Ruthless In A Suit: Book Three Part 12

If that's supposed to be sultry talk then I just can't. I don't want this from Brent.

"Brent, can we just go back to the table?" I say. He doesn't move so I put my hand on his chest to nudge him back but he grabs my wrist and holds me in place.

"Come on," he says. "Don't be such a prude." He tries to kiss me again but I turn my head, his mouth landing on my ear. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it, stop it. Come on, relax."

My fight or flight responses are hitting max level. I need to get away from this guy. What has happened? How did he turn so quickly?

"I'm serious, Brent. Let go of me." Part of me wants to scream, but I don't want to cause a scene-I just want to get the h.e.l.l out of here and away from him.

"You've been in my office more than any other student and now you're going to tell me to let go? Emily, don't be that girl." He tightens his grip and then pushes his body up against mine, pinning me to the wall.

"Stop it, Brent," I say, the panic in my voice rising.

His face is a tight, angry ball of madness like I've never seen. Squirrely little Brent is scaring the h.e.l.l out of me.

I have the absurd thought that maybe I'm misreading him. And he's my T.A.-I could get in trouble or at the very least, he can make my life in cla.s.s h.e.l.l.

But his grip is not loosening and the more I struggle the tighter he holds and the more frightened I become. Tears are forming in my eyes because s.h.i.+t I can't believe this is happening.

I have to get away from him. Why won't he stop?

"Let go of her," a deep, ferociously growling voice commands. I look over and see Jackson, looking as tightly wound as a s.h.i.+p's knot, his hands balled into fists at his side, his eyes blazing anger at Brent. "Don't make me say it again."

Brent steps back slowly, but the look on his face says that he's nervous. He was not expecting Jackson Croft to appear. "Hey, man. We were having a moment here, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," Jackson says, keeping his eyes level on Brent. "And I told you to step away from her. Now."

Brent's eyes dart from me to Jackson. He straightens his back and says, "Look. Everything's fine. Why don't you go back inside and enjoy the lunch?"

With long, stalking strides, Jackson moves toward Brent, who takes a couple of steps back, his palms up in front of him, bracing for impact. But Jackson doesn't actually lay a finger on him. He leans in close to Brent and says, "If you ever touch or even bother Emily again, I will not think twice about breaking every single bone in that wormy little body of yours. Do we understand each other?"

Brent doesn't move. The guy is drained of color and totally paralyzed by fear.

Jackson shakes his head slightly, then speaks again. "Tell me you understand or there's going to be a real problem."

"I...I understand," Brent stutters.

"Good. Now get the h.e.l.l out of my sight."

Brent immediately starts walking, looking as if his b.u.t.tocks are clenched, half waddling, half speed-walking down the hall. He shoots one nervous glance back at Jackson and then starts running.

Soon he's gone.

I fall back against the wall and cover my face with my hands. Holy c.r.a.p, what just happened?

"Emily," Jackson says, his voice now soft. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

I shake my head no.

"It's okay," Jackson says. His hands lightly touch my shoulders.

"It's not okay," I say.

He drops his hands. "You're right," he says. "It's not."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it," I say. My hands are shaking, my insides are boiling, and my brain is scrambled. "What the h.e.l.l was that? I never even...why did he..."

"It's not your fault," he says. "And I'll gladly go hunt him down right now and really take care of him, if you'd like."

I shake my head and give a muted laugh. "I think you scared him enough," I say. I try to gather myself by taking a deep breath. Finally I look up at him. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

"I was invited," he says.

"What are you doing to me?" I clarify.

Jackson runs his hands through his hair-a move I'm already seeing as a tick he does when he's thinking. He leans his shoulder against the wall next to me. My back is still against it and although he's so close to me, I'm not looking at him directly.

"I mean, it's fine," I say. "We had one dinner and that was it. You're not legally required to ever speak to me after that. But why did you have to show up here? Because I know you hate this stuff and if it really was important to your precious business then you would have sent someone more junior to do the whole photo op thing. So why?" I look over at him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Emily." He says my name so softly. He drops his head against the wall. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Finally I do turn my head to look at him. I'm shocked he said these words. I'm even more shocked at the tone of his voice-so unlike him. So vulnerable. So real.

His eyes meet mine, and I've never seen such sweetness from a man looking at me. And it's Jackson Croft, of all people. The serial business crusher. He moves his hand as if he's going to touch me, but stops short. "I tried to forget, but it's impossible. I finally realized I couldn't stay away from you any longer. When I got the invitation, I used it as my chance to see you. I don't know what you've done to me," he says with a smile, "but it's deep, and it's bad."

