Beautiful Bastard Page 4

  “Type, don’t write anything longhand. Your handwriting looks like a third grader’s, Miss Mills.”

  “If I wanted to enjoy your entire conversation with your graduate advisor, I’d leave my office door open and get some popcorn. Please, keep your voice down.”

  I could do this. That bastard had picked the wrong woman to mess with, and I’d be damned if I would let him intimidate me. I lowered my hand to my ass and smiled wickedly . . . power panties.

  As I expected, the office was still empty when I arrived. I gathered everything he would need for his presentation and headed to the conference room to set up. I tried to ignore the Pavlovian response I had to seeing the wall of windows, the gleaming conference table.

  Stop it, body. Engage now, brain.

  Glancing around the sun-filled room, I set the files and laptop on the large conference table and helped the catering staff set up the breakfast spread along the back wall.

  Twenty minutes later the proposals were set out, the projector was prepared, and refreshments were ready. With time to spare I found myself wandering over to the window. I reached out and touched the smooth glass, overwhelmed by the sensations it brought; the heat of his body against my back, the feel of the cool glass against my breasts, and the raw animalistic sound of his voice in my ear.

  “Ask me to make you come.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned in, pressing my palms and forehead against the window, and let the power of the memories overtake me.

  I was startled from my fantasy by a throat clearing behind me. “Daydreaming on the clock?”

  “Mr. Ryan,” I gasped, spinning around. Our eyes locked and I was once again struck by how beautiful he was. He broke eye contact to survey the room.

  “Miss Mills,” he said, each word sharp and clipped. “I’ll be giving the presentation on the fourth floor.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, irritation flooding me. “Why? We always use this room. And why did you wait until the last minute to tell me?”

  “Because,” he growled, leaning on his fists on the table, “I am the boss. I make the rules, and I decide when and where things happen. Maybe if you weren’t intent on staring out windows, you would have taken the time this morning to come confirm the details with me.”

  My mind flooded with white-hot images of my fist connecting with his throat. It took every bit of control I had not to jump across the table and strangle him. A smug smile crept over his face.

  “Fine by me,” I said, swallowing my annoyance. “No good decisions are ever made in this room anyway.”

  When I turned the corner into the new conference room, my eyes immediately met Mr. Ryan’s. Sitting in his chair, his hands predictably tented in front of him, he was the portrait of barely contained patience. Typical.

  Then I noticed the person beside me: Elliott Ryan.

  “Here, let me help you with that, Chloe,” he said, taking a stack of folders from my arms so I could more easily maneuver the cart full of food into the room.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ryan.” I shot a pointed look at my boss.

  “Chloe,” the elder Mr. Ryan said, laughing. He took some handouts and sent the stack around the table for the attendees to take. “How many times do I need to tell you to call me Elliott?” He was every bit as handsome as both of his sons. Tall and muscular, all three Ryan men shared the same chiseled features. Elliott’s salt-and-pepper hair had turned silver over the years since I’d first met him, but he was still one of the most handsome men I’d ever met.

  I smiled gratefully at him as I sat down. “How is Susan doing?”

  “She’s doing fine. She keeps bugging me about having you over,” he added with a wink. It didn’t escape my attention that the youngest Mr. Ryan snorted in annoyance beside me.

  “Please tell her hi from me.”

  Footsteps sounded behind me and a hand reached out to gently tug my ear. “Hey, kiddo,” Henry Ryan said, giving me a wide grin. He turned to address the rest of the room. “Sorry I’m late, guys. I guess I thought we were meeting up on your floor.”

  I chanced a smug look out of the corner of my eye, meeting my boss’ gaze. The stack of handouts came back to me and I handed a copy to him. “Here you are, Mr. Ryan.”

  Without so much as a glance, he snatched the stack and began leafing through them.

  Dick.

  Just as I was taking my seat, Henry’s boisterous voice called out, “Oh, Chloe, while I was up there waiting, I found these on the floor.” I walked over to him and saw two antiqued silver buttons sitting in his palm. “Would you ask around and see if anyone’s lost these? They look kind of expensive.”

  I felt my face heat. I had completely forgotten about my ruined shirt. “Um . . . sure.”

  “Henry, can I see those for a minute?” Jackass suddenly chimed in, taking them from his brother. He turned to me with a wicked smirk in place. “Don’t you have a blouse with buttons like these?”

  I glanced quickly around the room; Henry and Elliott were already absorbed in another conversation, oblivious to what was happening between us.

  “No,” I said, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. “I don’t.”

  “Are you sure?” Taking my hand, he ran a finger from the inside of my arm to my palm before dropping the buttons and closing my hand around them. My breath caught in my throat and my heart pounded fiercely against my chest.

  I jerked my hand back as if I’d been burned. “I’m sure.”

  “I could have sworn the blouse you wore the other day had little silver buttons. The pink one? I remember because I noticed one of them was loose when you came looking for me upstairs.”

  If possible, I felt my face heat further. What was he playing at? Was he trying to insinuate that I had orchestrated a way to get him alone in the conference room?

