Chapter Thirteen #2
The stroke was deep and powerful. As tight as she was around him, she was slick.
She rocked back to take him, and the rhythm they found was natural, sensual.
Primitive. His hands slid underneath her, up her trembling stomach, to fold over her breasts.
Lexie pushed into them and fireworks shot through her.
His hips double hitched, shagging her fast and hard. She stared at their reflection in the mirror. Cam stood, muscles rippling, as he fucked her from behind. The look on his face, though, had more than lust and possessiveness. She moaned and let her eyes close as pleasure overwhelmed her.
This wasn’t just fireworks. This was a relationship.
Cam had already left for work when Lexie woke up the next morning. For a moment she lay on the bed, staring at the empty spot next to her. She inhaled deeply and reached out to stroke the wrinkled sheet.
“Mmm,” she sighed, rolling onto her back. She stretched and tried to rouse herself. It was still morning, but it was later than she usually slept. She’d been so dead to the world, she hadn’t even heard Cam get up.
She pulled his pillow to her chest. She could have sworn he’d gotten up in the middle of the night too.
She was going to have to do something about that.
All that moving and shaking could wait. She’d seen the weariness around his eyes and the tension he carried in his shoulders.
She needed to work on keeping him in bed longer.
She smiled softly as she looked across the room at the dresser. Somehow, she didn’t think that would be too difficult.
She was still smiling when she got up and headed to the bathroom.
She showered, washed her hair and got dressed.
She’d just stepped into the living room when she found the bag Blaire had packed, her laptop and her purse all in a neat pile outside the door.
She unpacked and made it until after the lunch hour before she ran out of things to do.
“How do people do this?” she wondered aloud.
She wasn’t used to being bored. When it came to work, she was nearly as bad as Cam. It was a big part of her life, and she didn’t know how to fill her day without it.
Nibbling on her lower lip, she glanced at her laptop.
She didn’t want to think about Underhill Associates.
Like Roxie, she’d had all the family she could stand for a good long time, but her marketing team was another matter.
They’d been right in the middle of a new social media push.
And the quarterly report… Had that been delivered?
The bean counters would need that, and so would Cam.
Feeling her energy pick up, she unpacked her laptop and connected to the internet. She soon found that her marketing team was doing fine without her. They were professionals, after all. She’d hired them.
Going back to her browser, she looked to see if any of Roxie’s initial contacts with the tabloids had made it into print. Half of her hoped they had, while a more rational side agreed with Cam that opening a can of worms might not be a good idea. In the end, she found nothing.
“Apparently five thousand dollars is a good investment,” she muttered.
Setting her laptop aside, Lexie wandered around the apartment.
What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to spend her time?
The pain over her adoption was too raw, and she’d thought about it enough already.
She picked up the crystal paperweight and ran her thumb over the smooth edge.
If she didn’t find something to do, though, that was right where her mind would go.
Her proposal.
She literally stopped. She had no idea what had triggered the thought, but it was a good one. Her proposal to save Underhill Associates… Now there was something she could sink her teeth into, even if she didn’t know what she was going to do with the idea.
She retrieved her keys from her purse and hurried down to the parking garage. Opening the carryall in her backseat, she grabbed a copy of the proposal she’d never gotten to pitch. She smoothed the clear plastic cover. It seemed like years ago that she’d worked on this.
She flipped through the pages as she headed back to the elevator. She was reading by the time she made it to the top floor, and only the dinging of the bell told her that the elevator had stopped.
“It’s good,” she whispered to herself.
The sound echoed in the empty elevator compartment.
“It’s really good.”
The doors started to close on her, and she jumped. Scooting out of the elevator, she hurried back into the penthouse.
The concept was strong, even though there were a few areas that still needed work.
And it was so simple. Julian had been complaining about the changing market for educational toys for months.
Kids quickly tired of the things they had and constantly wanted something new.
With the economy in the tank, though, parents were cutting back and not giving in to their child’s every whim.
