9. Natasha
NATASHA
“Hey, you got a minute?”
I glanced up from my work, twisting around in my swivel chair.
Trent leaned against my office door, arms casually crossed, his dark hair swept back with product.
Damn, the man was insufferably hot. He arched his brow slightly, and I almost expected a team of photographers to appear, shooting him for next month’s cover of GQ.
His fitted suit hugged everything just right, and I had to force myself to look away.
I could only admire him for so long before it would get weird.
Whoever his tailor was, they needed a massive raise. That’s all I’m saying.
“I have a few minutes,” I said, putting my pencil down. “Then I have to get this idea out to Bonnie and Shay.”
“I’ll make it quick then. Wouldn’t want to cross the CAD designers. I’m well aware that they’re a clique I want to be on good terms with.”
I smirked.
He inclined his head. “Join me for a little walk?”
I climbed to my feet, following Trent into the hall. “Where are we going?”
His lips curled into a smile. “I wanted to show you the demo for the showroom that’s going to be set up in our international locations.” He stopped in front of the elevator, hitting the call button.
“The demo…Already?”
The elevator door rolled open, and we climbed in, riding it down. Trent stood next to me, so close—almost too close. I could see the trace of stubble on his jaw and smell the spearmint of his soap. My heart stuttered in my chest. Why was he so close?
“The staff have been working really hard on it,” Trent said, looking away to watch the numbers on the display board count down. “I think you’ll be impressed.”
I frowned up at him. That didn’t make any sense.
How were they working hard on the showroom demo when the designs for the new line weren’t even approved?
As far as I was aware, none of the pieces had gone to production yet.
I traced the chiseled line of his jaw with my gaze, curling my hands by my sides.
I wanted nothing more than to reach out and run my hand along that dark stubble, and not just to make him turn his head back in my direction so I could ask him what the hell he was talking about.
The elevator doors opened, and Trent walked out—no, sauntered out—crossing a floor I didn’t recognize. Where had this been on the tour?
“Where are we?”
“Just this way,” he said, leading me through a door.
It opened to the most luxurious lounge demo I’d ever seen.
In the middle of the floor was a raised pedestal bathed in soft yellow light, and right there, front and center, was the chaise sofa I’d just been drawing in my office.
I turned and gaped at Trent. How was this possible?
I hadn’t even scanned the drawing into the computer or sent the file to the CAD designers.
“What do you think?” Trent asked, giving me a sexy smirk, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I climbed up on the pedestal where the chaise slowly rotated.
I ran my hand over the gleaming dark wood—polished to perfection—and the soft, velvet cushion.
I didn’t usually focus much on fabrics, seeing as custom pieces like this would require the buyer to choose what they wanted, but the deep red was alluring. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
I turned, eyeing him under the soft light.
He’d stepped up on the pedestal, the room narrowing to the two of us slowly turning there.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket, throwing it down on the chaise.
When I opened my mouth to ask him how he’d gotten the chaise made so quickly, he reached for his tie, and my stomach flipped as he popped open the top button of his dress shirt.
“What are you…” I glanced around. Anyone could walk in at any time. My God, were we on a security camera? “What the hell are you doing?”
He smirked, popping another button and another. I just stared, watching perfectly delectable, well-muscled skin appear. A line of dark hair disappeared beneath his slacks. I wanted to chase it like an arrow.
“I’m going to fuck you on this chaise,” he said, the words low and gravelly. Goose bumps exploded across every inch of my body. “We’ll call it quality control testing.”
I licked my lips. Holy fucking shit. He couldn’t be serious. I couldn't seriously be considering saying yes. What I needed to do was walk away. Right now! But I…I needed…he had very nice abs.
Trent shrugged out of his shirt, his broad chest and muscled shoulders on exquisite display, spotlit by the carefully planned lighting arrangement. Squash sure kept this man in shape. Maybe I needed to start playing squash. Maybe I needed to start watching Trent play squash. Naked. Naked squash.
What on earth was I thinking about?
Trent waltzed toward me, unhurried, with the quiet stealth of a big cat. He was delectable and dark and dangerous. Like a panther.
Yep.
He was a sleek, muscular panther filled with explosive power, and I sure hoped he used it to pounce on me.