  Leaning in closely, his breath hot on my ear, he whispered, “You really should try to be more careful.”

  I attempted to maintain my calm as I lowered my hand from his. “You bastard,” I replied through gritted teeth before he pulled away, looking taken aback.

  How could he look surprised, as if I’d been the one to break the rules? It was one thing to be a dick to me, but to jeopardize my reputation in front of other executives—he was going to get an earful later.

  Throughout the meeting we cast glances at each other, mine fueled with anger and his with increasing uncertainty. I looked down at the spreadsheets in front of me as much as possible to avoid looking at him.

  As soon as it was all over, I gathered my things and got the hell out of there. But as expected, he was hot on my tail all the way to the elevator until we were both seething silently in the back, on our way up to the office.

  Why wouldn’t this thing hurry up, and why did someone on every floor decide they needed to use it now? People all around us were talking on phones, shuffling files, discussing lunch plans. The noise grew to a heavy buzz, nearly drowning out the verbal ass-kicking I was giving Mr. Ryan in my head. By the time we reached the eleventh floor, the elevator was almost at capacity. When the door opened and three more people decided to squeeze in, I was pushed farther into him, my back against his chest and my ass against his . . . oh.

  I felt the rest of his body stiffen subtly and heard him take a sharp breath. Instead of pressing into him, I stepped as far away as I could. He reached forward and gripped my hip, pulling me back again.

  “I liked that ass against me,” he murmured, low and warm into my ear. “Where do you—”

  “I’m two seconds away from castrating you with my heel.”

  He leaned even closer. “Why are you suddenly more pissy than usual?”

  I turned my head and said, in barely a whisper, “It would be just like you to make me look like a career-climbing whore in front of your father.”

  He dropped his hand, slack jawed. “No.” Blink. Blin
k. “What?” Confused Mr. Ryan was surprisingly hot. Bastard. “I was just playing around.”

  “What if they’d heard you?”

  “They didn’t.”

  “They could have.”

  He genuinely looked like the thought had never occurred to him, and it probably hadn’t. It was easy for him to play games from his perch at the top. He was the workaholic executive. I was the girl halfway up the ladder.

  The person on our left glanced over and we both stood straight, looked forward. I elbowed him sharply in the side, and he pinched my ass hard enough to make me gasp.

  “I won’t apologize,” he said under his breath.

  Of course you won’t. Dick.

  He pressed into me again, and I felt the length of him grow even harder, the traitor warmth spreading between my legs.

  We reached the fifteenth floor and a few more people filed out. I reached behind me, slid my hand between us, and palmed him. He exhaled a warm puff against my neck, whispering, “Fuck yes.”

  And then I squeezed.

  “Fuck. Sorry!” he hissed into my ear. I let go, dropping my hand and grinning to myself. “Christ, I was just playing around with you.”

  The sixteenth floor. The rest of the crowd exited in a single rush, apparently headed to the same meeting.

  As soon as the doors closed and the elevator began to move, I heard a growl from behind me and caught a quick, sudden movement as Mr. Ryan slammed his hand against the stop button on the control panel. His eyes turned on me and they were darker than I had ever seen them. In one fluid motion, he pinned me against the wall of the elevator with his body. He pulled away just long enough to give me an angry glare and mutter, “Don’t move.”

  And even though I wanted to tell him to fuck off, my body begged me to do whatever he said.

  Reaching over to my discarded files, he plucked a sticky note off the top and placed it over the camera lens set into the ceiling.

  His face was only a couple of inches from mine, his breath coming out in sharp bursts against my cheek. “I would never imply you’re trying to fuck your way to the top.” He exhaled, bending into my neck. “You’re thinking too much.”

  I pulled back as much as I could, gaping at him. “You’re not thinking enough. This is my career we’re talking about. You have all of the power here. You have nothing to lose.”

  “I have the power? You’re the one who pressed into my dick in the elevator. You’re the one doing this to me.”

  I felt my expression soften; I wasn’t used to seeing him be vulnerable with me, even a little. “Then don’t blindside me.”

  After a long pause, he nodded.

  The sound of the building all around us filled the elevator as we continued to stare at each other. The ache for contact began to build, first in my navel and spreading lower, between my legs.

  He bent forward, licking my jaw before covering my lips with his, and an involuntary groan rumbled in my throat as his hardened cock pressed against my stomach. My body began acting on instinct and my leg wrapped around his, pressing me closer against his arousal, my hands finding their way to his hair. He pulled back just long enough for his fingers to flick at the clasp at my waist. My dress drifted apart in front of him.

  “Such an angry kitty,” he whispered. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he looked into my eyes and slid the fabric to the floor. Goose bumps spread along my skin as he took my hands, turned me around, and pressed my palms against the wall.

  Reaching up, he removed the silver comb from my hair, letting it fall down my naked back. Taking my hair in his hands, he roughly pulled my head to the side, giving him access to my neck. Hot, wet kisses rained down my spine and across my shoulders. His touch left a spark of electricity over every inch of skin he touched. On his knees behind me, he grabbed my ass and pressed his teeth into the flesh, eliciting a sharp gasp from me before he stood back up.

