Scandalizing the CEO (8 page)

She took a bite, the fork entering her pretty mouth, and when he pulled it away he noticed that she’d closed her eyes. She savored that bite of cake the way he wanted to savor her. He wanted to linger over every curve of her body, wanted to explore each inch until he knew her better than she knew herself. And he would.

If she trusted him, he’d do his best to live up to that for as long as he could. He knew himself well enough to know that eventually he’d let her down.

He’d done that most of his life when it came to relationships, but for the first time he didn’t want that to happen. He wanted to be a man that she’d always be able to look up to.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. He put the fork down and signaled for the check.

He hadn’t realized that by playing games with her, by seducing her slowly and trying to find her weaknesses, he’d find his own.

With her wide violet eyes and her full red lips, she’d drawn him into her web. And a part of him would be happy to stay there. But a bigger part of him knew that weakness lay with emotional dependency.

Not the small weaknesses that made up character flaws but the bigger ones, like needing Ainsley, that were something that could cost him the competition with Henry and Geoff. And possibly the success of the retail group.

Ainsley was dangerous.

Looking at her sitting across the table from him, it was hard to believe it, but she was. She made him want things that weren’t work-related. She made him want to sit at home at night in front of a fire with her curled up by his side.

She made him want to think about the future with her and maybe having some kids. And that was a very frightening picture. Being a parent and being successful just didn’t go together.

F
inding herself sitting outside her house with Steven again, she had an odd sense of déjà vu. Her emotions were all in a jumble and she was worried about what she might do or say. For the first time in a long time she felt out of control. She wanted Steven and that desire was taking over every part of her.

She wanted to be smart and charming—Rosalind Russell in
His Girl Friday.
But she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she’d come off as more unsure and awkward.

“Haven’t we been here before?” she asked.

“I believe we have,” he said.

He’d turned the car off and turned to face her. It was a lane dimly lit by streetlamps. The light from one of them illuminated his face but kept part of it in shadow.

He was a mystery to her. Even after all her research about him, she still couldn’t figure him out. He sat with his
body turned toward her and his arm resting on the steering wheel.

“Invite me in,” he said at last.

She was going to, but why did he make everything he said sound like an order? “Why are you so bossy?”

“Because men who aren’t don’t get what they want.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“You really don’t know?”

She did know what he wanted, but somehow saying it out loud would make it too real and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. “To come inside.”

“Indeed.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Would you?”

She laughed. “I think I need one. You tie me up in knots.”

“Do I? I think that’s a good thing,” he said.

“Why?”

“You do the same thing to me,” he said, reaching over to caress her face.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He leaned in. “You have the most kissable mouth.”

He rubbed his lips against hers gently. The kiss was nothing like the one he’d given her earlier—so demanding and bold. This was soft and seduced her by degrees. Slowly. He kissed her as if he had all the time in the world, which he probably did. They had all night.

He pulled back, opened his door and came around to open hers. She gave him her hand and then climbed out of the low-slung sports car. She led the way up her walk to her front door. This time she didn’t drop the keys. She wasn’t nervous at all.

A strange calm had settled over her when he’d kissed her so softly. Steven was more than her obsession; he was a man she had come to know a little better over the last week.

She unlocked her door and stepped over the threshold. The lights were on in the living room and cast a warm, inviting glow into the foyer. Steven stepped inside, closing the door behind him. She led the way, almost kicking off her shoes in the hallway, but she remembered at the last moment that she had company and according to her mother, men didn’t like messy women.

“What can I get you?”

“You,” he said.

As he pulled her into his arms, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. She suspected that he wanted the embrace to be something more than this, but right now this was all she could do. She took comfort from the feel of his chest under her cheek. From the feel of her arms around his waist. From the scent of his natural musk with each inhalation.

She was tired of denying herself everything she wanted. It was one thing to resist dessert but something altogether different to deny herself the chance to be with Steven. She had fantasized about him every night since their first date.

His hands stroked her back gently. The touch was comforting at first and then the timbre changed and it became seductive. His hands swept lower each time, his fingers caressing her back with each stroke.

She tipped her head to the left and he kissed her first on the forehead and then let his lips move down the side of her face. Small, nibbling kisses that felt light, almost as if she were imagining them.

