“Here.” He came to me, yanking my skirt up again.
Furious at what I’d almost let happen when I should be at work, I smacked at his hands. “Stop it. Leave me alone.”
“Shut up, Eva,” he said grimly, catching the hem of my black silk blouse and tugging it into place, adjusting it so that the buttons once again formed a straight row between my breasts. Then he pulled down my skirt, smoothing it with calm, expert hands. “Fix your ponytail.”
Cross retrieved his coat, shrugging into it before adjusting his tie. We reached the door at the same time and when I crouched to fetch my purse, he lowered with me.
He caught my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
My throat burned. I was aroused and mad and thoroughly embarrassed. I’d never in my life lost my mind like that. And I hated that I’d done so with him, a man whose approach to sexual intimacy was so clinical it depressed me just thinking about it.
I jerked my chin away. “Do I look okay?”
“You look beautiful and fuckable. I want you so badly it hurts. I’m dangerously close to taking you back to the couch and making you come ’til you beg me to stop.”
“Can’t accuse you of being silver-tongued,” I muttered, aware that I wasn’t offended. In fact, the rawness of his hunger for me was a serious aphrodisiac. Clutching the strap of my purse, I stood on shaky legs. I needed to get away from him. And, when my workday was done, I needed to be alone with a big glass of wine.
Cross stood with me. “I’ll be done by five. I’ll come get you then.”
“No, you won’t. This doesn’t change anything.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
“Don’t be arrogant, Cross. I lost my head for a second, but I still don’t want what you want.”
His fingers curled around the door handle. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want it the way I want to give it to you. So, we’ll revisit and revise.”
More business. Cut-and-dried. My spine stiffened.
I set my hand over his and yanked on the handle, ducking under his arm to squeeze out the door. His secretary shoved quickly to his feet, gaping, as did the woman and two men who were waiting for Cross. I heard him speak behind me.
“Scott will show you into my office. I’ll be just a moment.”
He caught me by reception, his arm crossing my lower back to grip my hip. Not wanting to make a scene, I waited until we were by the elevators to pull away.
He stood calmly and hit the call button. “Five o’clock, Eva.”
I stared at the lighted button. “I’m busy.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“I’m busy all weekend.”
Stepping in front of me, he asked tightly, “With whom?”
“That’s none of your-”
His hand covered my mouth. “Don’t. Tell me when, then. And before you say never, take a good look at me and tell me if you see a man who’s easily deterred.”
His face was hard, his gaze narrowed and determined. I shivered. I wasn’t sure I’d win a battle of wills with Gideon Cross.
Swallowing, I waited until he lowered his hand and said, “I think we both need to cool off. Take a couple days to think.”
He persisted. “Monday after work.”
The elevator arrived and I stepped into it. Facing him, I countered, “Monday lunch.”
We’d have only an hour, a guaranteed escape.
Just before the doors closed, he said, “We’re going to happen, Eva.”
It sounded as much like a threat as a promise.
“Don’t sweat it, Eva,” Mark said, when I arrived at my desk nearly a quarter after two. “You didn’t miss anything. I had a late lunch with Mr. Leaman. I just barely got back myself.”
“Thank you.” No matter what he said, I still felt terrible. My kick-ass Friday morning seemed to have happened days ago.
We worked steadily until five, discussing a fast-food client and contemplating some possible tweaks to ad copy for a chain of organic grocery stores.
“Talk about strange bedfellows,” Mark had teased, not knowing how apt that was in regard to my personal life.
I’d just shut down my computer and was pulling my purse out of the drawer when my phone rang. I glanced at the clock, saw it was exactly five, and considered ignoring the call because I was technically done for the day.
But since I was still feeling shitty about my overly-long lunch, I considered it penance and answered. “Mark Garrity’s-”
“Eva honey. Richard says you forgot your cell phone at his office.”
I exhaled in a rush and sagged back into my chair. I could picture the handkerchief wringing that usually accompanied that particular anxious tone of my mother’s. It drove me nuts and it also broke my heart. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m lovely. Thank you.” My mom had a voice that was both girlish and breathy, like Marilyn Monroe crossed with Scarlett Johansson. “Clancy dropped your phone off with the concierge at your place. You really shouldn’t go anywhere without it. You never know when you might need to call for someone-”
I’d been debating the logistics of just keeping the phone and forwarding calls to a new number I didn’t share with my mom, but that wasn’t my biggest concern. “What does Dr. Petersen say about you tracing my phone?”
The silence on the other end of the line was telling. “Dr. Petersen knows I worry about you.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “I think it’s time for us to have another joint appointment, Mom.”
“Oh…of course. He did mention that he’d like to see you again.”
Probably because he suspects you’re not being forthcoming. I changed the subject. “I really like my new job.”
“That’s wonderful, Eva! Is your boss treating you well?”
“Yes, he’s great. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”
“Is he handsome?”
I smiled. “Yes, very. And he’s taken.”
“Damn it. The good ones always are.” She laughed and my smile widened.
I loved it when she was happy. I wished she were happy more often. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow at the advocacy dinner.”
Monica Tramell Barker Mitchell Stanton was in her element at society functions, a gilded shining beauty who’d never lacked male attention in her life.
“Let’s make a day of it,” my mom said breathlessly. “You, me, and Cary. We’ll go to the spa, get pretty and polished. I’m sure you could use a massage after working so hard.”
“I won’t turn one down, that’s for sure. And I know Cary will love it.”
“Oh, I’m excited! I’ll send a car by your place around eleven?”
“We’ll be ready.”
After I hung up, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled, needing a hot bath and an orgasm. If Gideon Cross somehow found out I masturbated while thinking about him, I didn’t care. Being sexually frustrated was weakening my position, a weakness I knew he wouldn’t be sharing. No doubt he’d have a preapproved orifice lined up before day’s end.
As I swapped out my heels for my walking shoes, my phone rang again. My mother was rarely distracted for long. The five minutes since we’d ended our call was just about the right length of time for her to realize the cell phone issue hadn’t been resolved. Once again, I debated ignoring the phone, but I didn’t want to take any of the day’s crap home with me.
I answered with my usual greeting, but it lacked its usual punch.
“I’m still thinking about you.”
The velvet rasp of Cross’s voice flooded me with such relief I realized I’d been hoping to hear it again. Today.
God. The craving was so acute I knew he’d become a drug to my body, the prime source of some very intense highs.
“I can still feel you, Eva. Still taste you. I’ve been hard since you left, through two meetings and one teleconference. You’ve got the advantage, state your demands.”