  Holy hell, how does he know to do these things to me?

  “Did you like that?” His fingers pressed and pulled at my breasts. “Being bitten on the ass?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re such a filthy fucking girl.”

  I yelped out in surprise as I felt his hand smack hard where his teeth had just been, and my only response was a moan of pleasure. I breathed in another sharp gasp as his hands clasped the delicate ribbons of my underwear and ripped it off.

  “Expect another bill, asshole.”

  He chuckled darkly and pressed up against me again, the cool wall against my breasts sending shivers through my body and pulling forward the memory of the window that first time. I’d forgotten how good the contrast—cold versus warm, hard versus him—felt against me. “Worth every penny.” His hand slid around my waist and down my abdomen, slipping lower until his finger rested on my clit. “You know, I think you wear those things just to tease me.”

  Was he right? Was I delusional, thinking they were for me?

  The pressure from his touch caused me to ache, his fingers pressing and releasing, leaving me wanting. Moving lower, he stopped right at my entrance. “You’re so wet. God, you must have been thinking about this all morning.”

  “Fuck you,” I groaned, gasping as his finger finally pushed inside, pressing me back into him.

  “Say it. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” A second finger joined the first, and the sensation caused me to cry out.

  I shook my head, but my body betrayed me again. He sounded so needy; his words were teasing and controlling, but it felt like he was begging too. I closed my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts, but everything was just too much. The feel of his clothed body against my naked skin, the sound of his rough voice, and the feeling of his long fingers plunging in and out of me had me teetering on the edge. His other hand reached up, firmly pinching my nipple through the sheer fabric of my bra, and I moaned loudly. I was so close.

  “Say it,” he grunted into my ear as his thumb rolled over my clit. “I won’t have you angry with me all day.”

  I gave in, finally, whispering, “I want you inside me.” He let out a low, strangled moan and his forehead rested on my shoulder as he began moving faster, plunging and circling. His hips ground against my ass, his erection rubbing against me. “Oh, God,” I moaned, the coil tightening deep inside, my every thought focused on the pleasure begging to break free.

  And then the rhythmic sounds of our panting and groans were suddenly interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone.

  We stilled as the realization of where we were crashed down on us. Mr. Ryan cursed as he moved away from me and took the elevator’s emergency receiver.

  Turning, I grabbed my dress, slipped it over my shoulders, and began fastening it with shaking hands.

  “Yes.” He sounded so calm, not even a little out of breath. Our eyes locked across the elevator. “I see . . . No, we’re fine . . .” He bent over slowly, removing my torn and discarded panties from the elevator floor. “No, it just stopped.” He listened to the person on the other end, while rubbing the silky fabric between his fingers. “That’s fine.” He finished, hanging up the phone.

  The elevator jerked as it began ascending again. He looked down at the lace in his hand and then back to me. And then he smirked, stepping away from the wall and stalking toward me. Placing one hand next to my head, he leaned in, running his nose along my neck and whispering, “You smell as good as you feel.”

  A small gasp escaped me.

  “And these,” he said, motioning to my panties in his hand, “are mine.”

  The elevator chimed as we stopped at our floor. The doors opened and without a single glance back in my direction, he slipped the delicate fabric into the pocket of his suit jacket and strode out.

  Four

  Panic. The emotion gripping me as I all but sprinted to my office could only be described as pure panic. I couldn’t believe wh
at was happening. Being alone with her in that tiny steel prison—her smell, her sounds, her skin—made my self-control evaporate. I was unraveling. This woman had a hold on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  Finally in the relative safety of my office, I collapsed on the leather sofa. Leaning forward, I gripped my hair tightly, willing myself to calm and my erection to subside.

  Things were going from bad to worse.

  I’d known from the minute she reminded me of the morning’s meeting that there was no way in hell I could form one coherent thought, let alone give an entire presentation in that fucking conference room. And forget sitting at that table. Walking in there to find her leaning up against the glass, deep in thought, was enough to make me hard again.

  I’d made up some bullshit story about the meeting being moved to a different floor, and of course she called me on it. Why did she always have to antagonize me? I made a point of reminding her of who was in charge. But as with every other argument we’d ever had, she threw it right back in my face.

  I jumped slightly at a loud thud in the outside office. Followed by another one. And yet another. What the hell was going on out there? I stood and made my way to the door, opening it to find Miss Mills slamming down her folders in different piles. I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, watching her for a moment. The sight of her so angry was not diminishing the problem in my trousers in the slightest.

  “Would you mind telling me what your problem is?”

  She looked up at me as if I’d sprouted an extra head. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Pardon me if I feel a touch edgy,” she hissed, grabbing a stack of folders and roughly shoving them into a drawer.

  “I’m not exactly thrilled with the—”

  “Bennett,” my dad said, walking briskly into my office. “Great job in there. Henry and I just spoke with Dorothy and Troy and they were—” He stopped and stared at where Miss Mills stood, white-knuckling the edge of her desk.

  “Chloe, dear, are you okay?”