Drift

Chapter 19

Unexpected thunder after a frantic office encounter

Luke was wrong.

Clothes don’t make a difference.

The vintage silk dress that always impressed the investors at Ethan’s events fits like a dream, but my knees lock together. The awkward pose I contort myself into beside the elegantly arranged refreshment table is the only way I can stop from wobbling.

The satin opera gloves I’m wearing are an accessory too much. I glance at the fist balled at my side. Actually, the pearl bracelet over the gloves is the step too far.

Who am I kidding?

It’s all bad.

My outfit. This dinner. Presenting.

Someone put me out of my misery.

I press my hand to my chest. My heart hammers like thunder under my palm. Panic has set in, and no one’s even seated for the dinner yet. Waiters circle the balcony, offering canapes to men in tuxedos and women in gowns. Is there really only two hundred people here?

Okay.

This spiral isn’t helping. I breathe slowly through my mouth. One…two…

Okay.

I slide my palm cards from my clutch, but my notes blur no matter how often I blink. I breathe in and scan the crowded restaurant.

Find a friendly face.

Luke isn’t in the dining room. He greeted all the guests at the door and thanked them for coming before excusing himself to finish preparations for dinner.

I shuffle along the wall and peek into the kitchen.

There he is, in all his glory, wearing his white coat and a stern look of concentration.

A chant of “Yes, Chef!” echoes when he calls out a direction.

Luke will be busy there until he hands the kitchen over to his pastry chef for dessert. The auction is penciled in to start right after.

Who else is here?

I don’t recognize many faces. Most of my friends from the community center didn’t buy tickets to the dinner. Mallory Something-or-Other is here, though. Her narrowed gaze follows me and my panic attack everywhere I go. She wants her exclusive.

Tonight just gets better and better.

I snatch a canape as the tray passes and shove the fritto misto into my mouth. It’s so hot and fat I can’t chew it, so I just hold it in my cheeks like a thieving squirrel.

“Honey, the canapes are free.” Kristen parks herself in front of me and pops her hip. White satin splits over her bare thigh. “You can take a bite.”

I try to answer, but the delicate treat is a rock sliding down my throat.

“Well, well…” Kristen’s critical gaze studies my gown. “Chanel.”

I straighten the shoulder strap even though the dress hugs me perfectly. “Y-yes.”

“It’s retro, but… I know what you make per hour. You can’t afford that dress.” Kristen’s frosted pink smirk stays fixed in place as her eyes drop to my shoes. “Or those Prada heels.”

“They’re…old…”

“The duotone leather heels were on the runway two years ago.”

I tug at the side seam of my dress. “Um…” I need an escape.

She flicks a blond tendril behind her ear. “Did I tell you?” She smiles sweetly. “Sawyer and me. We had such a great time the other night.”

“It certainly sounded like it,” I mumble.

“He’s gorgeous.”

I press my lips flat.

“And such a gentleman.” Kristen leans closer, whispering to me like we’re very best girlfriends. “But not in the bedroom.”

A whimper puffs out of me. “You’re lying.”

She brushes her hair off her shoulder and twists her neck. The arch is deliberate. She wants me to see the faint bruise marking the tender skin near her ear. “Am I?”

Anyone but her.

No.

No one else.

I can’t stand the thought of Sawyer touching anyone but me. Why was I so stupid? I turned him down. The fear of being hurt again pales in comparison to the torture of knowing his mouth was on her neck…or anyone else’s.

The restaurant door swings open.

Sawyer pauses in the entryway but raises a hand to hold off the waiter. He’s not supposed to be here.

He’s in the same jeans and button-up shirt he wore earlier at the markets, with a suede jacket thrown on and his hair combed so neat it’s a golden halo under the chandelier. His lips flatten when our eyes meet, but only for a second before his gaze shifts to Kristen.

Oh God.

I can’t see this.

If he kisses her in front of me…

I can’t.

I shoulder past Kristen and plunge into the crowd.

So many faces blur. I choke on perfume and tears, and I know I’m creating a scene, but I palm through the sea of bodies and escape into the corridor.

My heels click in an uneven staccato against the concrete floor as I hurry toward the first door I see.

My shaking hand barely manages to turn the knob, but the door swings open, and the second it closes behind me, I break apart in ragged, hiccupping tears.

The door butts just enough ajar for a sliver of light to stretch into the room.

“Elsie?” Sawyer’s eyes sweep over me. “You okay?”

“I’m h-having”—I suck in a frantic gulp, but my lungs refuse to fill up—“a p–panic attack.”

His eyes are impossibly wide. “I’ve got no fuckin’ idea what to do.”

