9. Tessa
Chapter 9
Tessa
S unlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting patterns across crisp white sheets. I stretch languidly, memories of last night bringing a smile to my face. My body aches in the best possible way.
"Morning."
I roll over, then pause. Zane's already dressed in a sharp navy suit, typing on his phone. The warmth from last night seems to have evaporated with the morning dew.
"You're up early," I say carefully, pulling the sheet higher.
"Meeting across town." He doesn't look up. "Coffee's in the kitchen if you want some."
"Oh." I sit up slowly, studying his profile. "I could get ready quickly if you want to grab breakfast?"
"Can't. Running late." He finally glances at me, but his expression is unreadable. "You can let yourself out whenever. Just make sure the door locks behind you."
"Right." I try to keep my voice light. "Maybe dinner later?"
He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "We'll see. I've got back-to-back meetings today."
Then he's gone, leaving only the echo of his footsteps and the lingering scent of his cologne.
"Don't overthink it," I mutter to myself. "He's busy. It's fine."
I take my time getting ready, trying to shake off the morning's weird vibe. His shower is ridiculous—multiple showerheads and perfect pressure. I spend extra time washing my hair with his expensive shampoo, letting the hot water soothe my nerves.
Back in yesterday's dress, I wander to his kitchen. True to his word, there's coffee—still hot in an elaborate machine. I find a travel mug in one of his cabinets and pour some to go.
"See?" I tell myself. "He made sure there was coffee. That means something."
I stop by my apartment first, changing into clean clothes and applying a fresh layer of makeup and quickly drying my hair before heading back out the door.
The bakery is quiet when I arrive, just the construction crew working on our final installations. Ivy's out with Asher, probably having a much better morning than mine.
"Focus on work," I command myself, reviewing paint samples for the back office. But my mind keeps drifting to last night. To the way Zane looked at me like I was everything. To how different he seemed this morning.
Finally, I cave and text him.
Me
Miss you already. Though your shower almost makes up for the empty bed. Almost.
But his response doesn’t come until an hour later.
Zane
Glad you found everything okay.
I stare at the message, my stomach sinking. Where's the man who couldn't keep his hands off me last night? Who whispered all those naughty and delicious confessions against my skin?
Maybe he's just busy. I try again, instantly second-guessing it.
Am I being clingy?
Me
Busy day? Was thinking about ordering from that Italian place again. Though hopefully we'll actually finish our meal this time… unless you have other plans?
The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times before a response finally comes through.
Zane
Can't tonight. Rain check?
"Don't cry," I whisper, gripping my phone like I’m a silly little teenage girl again. "Don't you dare cry."
I manage a quick response, making sure I keep it light and fresh.
Me
No problem! Another time.
Then I throw my phone in my desk drawer before I can say something pathetic like "did last night mean anything to you?" or "why are you suddenly so cold?"
The construction crew needs approval on some fixtures anyway. Better to focus on that than obsess over why Zane's suddenly acting like last night never happened.
But as I review paint colors and lighting options, his morning kiss keeps replaying in my head. Quick, impersonal, like I was an afterthought. Like I was just another woman in his bed.
My eyes keep drifting to the drawer where my phone is. I reach inside, my fingers itching to type something else back to him but at the last second, I decide against it.
I shake the thought away, focusing instead on the stack of invoices needing my attention. Work. Work is safe. Work doesn't leave you confused and aching.
Hours blur together as I lose myself in spreadsheets and vendor contracts. The construction crew leaves, then the painters. Outside, darkness falls over Chicago while I stay tucked away in my back office, letting numbers fill the hollow space in my chest.
The bell above the door chimes, making me jump. Must be Ivy, coming to check on me.
“Shit the door,” I mutter to myself as I scurry around my desk and out of my office. "I'm fine," I call out, walking to the front before she can yell at me. "I know I forgot to lock the door but really, you don't need to?—"
I stop short. Because it's not Ivy standing there in the dim light.
It's Zane.
"Forgot to lock up," he says turning the lock, his voice low and rough as he moves toward me. "Not very safe, Miss Marlow."
I back up slightly, aiming for casual even as my heart races. "What are you doing here?"
He doesn't answer, just keeps advancing until my back hits the wall. His hands plant on either side of my head, caging me in.
"You didn't answer my calls." His body presses against mine, all hard planes and barely contained heat. "My texts."
"Busy day." I manage to sound bored despite the way my skin tingles wherever we touch. "Lots of work to do."
"Liar." He dips his head, nose brushing my neck. "Try again."
"Maybe I just wasn't interested in whatever professional distance you were selling."
His laugh is dark against my skin. "Is this professional enough for you?" He clamps his teeth down gently against the skin of my neck. All my concerns from earlier, the insults I considered hurling at him when I saw him again go right out the window, along with my common sense.
"You're not being very gentlemanly, Mr. Mercer."
"I've never claimed to be a gentleman." His lips ghost over my pulse point. "In fact, I'm definitely on Santa's naughty list."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Let me guess—coal in your stocking?"
"Enough coal to stuff it completely full." His hands slide to my hips, pulling me closer. "Speaking of getting stuffed…"
Heat floods my cheeks. "You're terrible."
"I know." He nips at my ear. "But you like it."
"Maybe I want you to respect me more."