Then he reached her ear. His tongue traced the shell of her ear and she shivered as darts of awareness shot down her neck and arms. Her nipples tightened and her breasts felt fuller.

“Remember when I kissed you by my car,” he said, his hot breath going directly into her ear. She shuddered with the memories of that kiss and how inflamed she’d felt.

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m going to kiss you like that again, but this time I’m not stopping until I’m buried hilt-deep inside of you.”

Her inner body clenched and she felt a humid warmth bloom between her legs. She shifted around until she could look him in the eyes. “Good. I want that, Steven. I want everything you have to give me.”

Ainsley realized that he couldn’t make promises. She might not believe him if he did. She trusted him because he didn’t make promises he wouldn’t keep. And she wouldn’t ask him to.

For this night, she wanted only to be in his arms. She didn’t need to think about the future. She’d never been one to think about forever. Losing weight and changing how she looked on the outside hadn’t changed her on the inside.

“Do you want that drink?” she asked, not sure how to proceed.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want anything but you. But if a drink will relax you, I’ll have one, too.”

She hesitated. She wished she could just take him by the hand and lead him to her bedroom, but she definitely needed a drink. She pulled away. “Wine okay?”

“Yes,” he said.

She left him in the living room and went into her kitchen to get the bottle she’d chilled earlier. She savored white wine. Hopefully, he liked the dry taste of pinot grigio.

He was moving around in the living room and then she heard the mellow sound of Otis Redding. She had a huge collection of old-time R&B. It was her favorite, and she was surprised that he’d chosen it. But the music relaxed her a bit more.

She poured them each a glass of wine and then took a deep breath before going back out into the living room. It would be so much easier for her if Steven Devonshire were just another man. Instead he was
the
man. Oh, my God, she thought. He was the one she wanted out of all the other men. And that made this night so important to her. A first kiss only happened once—and that had been eminently memorable. So did a first-time sharing each other’s bodies. She wanted that to be perfect as well.

Steven knew he could easily push Ainsley’s shyness aside by kissing her until she had no choice but to be swept down the hall and into her own bed. But he wanted her to want to be there, comfortable in her own skin.

He loosened his tie and undid the first button of his dress shirt, then walked around her living room to the Bose stereo system where music played softly. In a cabinet next to the unit were her CDs and they were all lined up in alphabetical order. She had an eclectic collection, including a lot of old rhythm and blues CDs. Otis Redding, Ray Charles, Marvin Gaye and some of the classic Italian-American singers like Louis Prima, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

There was Cold Play and Green Day in there, too. And some newer artists he’d never heard of. Seeing her music collection showed him that he’d only scratched the surface of who she was. Ainsley wasn’t a woman who was easy to know. He put on an Otis Redding album, turned off
the larger overhead light and turned on the lamp on the side table.

The ambient light created the intimate mood he wanted. He thought about everything he knew about Ainsley, how she’d been fat, and that had virtually defined her. He’d been thinking a lot about the woman who’d interviewed him five years ago. He’d been telling her the truth when he’d said that she’d seemed invisible. But he had started to wonder if he’d done anything to contribute to that. Had he simply ignored her because she wasn’t slim?

He couldn’t change the past, but he intended to make sure that she knew he wanted her now. She’d have no doubts that he loved her and her body. He’d do everything in his power to make sure that she got lost in his embrace. That she didn’t have time to think about her past or any of her imagined flaws.

She came back into the room and hesitated in the doorway. She held two glasses of wine and her expression was a mix of bravado and desire. Clearly, she wanted him—probably with the same intensity as he wanted her, though he found that hard to believe. No way could she want him as much as he wanted her.

He walked over to her and took one wineglass from her.

“I hope you like white wine.”

“I do,” he said. He put his hand on the small of her back and led her into the living room. She perched delicately on the edge of the love seat, her legs crossed demurely, and he felt as if he were back in his aunt Lucy’s drawing room.

He took her hand and drew her to her feet. He might not be much of a dancer, but he could sway with the best of them. And he knew the surest way to coax Ainsley out of her reserve was by putting his arms around her.

“To a lovely evening,” he said, raising his glass to hers.