The door closes as I double over. I desperately don’t want to cry, but I can’t breathe. Frustration jerks every muscle too tight.

Strong arms wrap around me. “Come here.”

Of course I do.

Sawyer edges us through the moonlit darkness to a desk.

Half sitting, half leaning, he drags me closer.

I can’t avoid the warmth of his chest or that intoxicating smell of ocean and cologne when I cling to him.

It’s not the normal way I battle through a panic attack, but hugging him is perfect.

I clutch at his button-up shirt and nuzzle the perfect spot in the crook of his neck until my breathing evens out.

He inches away, his chin dipping lower so he can get a look at me. “Feelin’ better?”

“Y-yes.” I try to force a smile, but it wobbles.

His fingers are gentle on my cheek. “You’re not foolin’ me with that fake smile, Elsie Hoskins. What’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing.”

“You worried about hostin’ this thing?”

I refuse to admit the real reason why I’m so upset. “Yes.”

“Somethin’ else?” He squeezes me against his side. “Come on. I want to hear you speak up.”

I can’t get my voice louder than a whisper. “Please.” I have absolutely no right to ask this, but… “Not Kristen.”

His arm drops from my shoulders. “Fuckin’ hell, Elsie.”

“Choose to be with anyone but her.”

Sawyer drags his hands down his face. “I don’t know whether to be livid that you think I’m fuckin’ a woman who treats you like trash, or…”

“Or?”

“Or to be elated that you’re jealous about how wrong you are.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Of course you fuckin’ are. Kristen showed me some kindness a while back when I was dealin’ with some personal shit. She got me involved in the community center and I’ll tolerate her because of that, but I would never, ever go near her.”

“But the other night…at the center…”

“She was annoyin’ the absolute shit out of me, but I didn’t have the patience to tell her nicely to leave me alone like I usually do. You see…” His index finger tips my chin up to make sure I’m looking straight at him. “There’s this woman I’m sweet on who’s been playin’ hard to get.”

“I’m not playing. None of this is a game to me. And she said that you—”

“She’s lyin’, Elsie.”

I bite down on my lip. Of course, I know that, but the idea of it still hurts. “I was so stupid.”

“You’re the smartest damn person I know.”

“But not when it comes to you.”

“See, you just keep provin’ me right.”

I hiccup a laugh as I trace the line of his jaw. I miss the rough prickle of his beard when I’m wearing these silly satin gloves. His eyelids droop, heavy, and his breathing shallows, but he keeps his hands clawed on his knees.

He’s always waiting for me.

I bend forward. “Say no…”

“Yes.”

I giggle. “Sawyer.”

“If you’re plannin’ on kissin’ me, I’m sayin’ yes.”

My hand cups his cheek. “I like kissing you very much.” He has gorgeous lips.

“Then what are you waitin’ for?”

What is holding me back?

Self-doubt. Fear. But I know he wants me. He told me.

Sawyer groans when my lips brush over his, but he stays ramrod straight, propped against the edge of the desk. I glance down. His knuckles are white. How much control does he have? I want him to let go and paw at me, raw and unrestrained, like the first time.

I kiss the corner of his mouth. “You can kiss me better than that.”

“Can I?”

“Mmhmm.” I slide my hand up the front of his shirt. His heart pounds under my palm. “I want it like at the beach.”

I lean in and kiss him harder, waiting for his lips to part when I tease him with the gentle suggestion of my tongue.

It works. Finally. A low sound rumbles from his chest before he deepens the kiss and draws me into the cradle of his open knees.

Whatever restraint he was clinging to is gone.

His kiss leaves me completely breathless.

He groans. “Elsie…”

“I thought you only wanted to be friends.”

“I’m a fuckin’ liar.” He devours me in another deep kiss.

“I’ve been crazy about you since the day I first saw you.

” His lips land with feverish bites down the column of my throat.

“Outside the grocery store, wearing those fuckin’ knee-high socks.

I wanted to get my dirty mitts under that white ruffly thing you had on. ”

Sawyer’s lips never quite find their favorite place on my neck, and his hand glides down the delicate silk of my dress.

He teases gooseflesh along my spine until he finds the curve of my backside with a possessive squeeze.

There’s nothing else. No knickers. He palms me again, as if he’s making sure he didn’t imagine it.

He groans. “I knew you’d be fuckin’ heaven under all those clothes.

And then you started talkin’ all casual about damn Joan of Arc like she was some chick you met, and I knew I needed you in my bed one day.

” His breath is ragged along my jaw. “God. Not one day. Every fuckin’ day, Elsie.

You hear me? That’s how much I need you. ”

I get another perfect kiss until he pulls back, his hand swallowing my cheek.

