Chapter 10 #2
I peeled his shirt off his chest, trying not to ogle his thick shoulders or the cut of muscle as they disappeared under his shirt sleeves.
I tried not to imagine those broad hands reaching up and grasping my thighs, pulling me toward him.
I helped him get to his feet. His muscular chest was right in front of me now, his taut stomach below.
A strip of hair disappeared into his navel.
Heat pooled low in my abdomen as I knew—knew—I could have this man, right now. That he would probably happily sleep with me. He’d probably be good at it, too, even in this inebriated state.
“You’re thinking about taking advantage of me, aren’t you?” Blake asked.
I snapped my gaze up to his. Was I that obvious? I yanked his shirt down his arms with maybe more force than required.
“Ow,” he said as I twisted his lead-heavy arm, pulling the fabric off one side, then the other.
Flustered, I went to the closet and got a hanger.
“You can do your own pants,” I said as I grabbed the shirt and jacket and arranged them on the hanger.
“Okay.” With a twist of his fingers, he unbuckled his belt, sliding it in one quick move out of his belt loops. How could he do that, but miss his shirt buttons? He dropped the belt onto the opposite bed, his eyes on me.
“You can, y’know,” he said.
“Can what?”
“Take advantage. I’d like that.”
I was too startled to move.
He reached for his button. “Maybe look away.”
Heat rushed through me. I whirled around, mortified.
The sound of his pants falling to the ground made my knees go slightly weak. He was right there behind me, his whole naked body separated only—I assumed—by his underwear.
Unless he’d removed those, too.
I strode to the closet, hooking the theft-proof hanger in its metal loop.
Then I stood there, unmoving. I heard the thud of him kicking off his shoes, the rustle of stepping out of his pants, and finally, a groan from the bed and whump of blankets being tossed down.
The whole time I clenched and unclenched my hands, my heart pounding.
I should leave. I needed to leave. But I said I’d stay.
“Okay, it’s safe,” he said.
I turned around. Blake was lying on his back on the bed, one gorgeous, thickly muscled arm bent under his head. The duvet was pulled up to cover his bottom half, but that was it. Above that, his broad, ridged chest and torso were fully exposed.
God help me.
I went over to the opposite bed and sat down. “I’m just staying a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
I thought about how combative we’d been before. Was this what it took for us to get along? Blake being three sheets to the wind?
His eyebrows pulled together.
“Are you okay, Blake?”
“I’m worried.”
“About what?”
“Not remembering, when I have too many whisks… whiskseys.”
“Whiskeys,” I supplied, my voice soft. “Why are you worried?”
“I’m worried I won’t remember this.”
A warmth crawled over me I tried to shove away.
“My mom,” he said. “She doesn’t remember.”
“When she drinks?” I realized this felt kind of snoopy, like how I’d found out about Lila. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“S’okay. I want to. I never tell anyone stuff when I don’t drink. It’s lonely.”
I smiled, my heart softening once again. This man—he was complicated. Strange. But sweet, too. Competent. Handsome. Lonely.
“You’re not alone now, Blake.”
He smiled. Then it fell. “My mom is sick.” He tapped his head. “She’s got Alz… early Altz…”
My stomach sank. “Alzheimer’s?”
He nodded. “She doesn’t remember me.” He laughed, briefly, but it was like a clap in the room. Pained. “That’s not funny, is it?”
“No,” I said, my voice soft.
His eyes grew wet. “Sometimes she thinks I’m my dad, or my brothers. Those are good days.”
My heart twisted harder. I still grieved my mom’s passing—every day. But I wondered if having her there but not there would be harder than her being gone.
I had the sudden bizarre urge to cradle this man’s head against me. To tell him it was okay to feel. Which probably meant it was time to go. I made to move, but Blake waved his hand.
“It’s okay.” He opened his mouth and closed it like he was physically wrenching the feelings away, and apparently it worked, because when he turned back to me next, he was smiling. “You wanna ask me stuff? I’ll forget tomorrow.”
I really really really should have gone. But I found my legs glued to the bed. “Where did you grow up?”
“Seattle.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Two. Brothers.”
“Did you have a happy childhood?”
“My dad’s a dick.”
God, this man.
“He still watches every move I make. He likes to tell me whenever I fuck it up. He texts me to tell me.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, like this was a normal thing. My own dad may be off in some weird world of his own, but he was never, ever cruel. He loved us. He was always on my side. Even if he was as far away as he could be when I needed him the most.
“I love my brothers, though,” he said. “And my mom.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“A special home in Seattle.”
I had to sit on my hands to keep myself from getting up and going over there.
“It’s not so bad. She reads romance books. Sometimes she’s more happy… happiness than when I was a kid.”
My chest squeezed, but I smiled. I never told anyone about my secret affection for romance. I never thought it fit with my CEO persona. But this warmed me. And talking to Blake now was a free pass. “Your mom is smart,” I said. “I love a good rom-com. Movies, mostly. Especially from the 80s and 90s”
“Like Top Gun?”
“Not exactly,” I laughed. “But I mean, yes, it’s got romance.” And bare-chested men. I couldn’t help looking at the gorgeous bare chest in front of me.
“You wanna go to the movies?” Blake asked, waggling his brows. “Kelly…eighties…whassername…”
I laughed, softly.
“More questions. This is fun.” Blake was still looking at me, but his blinks kept extending. He needed to sleep. I bet if I stopped talking, he’d pass out in a matter of seconds. But there was one more question I wanted to ask him.
“Blake,” I whispered. I half hoped he wouldn’t hear me.
