The Value of Vulnerability (13 page)

He swirled the wine in his glass. “Something more than a night, and something a good deal less than permanent.”

Before she could utter shocked response to that ridiculous statement, the phone console located within reach of Ford rang, and he answered it with quiet professionalism:

“Yes, Ms. Leung?” A brief pause. “Bring them in.”

Seconds later, the outer office door opened and a thirtyish woman in a smart blue suit entered, bringing a slim sheaf of papers to Ford.

Erin smiled up at the woman. “Hi.”

The woman’s eyes were trained on Ford. “Hello, miss.”

“Ms. Russell,” Ford corrected absently,
taking a pen from his pocket as he scanned the papers.

“Hello, Ms. Russell,” Ms. Leung adjusted.

“Gorgeous suit,” Erin admired.

“Thank you.”

“You’re Ford’s EA, I assume?”

“Yes, Ms. Russell.”

“Erin,” she invited.

Ms. Leung shot a look
at her then. The dark eyes ran over her, and a hint of a smile appeared.

“Is he a tough boss?” Erin teased.

“Erin,” Ford said, turning a page.

“I’ll bet he is,” she continued. “Did you arrange our lunch?”

“Yes, Ms. Russell.”

“It’s fantastic. Thanks so much.”

Slight widening of the smile. “You’re welcome, Ms. Russell.”

Ford signed what needed to be signed and
, tucking the pen away again, left the papers to the side of his plate.

Ms. Leung collected them. Without another word, the EA
stepped to the door—

“Bye,” Erin called.

“Goodbye, Ms. Russell,”—and closed the door on her way out.

Twisted in her chair, Erin stared after her,
nonplussed. “Wow.”

“What is it?”

Turning to him again, she stared. “You didn’t speak to her once.”

“I did. I informed her of your name.”

“Yeah, slick introduction, that.”

“You haven’t any need to be introduced to her.”

“Oh. Okay.” She pressed her lips together, the snicker she was fighting growling in her throat.

Ford sighed. “What?”

“Isn’t it good manners to introduce people?”

“Certainly. In situations where persons need to be introduced—I’ll have you know,” he said with a slightly defensive air, “that my social skills are both
skilled and appropriate.”

“Your skills are skilled, are they?
”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant—”

“I’m sure Emily Post would be most impressed with your table manners. What she would think of your treatment of Ms. Leung is a matter of debate.”

“
Ms. Leung is an employee. An utterly competent EA and necessary to the smooth functioning of my day.”

“Ever tell her that?”

“Yes, with—”

“Money,” she provided, grinning.

“People like money, Erin. And would rather have a good salary than insincere niceties.”

“Why would they be insincere? You just told me she was fantastic. Maybe she’d like to know that, too.”

Another sigh. He changed the subject. “I assume you will be spending Christmas with family?”

“Yes. What are you doing for Christmas? Seeing family?”

“Not deliberately.”

“Do you have family?”

“What did Google tell you?” he chuckled.

“That there is a car manufacturer named ‘Ford’, and a shock-jock named ‘Howard.’” She smiled broadly at him. “I didn’t Google you.”

“Why not?” he asked. “Most would.”

“You really must stop thinking in general terms with me! I am not most,” was her haughty rejoinder, immediately spoilt when she bit her lip in amusement. “Actually, as soon as you said I would, I determined not to.”

“So, you are contrary!”

“Not generally
.” Now she was the one on the defensive. “I just—” She hesitated, studiously spreading pâté on a cracker. “I didn’t know whether I would see you again or not. If I did, I didn’t want to have preconceived ideas. I wanted to discover you on my own.”

Hearing his breath catch, she looked up, an anxious frown marring her forehead.

She doubted that many people had the opportunity to see Ford Howard astonished, and she should have better appreciated the moment. “What did I say?” she asked.

“Enough,” he replied, his features relaxing into a pleased smile. “Eat your lunch.”

***

Eventually the inevitable moment came when Erin demanded to know the time and Ford ruefully informed her that it was
, “Going on four.”

“I have to leave.” She pushed back from the table. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You’re welcome.” They rose together and he assisted her with her coat, fishing her gloves out of the pocket to put them on her, slowly snugging them over her hands, his touch caressing and gentle. Holding her hand, he walked her to the elevator. “I’ll call.”

When?

“All right.” She tilted her head back, inviting a kiss.
He complied, chuckling against her lips.

Meant only to be a minor salute of
adieu
, it instantly flamed into major
not going anywhere soon
. His kiss went from gentle to possessive in a heartbeat, and Erin willingly accepted the possession. Control and humour were incinerated in combusting passion. Her mind blanked. All that existed was Ford—his mouth and tongue conquering her. His hardening body seducing her.

The wall at her back, she leaned heavily against it for support as
his knee nudged her legs apart. She straddled his thigh, a soft moan leaving her as the friction alleviated the ache in her groin but drove the pressure higher.

“Ford,” she begged.

Opening her coat, his hands shifted her tee up, exposing her bra and the shadowy pebbles of her nipples to his hot gaze. He bent his head, capturing a taut nipple in his teeth through the smooth fabric. She gasped, shocked at the primitive reaction her body had to him. Flames stopped licking through her. They roared.

