Chapter 12 #2
Together, Jules and Pippa turned to see Maxim looming at the end of Pippa’s desk. He had a bored expression and a vaguely irritated tilt to his mouth.
Pippa swiveled her chair to face him. “Yes?”
He jerked his head toward the elevators. “I’m getting coffee. Come with me.”
It didn’t take an ounce of magic to feel the tension threaded through him, as if he were a cable one quick twist away from snapping.
Had she crossed a line with all of the “touching?” They were at work, and even if their thoughts could travel down certain paths, that didn’t automatically mean she was justified in acting on those thoughts.
“Yes, sir.” It slipped out as an apology, as a reaffirmation that, yes, she understood she’d gone out of bounds in their workplace and had made him uncomfortable.
The reaction was immediate, at least to Pippa. Though his expression didn’t change, his fists clenched at his sides and that tic pulsed once along the sharp edge of his jaw. She was beginning to love that tic. It said more about his state of mind than he likely ever would.
“You want me to bring you coffee?” Pippa asked Jules as she stood and brushed the creases out of her skirt. Her palms had begun to sweat during Jules’s interrogation, and a quick glance down reassured her she hadn’t left damp patches on the patterned imitation wool.
Nothing sexier than a sweaty witch.
“Nah, I’m good.” Jules gave the barest purse of her lips. She glanced between Pippa and Maxim, her dark eyes far too calculating for Pippa’s liking.
Before passing through the office doors on their way to the elevators, Pippa glanced back at her desk to make sure she’d logged out of her computer.
Jules hadn’t moved away from Pippa’s desk.
Her eyes narrowed significantly. There was a brief, shining second in which Pippa thought that this was the end of the questioning, that by the time she returned she could think up an excuse that was simple and believable enough to put Detective Cohen’s intrigue to rest. But then Jules’s cherry-red lips fell open into an expression that was part delight, part horror, and part victory at having cracked open yet another mystery to reveal the juicy interior.
Well, hell.
That was a later problem. Pippa wasn’t about to think about a Juliette Cohen confrontation when there were much more pressing things to consider.
She felt the heat from Maxim’s body as they stood together in the elevator lobby, the tightness in the air hovering around them both in an oppressive silence.
One elevator was still out of order, its lobby doors covered in an “X” of yellow tape.
Was he frustrated with her? Mad that she’d distracted him from his work? Completely understandable, of course, but she’d just intended a bit of fun.
“Listen,” she said. “I’m sorr—”
“They’re taking too long.” Maxim let out a low growl and made for the stairwell.
Pippa went after him, having to trot to keep up. “You don’t want to repeat our last elevator adventure?” she said with forced levity.
“Which part? The stabbing, the near-death experience, or the explosive destruction of property?”
“Up to you, really.”
It was hard to hear his scoff over the echoing ring of their descent. She had to skip steps in order to match his pace as he hustled down the stairs, his arms bent close to his sides and his dress shoes clipping against the metal treads.
Maxim paused at a landing and pulled a heavy door open, peeked inside, then shut it and continued down the stairs. Through the opening, Pippa saw stacks of boxes in an unlit hallway; the floor probably contained some company’s product storage.
“What did you need to talk to me about?” she said, nearly out of breath from the quick pace. By now, she was certain that their destination wasn’t Get Buzzed, which was too bad, because her “Frequent Fly-er” card was one punch away from a free latte.
Maxim didn’t answer. He pulled open another door on another landing. The floor plan was a copy of Ivanov, Barry, and Cruz—a long hallway with glass doors at the end plastered in vinyl-cut names followed by acronymed degrees and certifications.
Maxim tugged open a door in the hallway, ushered her in, and closed the door behind him.
A lock clicked into place. They were in a small, dusty room lit with a hanging bulb overhead.
Spare filing cabinets stood along one wall, along with desk organizers, reams of paper, and a long-unused mop leaning against one corner. A closet. He’d led her to a closet.
Pippa opened her mouth to ask what exactly he’d planned for this expedition and then Maxim was pressed up against her back.
His body radiated heat into her, his unsteady breaths ruffled the hair that had escaped her bun and curled on her neck.
His woodsy citrus smell and the spicy warmth of his aura flooded her senses until she couldn’t feel anything except him.
“Strange place for a performance review,” she said. Her sentence ended on a gasp as Maxim’s hands gripped her waist.