"Liar," he says again, but softer this time. "You want me to tear your tongue from your body again with my teeth and disrespect the shit out of you.”
My thighs clench and my knees buckle at his brashness. He’s not wrong. I seem to lose all sense of self-control and self-respect when I’m near him.
“This is what this is, Tessa. I'm not an easy man. I can't give you soft and sweet. But this?" He rolls his hips against mine. "This we're good at."
"Just this?"
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t say anything in response. I should say no. Should demand more. Should…
His mouth crashes into mine, and all thoughts of should fly out the window. He kisses like he's starving for it, like he's been thinking about this all day too. His tongue swirls into my mouth. My hands clench his shirt in my fists, my body trying its hardest to get closer to him.
"My office," I gasp between kisses. "Now."
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the back. "Someone's eager."
"Shut up and kiss me."
He laughs against my lips. "As my lady commands."
What follows is anything but gentlemanly.
Once he has me stripped bare, laid out across my own desk, his hands tangle in my hair, tugging my head back so that my neck is exposed to him. He bites down harder this time, his two fingers inside me doing magical things to my G-spot.
“Hands on the desk,” he commands, planting both of my hands behind me so that I’m leaning back slightly. I protest at first when he removes his fingers from me, but his hands are already on his belt, pulling his cock free.
“Oh.” I shudder when he drags the tip against my clit, swirling it around before lining himself up at my entrance. He watches his movements intently, dipping himself an inch or so inside me before dragging the head of his cock back up to my clit.
“More,” I moan, my head falling back as my fingers curl against the papers on my desk.
“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, the veins on his neck bulging against his skin. “Your pussy is a fantasy.” He’s losing control. His hands go to my hips, gripping me tightly as he pulls me farther down onto his cock. He’s holding back; I can see it in the way his collar strains against his neck.
“Fuck me hard,” I say, my voice almost unrecognizable. I don’t have to say it twice. His fingers dig against my hip bones, my tits bouncing with every thrust.
“I’m going to give you so much more tonight, you’re not going to be able to handle another cock for at least a week.”
I want to focus on what he just said, on the jarring thought of another man doing this to me, but I can’t. Not right now. I’m too lost in the pleasure that’s taking over my body. And as Zane proceeds to thoroughly ruin me for all other men, I can't bring myself to care.
Because sometimes getting exactly what you want is better than wanting what you can't have. Even if it means ending up on Santa's naughty list yourself.
I watch as Zane straightens his tie in the reflection of my office window. The city lights twinkle behind him like stars, casting shadows across his sharp features. He looks perfect again, put together, while I'm still trying to gather my scattered thoughts.
"Here," he says softly, picking up my cardigan from where it landed on my desk chair. He holds it out for me, helping me slip my arms through the sleeves. The gesture is surprisingly tender, at odds with his usual demeanor.
"Thanks," I murmur, turning to face him. "Zane, I?—"
"Don't." His hands linger on my shoulders. "Whatever you're about to say, just… don't."
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. "No. We need to talk about this. About us."
His jaw clenches. "There is no us, Tessa."
"Isn't there?" I step closer, placing my hand on his chest. "You can't tell me you don't feel something here. That this is just?—"
"Physical?" His hand covers mine, but I can't tell if he's about to push it away or pull me closer. "That's all it can be."
"Why?" I challenge. "Because you're scared? Because it's easier to keep everyone at arm's length than risk actually feeling something?"
"Because I'll hurt you." His voice is rough. "I always do. It's what I'm good at."
"Or maybe," I say softly, "you're afraid I'll hurt you."
Something flickers in his dark eyes. "Tessa…"
"I see you, Zane Mercer. The real you. Not the brooding businessman or the grumpy asshole everyone thinks you are. And I think that terrifies you."
He steps back, breaking our contact. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I move to my desk, straightening papers that don't need straightening. "You know what I think? I think you want this as much as I do. I think you've wanted it since high school."
"What I want doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." I turn back to him. "Everything about you matters to me."
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect styling. "I can't give you what you want, Tessa. I'm not— I don't know how to be what you need. I’m not Asher."
"I'm not asking you to be anything other than who you are. I’m not asking you to be Asher. Is that what this is about?”
“That whole thing with him and Ivy.” He shakes his head like he’s going to say something but then decides against it.
I step toward him again. "Just… let me in. Stop pushing me away every time we get close."
For a moment, I see his walls crumble. See the vulnerability in his eyes, the longing. But then it's gone, replaced by that carefully neutral expression I'm coming to hate.
"I should go," he says, reaching for his jacket. "Early meeting tomorrow."
"Right." I wrap my arms around myself. "Always a meeting."
He pauses at the door. "Lock up behind me this time. The neighborhood's not safe at night."
"Is anywhere safe?" I ask quietly, "or do you just tell yourself that to avoid taking risks?"
He doesn't answer, but his hand tightens on the doorframe. Finally, he turns back. "I can't promise you anything, Tessa."
"I'm not asking for promises." I hold his gaze. "Just possibilities."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything unsaid. Then he nods, just once, before disappearing into the night.
I stand there long after he's gone, staring at the space where he stood. Because that wasn't a no. It wasn't a yes either, but with Zane Mercer, maybe possibilities are enough. For now.