Cool air struck her breasts as the front clip of her bra opened. “God, you’re beautiful,” Ford muttered, unsteadily and heatedly. A hand cupped one breast, warming it instantly, kneading it as his lips caught the nipple of its twin. A gentle suckle sent shivering daggers of sensation through her, and as his mouth opened wetly to draw her in, she gave a hoarse cry of pleasure.

She slid a gloved hand between them to feel the thrust of his erection in her palm. It was not a coherent or planned action. Merely something that
must
be done, so she did it. As she caressed the aggressive length of him through the material of his suit trousers, his entire body shuddered, and he bit her flesh harder than intended. She didn’t notice—or rather, didn’t care. Her body noticed. Moisture pooled between her thighs, and they both inhaled the sweet musky scent of her arousal.

“What am I doing?” she muttered distractedly. “Ford, we can’t do this here.” She stroked him again, her body ignoring her brain.

“I know,” he returned, not lifting his head, and lapped her throbbing nipple as he pushed against her hand.

But she had pulled them in from the edge and they both backed off, slowly.

“I’m blaming the wall,” he said with rough humour.

“That sounds like the perfect excuse,” she giggled, refastening and straightening her clothes, fumbling as she still
trembled—the gloves were no help. “Nothing to do with the fact that I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Thanks for making that unilateral,” he retorted, reaching to press the elevator button.

The doors slid open immediately, and she was disappointed that she did not have even a short wait to spend with him.

“You don’t need a pass to go down. Just hit the Lobby button,” he instructed. “I’d go with you, but . . .” He released an expressive breath.

She grinned weakly. “Bye, Ford.”

“I’ll call,” he promised again, and tugged
again at her ponytail. He did not offer another kiss, and she had lost, for the moment, the weakness that had made her beg earlier.

Their eyes held as the doors slid shut between them, but once the link was broken, she collapsed against the panelling.

“Wow,” she groaned.

***

Spencer walked by her desk on his way out for the night. “You’re still here? It’s after nine.”

She sent him a wry glance.
“I’ll be here for a while, I think.”

“How did it go at BHG?”

“Great! Thanks for thinking of me for it. I’d love to do more of that. I just sent you an email, begging some time to brainstorm some ideas.”

“Sure.”
He nodded, but his gaze was assessing. “Did the meeting run long?”

“A couple of hours. I don’t know if that
’s typical or not—I know I talked a lot. Got involved in talking about cloud security. But then Ford Howard asked to see me, so that held me up for a while longer. Lunch in the executive suite!” she grinned. “I felt so special. And likely bored the crap out of him as I explained the BHG server situation.”

That was actually true
. Ford had almost gone cross-eyed with the tech she spewed.

Spencer
didn’t comment directly, but his expression softened. “Don’t stay too late. There’s always tomorrow.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said with acrid humour, silently thanking all cosmic authorities that he did not ask why Ford had summoned her. Perhaps he knew. He certainly suspected. She revealed the information in the hope he would take it at face value, which he chose to do.

Alone again, she huffed an annoyed sigh. Obviously, Spencer’s thoughts were under the control of someone other than Ford Howard. Perhaps aliens had got to him first. Poor Ford!

Poor me!

The last thing she wanted was to have a peer like Spencer Ward thinking she would sleep her way through her career. The only way to prove otherwise was to work harder than ever, and hope that Ford would stick to non-interference.

Hells
. What about dialling back on work? And wasn’t she going to take one of those offers?

Seemed less likely every day.

In any case, life and career had to carry on when it was all said and done, and if she were not careful, her association with Ford could leave some serious dents when he called it a day. The inevitable end of their relationship was a given as far as she was concerned, even without the cold assurance he had given her that very afternoon—
a good deal less than permanent
.

Dark moods were the norm. That was, Ford rarely experienced a mood that normal people would describe as light. He knew this, for moments of levity were so rare they stood out sharply in his memory. And as he spun his phone on a linen tablecloth at yet another restaurant during yet another lunch hour, he also understood that of late, it had been a struggle keeping his normal sobriety from getting too dark.

He glanced from the phone
to the empty chair across from him, to his watch.
Not yet late.

Which was annoying, because he wanted something to be furious about.
Not that he ever showed his fury, but the internalisation of it was enriching. It gave dark—and darker—moods buoyant rationale that helped him ignore the encroaching gloom.

Nott’s Gate restaurant commanded a spectacular view of the city
and lake from its lofty fortieth-floor location. The dining room was busy even as lunch wound down, but with the calm atmosphere typical of fine dining establishments. Even still, Ford debated being annoyed that his deliberately late reservation was not as quiet as he expected it to be, but it was too minor an issue to feed his dark mood.

From his vantage point at
his usual window-side table, Ford could admire the view. Which he was not. Or admire the brunette at the bar. Which he was.

The last ten minutes had been spent doing so, meeting her suggestive glances while c
omparing her to Erin—which was odd behaviour on his part, for he never compared his women. Perhaps it was this atypical thought process that was cause of his dark mood.

The brunette was slimmer—less shapely, at any rate.
Not as athletic. Shorter frame. More delicate jaw. Older—perhaps thirtyish. Better wardrobe. Better jewellery. More polish. A bored air. Slightly hardened.

Much more his type. Disposable.
She was looking for an afternoon thrill.

He looked at his watch again. Spun his phone again.

“Am I late?” a masculine voice intruded on his thoughts.

“No.”
There went the excuse to be angry. “I have work for you.”

“No kidding. Hello to you, too, Ford.”

“Sit down, Cameron,” he replied mildly.