“I’m not your boss. I don’t give you performance reviews.” One large palm slid up her side, stopping just below her breasts.
She was going to combust. She’d spent all night thinking of him, thinking of this.
Although, okay, maybe not here exactly, since her fantasies tended to involve more nudity and less discarded office furniture.
After he’d left her apartment, she had replayed the afternoon through her mind over and over and smiled and whimpered and touched herself while she pretended he hadn’t really left.
And now he was here, behind her, touching her, his chest shuddering against her back and his hands clenching on her body.
Pippa arched against him and when she did, felt the hard ridge prodding at her lower back. “I was all ready to apologize for teasing you like I did, but you’ve just destroyed any hope of that.”
She felt his growl more than she heard it.
“The meeting wasn’t the most ideal time.”
“Oh?”
Maxim leaned forward to nip her neck above the scarf, and she bit back a moan.
“Mmhmm,” he rumbled against the corner of her jaw. “You obviously weren’t listening to Kenzie’s presentation about appropriate workplace conduct.”
Oops. “Neither were you, apparently.”
“We’re not in our workplace. It doesn’t count.”
Pippa tipped her head back and to the side, trying to lock eyes and give him an irritated glare. The moment she did, his mouth descended on hers. He gripped her jaw, pinning her as he slanted his lips and flicked his tongue into her mouth in a kiss so fierce that she felt it in her bones.
When they separated, that look was back in his eyes: the fiery, knee-buckling one she was growing to adore.
She twisted around, trying to touch him, trying to hold onto whatever she could, but he grabbed her wrists and held her still.
“No, sweetheart, you’ve done enough touching for now.” In a smooth motion, Maxim spun her around and bent her over one of the spare filing cabinets.
She let out an “Ooh!” as her breasts were crushed against cool metal.
Maxim quickly covered her mouth with his hand to muffle any more sounds and they froze like that for a long second, her bent at the waist and his body pressed against hers as they waited for any commotion from the other side of the door.
“Can’t have you getting loud on me, Beverly,” Maxim murmured at last.
Pippa shook her head, but he didn’t take his hand away.
The fabric of his suit rasped gently over her sweater as his breathing quickened.
He slipped beneath her skirt and started to trace feather-light circles on the back of her thigh.
The tickling, teasing pressure of his touch on her bare skin made her stomach flutter in exactly the right way.
“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” Maxim went higher. “Tap my hand. Or tap anything, three times, and I’ll stop this.” His voice was tight and raw and desperate, like he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping away.
Good. She didn’t want him to.
Pippa lay her palms flat on the filing cabinet and arched back until her ass was grinding against Maxim’s groin.
He gave a sharp exhale, then nudged her underwear to the side and stroked skin already sensitive and slippery. He rubbed at her until she bucked beneath him, then pushed two fingers inside in a single thrust that brought his palm flush against her skin.
Pippa moaned into Maxim’s hand, and even as he held more tightly to muffle her, he choked out a quiet “Oh, fuck” by her ear. When he began to move within her, she became nothing more than an electrified mass of nerves.
He took his hand from her mouth and, with a little tugging, the scarf slid off her shoulder into a puddle on the floor.
The filing cabinet creaked beneath the two of them as Maxim braced himself on his elbow, bringing him closer to her even as he sank his fingers deeper into her body. How easy it was to drown in the bliss of Maxim Sheppard’s nearness and the heady, delectable smell of him.
In this cramped room, she wasn’t a witch. She wasn’t being hunted by monsters or haunted by things she couldn’t control. She was just a horny, happy person getting fingerbanged by someone who was outrageously attractive. And sweet. And who was really quite silly, when he wanted to be.
“Fuck, you feel incredible.”
And who said things like that.
Pippa’s eyes fluttered shut and she curled her fingers into the scuffed metal cabinet.
Maxim kissed his way down her neck, but when he reached the slope of her shoulder where he had bitten her yesterday, he froze.
Just a little bit more of that, and she’d be ready to come. She arched against him in an effort to get his hand moving again.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
She turned to look at him, confused. “Of course! I didn’t tap anything accidentally, did I—”
“Your neck.” He swallowed and straightened, and—Nonono—withdrew his fingers. “I shouldn’t be able to see that mark. Something’s happened to your magic again. Why didn’t you say anything?”