She clinked her glass to his and took a sip. So did he, draining half the glass and setting it on the side table. He took hers and did the same. Then he came back behind her and pulled her into his arms. Her back against his chest.

He lowered his head next to hers and whispered sweet nothings to her, bending his knees to spoon her while they were standing there together. He wrapped his arms around her, letting his thumb and hand rest under her right breast, his other hand on her abdomen.

He swayed back and forth to the music and felt her relax against him. He put his mouth on her neck right at the base and kissed her, then let her feel the edge of his teeth.

He felt her breast jump in his hand and she shifted her hips to rub against his erection. He hardened and his blood ran heavier. Every instinct he had told him to hurry this up.

But he’d learned over time that he enjoyed his orgasm more if he drew it out. He continued swaying with her and found the buttons of her blouse with his left hand. Slowly he undid them. He left the blouse tucked into her skirt but unfastened it all the way.

Her skin was lily white and soft. So soft that he couldn’t stop caressing her. He traced a path up the center of her body from where her belly button was to her rib cage to the sin-red bra that encased her full breasts. He traced his finger over the underwire that supported her. Then he skimmed the edge of the lace where it met the creamy skin of her chest. He let his forefinger dip under the fabric to caress her creamy breasts.

She rotated her shoulders, seeming to want his touch to move to her breasts, but he wasn’t ready for that yet.
He nibbled on her ear and kept his finger moving slowly over that part of her breast. Then he inched his way to the velvety skin of her nipple, touching her carefully when she jerked in his arms. Her hips swiveled against his and her hands came to his wrist to grip him.

“I want to see you,” she said, trying to turn in his embrace.

“Not yet.”

“When?”

“When you are totally a slave to love,” he said.

She tipped her head back so that their eyes met. The action thrust her breasts out and made his finger run over her nipple. She shuddered again.

“I already am,” she said.

“Not like you will be,” he said.

He pinched her nipple lightly, watching carefully to see if it was too much for her. But she liked it. She bit her lower lip and her hips moved against his again.

He slid his hand around to the zipper in the side of her skirt and drew it down. The skirt slid slowly over her hips and then fell to her ankles. He glanced down to see that she had on a minute pair of panties that matched her bra. But above that she had on a garter belt that held up her hose. He took a step back and pushed her blouse off her shoulders.

He walked around in front of her. She was an image straight from a wet dream. She was hot and sexy, and as she stood there in her high heels and her decadent underwear, suddenly a slow seduction seemed like a very stupid idea. All he wanted was to rip those little panties from her body and make her his. She belonged to him.

Possessiveness wasn’t his style, but he wanted every inch of Ainsley, and he was going to claim it all.

Ainsley’s body was on fire. Steven called to her. When he finally entered her line of vision, she was surprised that he was still dressed. She didn’t feel vulnerable, as she had expected to standing in front of him, because of the lust in his eyes. He wanted her and he couldn’t stop looking at her.

The bulge of his erection also made her feel feminine, sexy. Like a woman who held power over her man. And for tonight Steven was
her
man. She started to take his clothes off, but he held up his finger. “Not yet.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m not done looking at you yet.”

She felt a sliver of fear but it passed quickly and she put her hands on her waist and cocked out one hip. “Take your time.”

“I will,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Am I yours?” she asked. No man had claimed her before. She’d had one lover before Steven—that had been in her early twenties, and now she was thirty. The sex had been okay but she knew that Steven was the type of man who’d make her come. Sex wasn’t going to just be okay. She knew she’d never look at him the same way after this. “Yes.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and held her where she was. He lowered his head and kissed her. It was the same kiss he’d given her by the car that first night but at the same time a million times more intense. He didn’t let their bodies touch at all. Just used his lips and teeth and tongue to make her his and she was helpless to do anything but respond.

She reached between their bodies and took his tie off. Drawing it out of his collar and dropping it on the floor
by her skirt. Then she started unbuttoning his shirt, her fingernails scraping against the wall of his chest.

He shuddered and pulled back from her. “Do that again.”

She did, scraping her nails down his body all the way to his waistband. The skin on his stomach jumped as her touch went lower. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders and then realized she’d left his cuff links on. The shirt bound his hands. And he couldn’t touch her.

“Now you are
my
slave,” she said. “And you are one fine-looking slave.”