God, girl! Get a grip. I backed away from him, inch by inch, until my knees hit the chaise, and I collapsed on top of it.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment we met,” Trent said as he leaned over me, getting his knee between my legs.
My words left me, replaced by a breathy little moan.
He smiled, a wicked finger running along my jaw, down my neck, and disappearing between the valley of my breasts. When the hell had I taken my shirt off?
“I’ve wanted you exactly like this. Splayed out for me on a piece of Saunders Furniture.”
My chest heaved. This couldn’t be happening.
I shouldn’t let this happen, but hell if I wanted it to stop.
Trent leaned down, his lips like the promise of fire after the cold, and I surged up, wrapping my arms around his neck.
I kissed him like he was my one and only lifeline, moaning as he sucked at my tongue.
His hands traveled down my body, his hips grinding against me.
A sudden desperation washed through me, aching between my legs, and I almost bucked him off the chaise as his hand slipped beneath the waistline of my pants. Yes, yes! God, I wanted him to touch me there.
I wanted him to—
I startled from the dream so abruptly that my chest clenched, the ache between my legs throbbing out of control. I squeezed my thighs together.
Holy fuck!
It was a dream. Only a goddamn dream. I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to get control of myself.
I was not supposed to be fantasizing about Trent, no matter how sexy he was—and man did dream-Trent really know how to get a girl going.
But this coffee-spilling, parents-hating man was my boss.
Not someone I was supposed to be almost-kissing in abandoned churches, and certainly not someone I was supposed to be crossing boundaries with.
I couldn’t be drooling over someone who treated his parents like garbage.
Get some damn standards, girl.
I had to admit the chaise had looked really good.
When I hadn’t been able to shake Trent from my thoughts, I’d sat down at my desk at work, headphones in, and let myself get lost in the design—my favorite place to be. If I was going to be plagued by that dream, I might as well get something useful out of it.
And I was clearly not getting off, so I saw no reason to let my subconscious designs go to waste.
The line could use a good chaise design.
But losing myself in design wasn’t working the way it usually did.
I bit my lip, tightening my hold on my drawing pencil as I shaded in dark hair.
At some point, I’d veered away from simply drawing the chaise and had added an entwined couple, all bare skin and hands everywhere.
It was possibly the filthiest thing I’d ever drawn.
I sort of wanted to frame it.
But that would be ridiculous. I picked up my eraser, hesitating as I took in the sketch. I supposed this couple could be any couple. The fact that the woman had my curls and the man had Trent’s dark hair and athletic build didn’t mean anything.
I nodded, trying to convince myself that this artistic rendering was in no way related to the dream.
I held the picture up, letting the light spilling in through the window highlight shaded muscles and one very attractive backside.
I hadn’t actually seen dream-Trent’s ass, but I’d seen him around the office enough in those fitted slacks that I could picture it clearly.
Very clearly. Maybe a little too clearly.
Because even in just a pencil sketch, without defined facial features, it was pretty obvious who the subjects were.
I could only hope now that I’d gotten the image down on paper, I could finally get it out of my head and return my focus to the real star of the show.
The chaise.
But before I could crumple the paper and discard it, Trent walked through my open door.
“Have we finalized these desk sets yet?” he said, looking up from a file in his hand. “Because I think they’re ready for production. What’s the holdup?”
I slammed the sketch down on my desk. “Um…which desks?” I said, my voice pitched way too high.
“What do you mean ‘which desks’?” he said, scowling at me. “The ones you designed, obviously.”
“Right, yeah.”
He frowned. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
“Nothing!” I shifted my chair to block Trent’s view of the sketch, but I must have moved too quickly, creating a draft, because the paper fluttered out from behind me and landed on the floor.
Trent reached down and snatched it up before I could.
“No—” Too late. My blood ran cold.
“Well, well…” His expression turned smug. “What do we have here?”
“Give it to me,” I demanded, thrusting my hand out. “It’s not finished.”
“I’d say it looks like something’s about to finish,” he teased.
I rose, half out of my chair, trying to grab it. Trent was taller, holding the sketch out of reach. “Just a second,” he said. “I haven’t finished admiring the proportions of this very lovely chaise.”
“Trent,” I said, annoyed. “I’m serious. Give it here.”