“I’m not saying threesomes are a bad thing,” he says, pouring me some wine in a plastic cup, because we are such classy rich people. “Just, you know, not with them.”
I briefly wonder if he’s like Ken Andrews and pansexual. Or even bisexual. I highly doubt it. Most Doms I know aren’t. They are 100% into women… or men. Rarely both. And never equally.
The wine isn’t the best I’ve ever had, but it works in taking off that pesky edge. A few more sips later, I’ve already forgotten what I was so frazzled about. Something about speeches. Pfft. Whatever. I can kick a speech’s ass. Let me at ‘em. Some sort of council? I ain’t afraid of them. I’ll charm their pants off.
The food is gone, the trash taken away, but the wine is still there as I go over my outline and Ian diligently makes notes on his. One week from today we will be in front of the council talking about our beautiful plans for The Grand. Assuming they like them enough, the Andrews will throw a number our way. Then the negotiations begin. Then we get to work.
See? It’ll be fine.
It’s ten. The building is completely dark and empty. I sent Anita home. Security occasionally moves up and down the halls, but they know we’re here and don’t disturb us. Ian makes sure of that.
I’m on my third tiny plastic cup of wine. The bitterness burns, but I’m relaxed enough to get through my work and start thinking about going home. I usually take a cab, but since Ian’s here, maybe I can convince him to drive me home.
“I like your blouse.”
My eyes tear off my tablet and look at Ian across from me. His jacket’s off again. Sleeves rolled up. Face is relaxed from the wine, but I can see the dark circles under his eyes. Why is he looking at my blouse?
“Thanks. I’d say I like your tie, but you’re not wearing one.”
“I avoid those things.”
“Funny. I’d think a guy like you revels in having an available restraint.”
“Is that why you wear so many scarves?”
I happen to have one draped over the back of my chair. Only a Dom would think of that. And only I would think of tying Ian’s hands behind his back with my scarf. I’d tie those wrists together so he couldn’t do a damn thing as I tease his cock with my…
No. Stop it. Girl, you’re drinking wine. Last thing you need to think about is how hot this guy is, and how much hotter he would be with his hands tied and his cock sticking out of his chair. Fuck it. I’m going to be drilling myself with the vibrator again tonight, aren’t I?
Ian waves his hand in front of my face. “I see I’ve sent you to fantasy land. That’s nice, but I need you here, working.”
“I am working!”
“Uh huh. I can only imagine how great that outline is after three cups of wine.”
“You wanna see?” I turn my laptop around. “It’s perfect.”
He gives it a cursory glance, but I can tell he doesn’t give a fuck. “It’ll be as good as it gets by next Friday, I’m sure.”
“Aren’t you worried about it?”
Ian shrugs. So lackadaisical. Devil may care. It shouldn’t be so attractive. I don’t like those types of guys… “The Andrews want to sell. If the council isn’t happy, we make changes. The worst that happens is that this gets dragged out until we’ve bent over backward so many times our spines permanently curl. I’ve got a good chiropractor, though.” He drinks some wine and dumps the last of the bottle into his cup.
“Seems like we should be able to do whatever we want to the property we own.”
He snorts. “We?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
We’re silent again. This happens every time we start to talk. It’s gotten worse these past few days, too. Used to be that he would give me a backhand compliment, I would throw one back at him, and we went on our merry ways. Now that we’re forced together, however, we’re discovering that it’s difficult to talk about anything but the work at hand.
There are only two things we have in common. The first is that we’re both Doms, but that’s inappropriate to talk about.
And then there’s that huge elephant in the room that’s been destroying the furniture and shitting large chunks all over the desk for about a week now.
He catches a look from me. Does he know what I’m thinking about? “Kathryn…”
“Yeah?”
Ian flicks a pencil against the table, occasionally tapping the edge of his laptop. “Are we ever gonna talk about it?”
I feign ignorance, although my cheeks redden and my throat goes dry. “About what?” Shit. My smile is too fake.
His eyes narrow at me. “You know what.”
My smile fades. “Ian…”
“I know. It’s embarrassing.”
I sit back in my seat and try not to flinch. “Why would you bring that up?”
He doesn’t respond. No look. No shrug. Nothing but that pencil tapping. Faster now. Ritta-ritta-ritta. Smacking me right on my nerves.
Teeth chomp my lip before I’m able to speak again. “Hey, that was a long time ago. We were kids.”
One eyebrow goes up. I hate it when he does that.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ian.”
Sighing, he sits up in his seat, hand rubbing his jaw and sending out a new wave of aftershave in my direction. Fuck me, it’s so musky. Bit spicy. Every time I’ve smelled it this week, I’ve gotten tingles in my breasts. Asshole.
“You’re right. We were kids. End of story.”
Yeah, kids who instantly started boning after five minutes. Kids get horny, but sheesh. That’s fast even for me. Probably for him too.
That pencil is flicking against the table again. Ritta. Tatta. Ritta-tatta. Before I know it, I snatch my hand across the thin table and stifle his hand with mine.
It’s warm.
The tapping stops, but now we’re looking at each other, my heart stilling in my chest and his breath snapping through his nostrils. Was that… I felt something. Just now. Like a crack of static electricity piercing the both of us.
Is that what they call a spark?
Fuck I’m drunk.
Except I’m not. I had three small cups of wine. I’m relaxed, but I’m barely tipsy. I have complete cognitive control. I have no right to blame anything on alcohol. I could drive home if I had to. Or I could keep my hand on Ian’s, fingers pressing into his wide knuckles.
I had no idea his hands were so strong and sturdy. They don’t really look it. They look normal, whatever that means.
He’s a man, I have to remind myself. They’re built a certain way. A strong way.
Ian glances at my hand. “Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t move his fist. Instead, he simply drops the pencil and lets it roll onto the floor. His eyes don’t leave mine. “Kathryn.”
I don’t know why he’s said my name, but I’m glad he has. It makes me think of what I heard that night at the club…
Oh my God. My heart is racing. It’s slamming against my chest, and I can feel the color draining from my face. Meanwhile, he looks like a perfect prince, neither judging nor begging me for anything. And then his fingers poke up through mine, and the next thing I know our hands are clutched together on top of the table. He closes the lid of his laptop, and then mine.
We’re done working. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but I’m out of words, and all I want to do is feel him touch my hand.
I so don’t feel in control right now. It’s… exhilarating. I have no idea what to expect. I always know what to expect, because I drive the car. I know all the stops. I know the ultimate destination. I know what music we’re going to play. Even when backseat driving, I know.
“Kathryn,” he says again, softly. It’s a far cry from the way he groaned it in The Dark Hour, but it has as large of an impact on me. My stomach churns. My groin is making a lot of suggestions right now. “Katie…”
I hold in a gasp. Nobody calls me Katie. My dad calls me Kat sometimes, but Katie remains in the past, when I was…