I can't believe he's saying these words. After all this time, leaving me hanging, he feels the same as I do.

I turn my body to face him. "Why did you try to stay away? Why not just be with me?"

"Because," he says. "My life...the way I am...I'm not good for someone like you. And yet," he smiles, "I can't stop wanting to try."

I can't believe he's saying these things to me. To know that this man in front of me feels that way about me is shocking...and a totally s.e.xy.

"Well," I say, lowering my voice to quiet, soft levels that he's using. "You're definitely in trouble for what you did."

A grin creeps up on his lips. He takes a small step closer. "What's my punishment?"

Now I'm grinning. What did I just start? If he expects me to do dirty talk I can't possibly. I drop my head, embarra.s.sed.

Jackson moves closer still, slipping his hands around my waist. He dips his head close and says, "Tell me what you want and I'll do it." When I don't say anything because oh my G.o.d I am blus.h.i.+ng so badly he says, "Should I kiss you?" I nod yes as my heart pumps wildly in my chest.

His lips meet mine and it's like I'm home. We kiss slowly at first, tentative. When his tongue pushes softly into my mouth it's like nothing else matters expect the feel of Jackson. I rest my hands on his biceps, so firm beneath his elegant suit, and I give them a squeeze, delighting in how strong he is. I know that nothing bad can happen when I'm in Jackson's arms.

He tugs me closer, our hips pressed up to one another. His kiss deepens and I do the same, each of us trying to get more and more of the other. I move my hands up to his shoulders and neck, then up into his thick hair, digging into it while pressing his face closer into mine. His hands are roaming all up and down my back, our bodies mas.h.i.+ng up against one another but it's still not enough.

"Oh! Excuse me," a voice says.

I quickly move away from Jackson and turn to find Jules, my boss, standing at the corner having just witnessed Jackson and me groping each other like h.o.r.n.y teenagers.

"Jules, oh my gosh," I say because I don't know what to say.

Jules doesn't seem to know either. She just gives me this look-disappointment?-and turns on her heel and walks back into the ballroom.

"Oh, great," I say. I feel like my insides have just been frozen, recalling that look on her face. It was masked, but it was still obvious disgust.

How unprofessional could I be? Making out at a fancy fundraiser with a donor? I'm seeing shades of prost.i.tution in that scenario. "I'm in so much trouble."

"I'll talk to her," Jackson says as he rubs my back.

"No, that'll make it worse," I say. "I don't need you smoothing anything over. Oh my G.o.d. Now I have to go back in there. My face must look like a mess. Am I all splotchy and red?" I turn for his inspection.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he says. "Honestly, don't worry about it." He puts his arms around me again.

"So what do you propose we do?" I ask. "Stay out here and wait to get caught again?"

"No. I have a much better idea." He whispers into my ear, "Come home with me."

I smile, pulling back slightly to look at him. "You want to take me to your place?"

"You make it sound so seedy," he says. "It's not a dorm room. It's a house."

"And I'll bet it's in Back Bay."

He gives me a look and says, "Do you want to come with me or not?"

I know that what I really should do is go back in and try to repair the damage with Jules. What I really should do is learn from past mistakes and not be involved with this man.

He's admitted himself that he's no good for me.

I've already been hurt once, and I'm sure to be hurt again.

But my pulse is already racing as I think about spending more time with him, tonight, right now. And so I find myself doing the exact opposite of what my brain says I should do.

"I want to come with you," I whisper, and then he takes my hand and leads me outside.

Jackson

I'm kissing Emily in the car on the way to my place on Marlborough Street. I'm kissing her as we walk up the steps of the brownstone. I'm still kissing her when I insert the key and go through the front door. I kick the door shut and press her up against the wood-paneled wall and devour her some more. I just...can't...get...enough. The way she digs her fingers into my hair, pulling me into her makes me absolutely insane. But I need to take her. I need to show her how spectacular she is, how out of control she makes me feel, and just how much I want her.

If I can get us out of the foyer.

I pull back from her and take her hands. If I could magically make my bed appear, I'd do it but frankly I don't have the patience to take her up the stairs. I'm guiding her into the formal sitting room off the entrance-there are couches and a plush rug if it comes to that-but we still don't make it far.

"Jesus Christ," Emily says, her eyes drifting up toward the curved staircase and dark, high ceilings. "This place is huge." I tug her toward me, covering her neck with kisses to distract her. I don't want her to see my house. I want her to feel me. Her hands go back around my neck. Briefly. "No, seriously, Jackson. This is some major old money home."