“Yeah.”
I swallowed. “Why do you look at me the way you do?”
“The what?”
“Like you care about what I think. And like you think I’m… pretty?”
Blake’s eyes fluttered open, his brows slanting. “Because you’re beautiful.” He said it like I was crazy to think otherwise.
I thought of Ned. You should wear the flat shoes today, Cassandra. Men don’t like it when you’re taller than them. Maybe tone down the lipstick too.
I thought of all the times I’d felt too big; too loud; too much.
I’d been all of those things to Blake, and he still liked me. When he was drunk, anyway.
A lump formed in my throat. I was trying to pull compliments from a nearly-passed-out man. I was that desperate.
“And you’re smart,” Blake said, his eyes closed again. “I read what you did at that… your company… Wells… what they did to you. They did you dirty, but it was a smart move, not naming names…”
I was stunned. He was talking about my last job, Wellsborough. He’d read up on me. But of course he had, for this job. Still, the fact that he’d formed an opinion on it—that he knew it wasn’t my fault?
One of our board members had been indicted on fraud charges.
I knew it would incriminate all of us if I didn’t take the fall.
I was declared innocent, but I didn’t fight for myself, so my reputation was forever tainted in that world.
But Blake knew. He knew why I’d kept my mouth shut.
Innocent people would have been unhireable.
People with families. Important lives. It made sense for me to take the hit.
My life wasn’t so interesting or important.
When I next looked at Blake, his eyes were fully closed, and his mouth slightly open. He was out.
It was a good thing, because I had a knot in my throat, and a softness in my chest that felt deeply dangerous.
Still, I couldn’t keep myself from getting up and kneeling beside the bed, studying this man’s face for a moment.
He had a scar in his eyebrow I hadn’t noticed before; a little white streak where no hair grew.
“You were going to kiss me on that island,” I whispered. “Weren’t you, Blake Harrington?”
Despite the fact the man was asleep, my stomach fluttered at the memory.
Then Blake’s eyes pinged open. “Kiss you?”
I startled. “Oh.” Nerves ratcheted through me. “I didn’t—”
“Do you want me to kiss you?” Blake asked, rising up on one elbow. “Cassandra?”
I hesitated. There was no point in lying to him now. “No. I want you to want to kiss me,” I said. That was the awful, pathetic truth.
Blake forced himself to sit up. “Goddammit Cassandra, I’ve wanted to kiss you all fuckin’ night. All week, since—”
I leaned forward and planted my lips on his. They were full, soft, tinged with sweetness and whiskey.
At first, Blake didn’t move. Then he sprang into action, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me over him, onto the bed.
He rolled so I was on my back and he was leaning over me.
He stared at me a moment, his expression hungry.
“Beautiful.” Then he kissed me once more, slipping his tongue into my mouth, drawing his teeth down on my lip before releasing it again.
I made a sound halfway between a cry and a moan as his hand slid up my leg, under my skirt.
“Did you think I didn’t want you?” he asked, pulling his face away from mine, but continuing the slip of his hand up my thigh. His eyes seemed slightly hazy, but they stayed focused on me.
Heat ran through me, turning into an inferno down low. “I don’t know,” I said. It was true. Ned messed up my sensor. But Ned was the last thing I wanted to think about right now.
“I want you,” Blake said.
The sheet was still shrouding his bottom half. His upper half was gorgeous—sculpted, smooth, hard.
He grasped my hip under my dress. Desire swam in my stomach, roiling down low.
I should have gotten up. I should have moved from the bed, gotten up, and left him there to pass out. Instead, I whispered, “Show me,” my eyes going to the sheet draped over his hips.
Even in his state, Blake understood, and didn’t hesitate.
My heart pounded as he rose onto his knees, and when the sheet fell down, only his naked body remained, his cock taut.
My stomach swooped with adrenaline at the sight of it. It further hardened before my eyes, a drop of liquid forming at the tip.
Blake gripped his length in his hand. “This is how much I want you, Cassandra.” He squeezed it so the beaded liquid dropped onto my bare thigh, marking me.
I let out a little sound—I wanted to taste it.
I wanted to taste him. I wanted everything—my whole body cried for it; my underwear was already wet, soaked through for him.
But when I looked up at his face, met his gorgeous, caramel eyes, I saw the Blake Harrington from the cover of that magazine. The professional. My consultant.
The fake married man.
A drunk man with impaired faculties, who wouldn’t remember this tomorrow.
“Blake,” I said. “We can’t.” It was the hardest thing I’d ever said, but it was the right thing. I couldn’t do this, even if he wouldn’t remember it tomorrow. Especially because he wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.
He didn’t argue, just closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said. Then he gave himself one long stroke of his cock. It was so hot I had to stop myself from reaching for it.
Then Blake pulled the sheet back up, lying back down on the bed. “If you change your mind, I’m right here.” He held open one arm, and I hesitated, then lay back down, resting my head on his shoulder. I inhaled him; his soap, the whiskey, and his own distinct scent, which made my chest hurt.
At some point I fell asleep, because when I blinked my eyes open, the clock said it was three in the morning. Blake was curled around me, one arm under my head, the other wrapped around my waist, possessive in sleep.
Carefully, I pulled his arm off me and slid off the bed, pulling the duvet up over him. He snored as he turned over, but didn’t wake. I found my purse and pulled out our contract, leaving it on the bedside table, along with a glass of water, and two of the painkillers I kept in my bag.
He’d know, at least, that I was here.
Everything else would be my secret.