“What are you hidin’ from me, Elsie? Tell me.”

I fist his shirt to keep him close, but I can’t look him in the eye. Can’t we just keep kissing? Why does he always want to talk so much?

“Nothing,” I lie.

His brow furrows, a deep crease settling in the middle.

“I want you,” I whisper. That much is the truth. “I want you to like me.” So is that.

“I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. You’re perfect.” He isn’t kissing me anymore, but there’s something hungry in his eyes. “I want to eat you up, Elsie Hoskins.”

I laugh—it’s fun to be silly—but he doesn’t laugh with me. He doesn’t even smile. No, he’s serious.

His eyes drill into mine as his fingers skim over my dress to whisper a fleeting suggestion between my legs. “I want to.”

He can’t mean…?

“Here?” I whisper.

He nods, and his fingers snag the seams of my dress, slowly hitching the silk over my hips. Cool air snakes up my legs. His eyes never leave mine, our gazes locked together, but I’m bare from the waist down if anyone walks through that door.

“You want that?” he murmurs. “You’ve got to speak up.”

“Yes.”

He arches me over the desk in one more searing kiss before he falls to his knees. It isn’t a graceful encounter. He’s impatient. He hooks my leg over his shoulder and groans into my thigh.

“Fuck, Elsie.” He presses a kiss there. “That’s one hell of a sexy surprise.”

There’s no underwear to get in his way, and calloused fingertips glide over the bare skin of my pussy. It’s a teasing touch, surprisingly gentle but calculated. He waits until my breath catches before he torments me with the first flick of his tongue.

“That’s perfect,” I encourage him.

Half-dazed eyes stare up at me as he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth.

Extra slow. He stretches out the torture deliberately.

A low moan of pure pleasure escapes me before I slap a hand over my mouth to avoid attracting the attention of anyone passing the unlocked door.

Sawyer’s eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s smiling down there.

Fighting to keep quiet, to find some balance, my hand scrambles on the desk, pushing a pile of invoices out of the way. My bare bottom butts painfully into the wooden edge with each desperate rock of my hips against Sawyer’s devious mouth.

“You’re incredible at this,” I sigh, my head tipping back.

My pulse stutters. A white chef’s coat is slung over the pile of boxes in the corner.

Shit.

We’re in Luke’s office.

I search for somewhere—anywhere—safe to look.

When I land on a photo of Luke with his parents, I flip it over on the desk.

I’m enjoying Sawyer’s mouth on me too much to be distracted by any of that.

I center myself back in the moment by weaving my fingers through Sawyer’s hair, the strands twinkling golden around my satin gloves.

He’s not distracted. His tongue laps me like he’s desperate to taste me.

I whimper a moan. “That’s it, baby,” I whisper.

Sawyer stills. I glance down to see the glint of those familiar hazel eyes staring up at me.

“Sorry.” I affectionately neaten the messy shag of blond hair off his forehead. “I forgot you don’t like nicknames.”

“I like that one,” is the gruff reply.

His tongue glides in long, languid circles over my clit. I’m half sitting on the desk—Luke’s desk—with my dress around my waist, my leg over Sawyer’s shoulder, and his gifted mouth between my thighs. The worst night of my life somehow became one of the best.

“I’m…close…”

Sawyer groans his approval, but I’m careful to clamp a gloved hand over my mouth to hide the long moan when I come in hard shudders. I fall back onto the desk, gulping in air, blinking in a daze at the fan motionless above me.

“Wow,” I pant.

Sawyer’s hot breath doesn’t disappear when the tremors finally fade. He kisses my thigh, hugging me against him until he shimmies my dress down over my hips.

When he stands, I capture his belt. “My turn,” I say.

He shakes his head, and he uncurls my hand from the buckle, lifting it to his mouth to kiss my knuckles.

“After the dinner,” he says. “We’ll go back to my place. I want to take my time with you.” His finger traces the bottom of my lip, and he smiles softly. “I got a bit carried away.”

“Am I a wreck?”

“You’re beautiful…but your lipstick is smudged.”

“I guess I should tidy up before the auction starts.”

Stroking my cheek, he brushes a wayward tendril of hair behind my ear. “Probably.”

Outside the office door, he buries his nose into the crook of my neck and places a gentle kiss there.

“I’ll wait for you inside,” he says. “Up the back so they don’t kick me out.”

His fingers begrudgingly untangle from mine as we split in opposite directions for the restrooms. Kristen flies around the corner just as our hands part.

“Hey, Sawyer,” she says.

He ignores her and heads into the men’s room.

She narrows in on my flushed cheeks and smeared lipstick, and her mouth curls into a sneer.

I know that look.

It’s a declaration of war.