I pull back and look at her. "This is Boston. The houses are old. This place was built in 1860."

She looks into the sitting room with the modern cream couch some decorator picked out to help counter the stuffiness of the home's original details. "You have a fireplace?" She says this like it's outrageous, like I have a pony in the courtyard.

"I have five," I say.

I love watching her walk around in awe-not because I'm trying to impress her, although a part of me definitely wants Emily to be impressed by me, and in every way possible. I love the way her face lights up, her eyes scanning the room and catching every new thing. You'd think she just stepped through the looking gla.s.s. I guess maybe for her, she has. Of all the women I've brought here, many were impressed with its old-world charm or its size-I own two side-by-side brownstones-but none looked at it like they were in the queen's palace the way Emily is.

"Will you give me a tour?" she asks.

I groan. "Yes. But later." I pull her back into my arms, right where she belongs. "I'd rather be the one taking a tour." I run my fingers down her side.

"Ha ha," she says, but her eyes are getting that heavy, l.u.s.tful look back.

"Get back here," I say, pulling her into me again and crus.h.i.+ng her mouth with mine. The taste of her is so sweet and delicate that it's all I need.

Except it's not. My body needs to pressed against her hard, be closer, feel more of her. I want to do everything to her at once, and the fact that I have to touch and kiss and lick her one place at a time makes my head spin.

We are panting with pa.s.sion, our hands clawing all over each other. Emily's hands run down my chest and I take off my suit jacket and toss it on the floor.

"More," is all Emily says, reaching for my tie. The fire in her eyes makes her meaning clear. I tug it off as she begins working the b.u.t.tons of my s.h.i.+rt, her fingers fumbling in her haste.

"Let me," I say, swiftly getting the s.h.i.+rt and unders.h.i.+rt off and tossing them to the floor with the rest, my gold cufflinks clanging on chestnut floor. Her hands touch my bare chest, tracing over the lines of my pecs, studying me as if she's memorizing every ridge. I chill to her warm touch, restraining myself for a moment to let her feel me. Waiting is hard because I'm already pus.h.i.+ng out of my shoes, ready to take more off.

Emily begins to take off her own shoes-s.e.xy little black heels with straps going this way and that-but I stop her. I don't want her to have to do anything. I want to touch and feel every inch of her. I want to care for Emily; that's what she deserves.

I kneel down before her and unbuckle the doll-sized straps of her shoes, helping her step out of each one as she leans back against the wall. Her feet are so small and perfect that I hold one up and kiss it. I can't help myself.

"Jackson..." she says, and hearing the smile in her voice delights me beyond measure.

I stay kneeled before her, running my hands up her smooth legs, going just under her skirt enough so that I can hear her breath quicken. I feel her body across her dress, the shallow breathing telling me how she feels under my touch.

"I can't keep standing," she says, her hands flat against the wall behind her.

"Wait a moment," I say. "I want to look at you."

I stand back up, reaching behind her to find the zipper that's keeping this beautiful body of hers covered. I pull her hair to the side and kiss the soft insides of her neck, tasting her with my tongue as I lower the zipper down to her waist. I take her face in my hands and look at her, her eyes heavy, her lips full and parted, and I softly kiss her, our tongue mingling in a flawless dance together. I take the straps of her dress and lower them down from her arms, pulling away from her lips when the dress is to her waist. She wiggles her hips a little as I help s.h.i.+mmy it down to the floor. Then I step back from her and look.

"My G.o.d, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life."

"Stop," she says, but she doesn't cover herself. It would be a crime to my eyes if she did. I need to drink this in. Her skin is luminescent. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rise and fall like an ocean wave, full and luscious in a black lace bra. Her mismatched panties tell me she didn't get dressed this morning thinking anyone would see her naked, and that fact fills me with grat.i.tude. I run my hands over her rounded hips, down slightly to the part of her I've had, the part of her that I taste in my dreams. But I don't fully touch her there yet. I'm finally getting my time with her, and I intend to go slow and savor every moment.

"Come here," I say, taking her by her hand and leading her over to the small plush sofa in the sitting room. I've only used this room a couple of times for formal aperitifs before equally formal (and boring) dinners. I sit her down in the center of the sofa, and before I can make another move she reaches out for my belt.

"You," she says. I love that she's only able to speak in one-word sentences. She starts to open the buckle, but I stop her. I do it myself, watching as her eyes stay focused on my body. If she's going to stand displayed in front of me, I suppose it's only fair I do the same for her. And gladly. The look on her face is pure appreciation. Knowing I'm already giving her such pleasure makes my d.i.c.k strain even harder.