab and not the company’s, they ought to give us a deal, considering all we throw their way.”

“And I need you to send an invitation for me—to Adam Kirliss.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face. “Well, look at who’s come to her senses.”

“Well. We’ll see.”

“Yes, indeed! I’ll get right on this.”

“Steve, thank you.” Taylor hesitated, wanting to add something.

“Don’t worry.” Steve winked at her. “You know I never tell anyone your business. But Taylor? I’m betting on you both to win.”

She waited for him at the bar. The flutter had amped up over the last few days until it had become scratching nerves. He hadn’t answered her note, but it wasn’t the sort you had your assistant send an RSVP for.

Late-evening cocktail reception to discuss new acquisitions and mergers. Special invitation for an exciting potential partnership.

She sipped her dirty martini, made dark blue by the glass. She nearly choked on it when Kirliss walked in.

Sleek, dangerous and unutterably gorgeous in a white linen jacket, he pinned her with his gaze immediately. Of course, she was the only one in the room. Made her hard to miss. His forehead creased slightly as he parsed the situation.

Taylor waited, swiveling toward him on her barstool, legs crossed, stiletto heel hooked on the rung.

“Nice outfit.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I get you, sir?” the bartender inquired.

“Seltzer with lime. I suspect I need to keep my head clear.” He glanced down at her, eyes flashing gold with suspicion and predatory interest.

The bartender set down the glass. “If you need anything else, Ms. Hamilton, just page me. I’ll be upstairs.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

They watched him go, the silence falling thick and hard.

Taylor gestured at the barstool next to her. “Have a seat?”

Kirliss cocked an eyebrow at her but sat. Taking up his glass, he watched her without comment.

Ball in her court, then. Okay.

Resisting the urge to rub her sweaty palms on the blue silk skirt of her cocktail suit, Taylor looked him in the eye.

“I panicked.”

“I know.”

Of course he did. Taylor let out a long breath. “Have you just been waiting for me to come around?”

He studied his glass. The sparkling bubbles caught the blue neon lights. “I was working on letting things go. I figured it for a bad deal.” He glanced up at her, and her heart clutched at the sorrow darkening his eyes.

“It wasn’t a bad deal, entirely.”

“No? I pushed too hard—I know that, Taylor. The damnable thing is, I’ve negotiated a thousand deals and always had the patience to wait to close it. I blew this. Frankly, I figured on never hearing from you again. You used your safe word when it got to be too much. I respect that. Even if you didn’t have the courage to say it to my face.”

Taylor sipped her martini. Marshaled some of that courage. Part of her still wanted to run, to close up. That’s okay, she told herself, but we’re choosing not to.

“I’d like to reopen negotiations. Put the deal back on the table with a clean slate.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that why we’re here? Are we having a do-over?”

“You said that’s when this started for you.”

“But not for you. You didn’t notice I existed until I bugged you about your name.”

“I noticed.” Her voice sounded soft, so she strengthened it. “I just wouldn’t have acted.”

He sat quiet, waiting.

“I—I’m not good with men. With people. Don’t laugh. It’s just always been easier to keep things…on an unemotional level.”

“I understand that.” His voice was gentle. He’d always treated her gently. Except when she’d needed something else. To be controlled and taken. Stripped and punished. The desire rolled through her, hot and welcome. He must have seen it in her—that feral look sharpened his face.

She smiled at him. “Shall we stroll? I understand there’s an interesting railing behind the bar.”

Bemused, he took the hand she offered and followed her behind the bar.

“I think I can make you a compelling offer.” Taylor pulled out a pair of handcuffs and held them up. His eyes blazed and he reached for them. She drifted them out of reach. “No. Let’s conduct an experiment.” She wrapped her fingers around his strong wrist and moved his hand behind his back. He resisted at first, then let her.

She backed him against the brass rail that bordered the edge of the bar, clicked the cuff around his wrist, threaded it through and captured his other hand. His breath caught, his sexy Adam’s apple moving in his throat.

“Taylor…” he tried.

“No, for this you call me Ms. Molly.” She raised her eyebrows at his smile and loosed his suit coat so it slid back over his shoulders and eased down to drape over his bound hands. Slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, she enjoyed the view of his naked chest as it appeared under her hands.

Oh, and there was the black leather belt.

“You still wear it.”

“It reminds me.”

“In a good way or a bad one?

“I’m still deciding.”

She felt the feline smile curve her lips as she unbuckled the belt, sliding it out of the loops of his pants with a hiss. He watched her coil it around her hands.