So why not help them with that? Why not let them return toys and use the credit to buy something new?
Wasn’t the point of educational games to teach and advance skills? All of Underhill’s games were level based. The kids should be moving on to newer and more challenging things.
She opened the proposal on the coffee table and creased it so it stayed open to the pages she wanted. Julian would hate the idea. He was all about reputation and appearances, and he expected others to feel the same. He never bought anything used, but was recycling toys really beneath them?
Sliding off the sofa, Lexie sat cross-legged on the floor as she started to make notes. Things were so much clearer than they’d been when she’d been hurrying to finish up the proposal the other night.
“Maybe pre-owned is a better term than used,” she murmured.
A toy didn’t have to be new to spark a child’s imagination—only new to them. She’d done enough market studies and focus groups to know that sometimes kids even preferred to play with the box the toy came in over the toy itself.
“New to you,” she amended further. Marketing was all in the presentation.
Her creative juices began to flow. She had the used-toy concept down pat, but there were a few things that still had her hung up.
“Grading condition,” she murmured, “and shipping costs.”
She needed some sort of way to assign value.
Not all toys would come back in the same condition.
She needed a grading system like they used with comic books or antiques.
And shipping costs could sink the whole concept.
Then there were inventory costs, allocation of storage space in their warehouses, database management issues…
Her pen bounced between her thumb and index finger. When her mind was clicking like this, she didn’t get in its way. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to pitch this concept, much less execute it, but an idle mind wasn’t her friend. Pushing away everything else, she began to work.
It was hours later when a knock at the door made Lexie look up. A crick in her neck made her wince, and she stretched. She glanced at her watch as she pushed herself to her feet.
She didn’t know of anyone who’d planned to drop by, although it could be Blaire bringing more things. She’d given the address to Roxie too, although it could be something as simple as building management.
She answered the door.
And stared blankly at the person filling the doorway. It was so unexpected, so out of place, for a moment she couldn’t think straight. “Fath—” She stopped herself again, and everything inside her sharpened. “Hello, Julian.”
“You can’t even call me Father anymore?” he said gruffly.
Her hand tightened around the doorknob. Long-established reflexes had her wanting to say “of course, Fath—” but she couldn’t even get past the endearment in her head. Not yet. “Cam’s not here,” she tried instead.
“I’m not here to see Rowe. I’m here to see my daughter.
” Julian raked a hand through his shock of blond hair.
His elbow bumped against the vase beside him, and the artificial flowers rustled noisily.
He shot it a look that quieted it, yet his chin was still turned from her when he muttered, “If she’ll see me. ”
Manners had Lexie stepping back and opening the door. “Please, come in.”
As polite as they both were being, nerves suddenly assailed her. She’d never anticipated that he’d come here, to her. She wasn’t prepared for this. She had no idea what to say to him or what he expected out of her. She stuffed her hands in her pockets only to remember she was wearing jeans.
Julian hated jeans.
Her father’s walk was stiff as he entered the penthouse, and she felt wooden too. They stepped around each other as if a magnet held them apart, and she frowned. Magnets only repulsed when like was held against like.
Julian moved farther into the room, casting an observant eye over its size, the furnishings and the décor. He nodded as if giving his approval and walked down into the living room. “So, you and Rowe?”
The question hung in the air, demanding an answer even though he already had one.
“Yes.” Their relationship was no secret.
Again, her father nodded. He walked over to take in the view and stared down at the river. “I approve of him. He’s an obstinate fellow, but smart. Loyal.”
Lexie clenched her hands together behind her back. As close as she and Cam were getting, she couldn’t forget who he worked with every day, whose office he went to without fail or which project kept him up late at night. Julian had his loyalty by contract.
She hoped she had it by heart.
“You’ve moved in here with him?”
Again, the question was redundant, something to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Yes.”
“Do you have any plans on moving back to the guesthouse? Maybe after he’s gone?”