BoardResolution (2 page)

“It doesn’t suggest a hard-edged business woman, someone able to shrivel a man’s testicles with a glance, though I have seen you do that. Almost as often as I’ve seen you arouse my men with the simple scent of your perfume, or a glimpse of those killer legs. Particularly when you lean back and cross them so modestly, and you show just the hint of the lace top of your stocking before
it’s
gone, like a mirage to a man dying of thirst.”

Savannah stayed stock-still, her fingers gripping the handle of her case. “Are you making a point, Matthew, or have you lost your mind?”

“We’re discussing names, I believe, and my point is that a name very much reflects who a person is, deep inside. Savannah suggests a soft, giving woman. When I look at you, Savannah…” He paused, lingering over the name, making a flush rise on her neck. “…I see you waking up in my bed, the cotton sheets caught between your calves, that soft, luscious body molded by a satin sheath with spaghetti straps. One of those straps is falling off the shoulder, so your breast is almost completely exposed, though just not quite. And when I come to you, touch you, make you smile, all that fine, beautiful hair is rumpled and framing your face…”

His gaze flickered over the loosened tendrils that she suddenly wished she had not drawn free of her usually impeccable twist.

She pulled the briefcase off the table, a jerk of motion so he wouldn’t see that her hand was shaking. Men did not affect her that way. “I don’t know what this is, Matthew, but it’s not a business meeting. I’m leaving.”

“Sit.
Down.”

The snap of his voice caused her to jump, which made her angry, frosted her voice. “I beg your pardon?”

He straightened off the table, one lithe, quick movement, but his steps toward her were measured, the intent but slow paces of a wolf stalking prey.
Or in his case, a shark, those dark glittering eyes promising no mercy.

“You heard me. Sit your pretty ass down, now, or I’ll wear it out so you can’t sit for a week.”

Shock gripped her, both at the words and at the serious intent in his eyes, which told her he very likely meant the astounding thing he had just said. She should be giving him a disdainful look, turning and making her exit, but she couldn’t make her feet move. As if his words were a lightning bolt that had immobilized her in a crackle of powerful current that charged her entire body, all the cells vibrated with apprehension and something else, something rising in her, responding to him and his ridiculous words.

He took another step toward her.
Then another.
“You drive a man to distraction. Not just the sneaky bit of leg, but that drape of neckline revealing a tiny cup of lace just barely holding your breast in when you lean forward to make a point. The
way
you touch your hair just behind your ear, lightly, or moisten your lips when you talk.”

“Stop it,” she whispered.
“Stop.”

But he didn’t. Not his forward movement or his words. “That’s the thing. You’re teasing my men, but you’re challenging me. From the first moment we met, you’ve known you were mine. Every negotiation has been a dare, a taunt. You want me to prove I’ve got what it takes to make you submit, claim what’s been mine all along.”

Why was her pulse pounding like she was hearing a terrible truth instead of the ravings of a lunatic?

“You’re a tough nut to crack, aren’t you, little girl?” He was almost around the table, and still she couldn’t move. His footfalls were silent, hushed in the carpet.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He nodded, dark brows drawing down like the shadow of a hawk’s wings. “You’re not a little girl. You’ve never been a little girl.
Groomed from birth to take the reins of your father’s empire.
Daddy’s closer all your adult life, and then you stepped right into his shoes when he died. You’ve never allowed yourself to be vulnerable, never allowed yourself to be a woman, never daring to risk it. You’ve become so good at it you don’t even know you have a warm, wet, soft pussy, aching for a cock.
My cock.

“Tell me, little girl. What would you do right now if I turned you over my knee and gave you a spanking?”

She’d gone from shock to fury, and she didn’t care what game he was playing or the fact her panties were soaked and her hands were damp with nervous perspiration.

Yes, she had a subliminal awareness of what the slit of a skirt or a glimpse of cleavage would do to powerful men, had even enjoyed fleeting thoughts of them struggling to focus, though she’d never gone so far as he had intimated. She’d never imagined the crude reality of erections distracting them under the table.

That subliminal awareness was part of the charge.
Sex and negotiation.
Power.
Control.

Her eyes widened at the connection, the understanding of her own body’s unexpected response. This was the same as a negotiation, only he’d taken it to a whole new level.
A level on which she had almost zero experience, and he knew it.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips firmed. He’d changed the game level, but not the game itself.

She didn’t know what Matt was up to, but she’d beaten him before. She could beat him at this as well, whatever it was. Make it to a draw, with both parties satisfied. Business played the way they normally played it was as much of a rush as sex, and the line could get thin between the two. She understood that, gripped the truth of it like a lifeline to steady
herself
.

“What would I do if you tried to spank me? I think I’d leave a nice set of scars down that handsome jaw of yours.”

“You like to fight, don’t you? Let’s really fight, then.” His voice dropped to a rumble that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “Tear at me, leave behind the civilized façade that we pretend to have at this table. Go for it. Fight me. Because
come
hell or high water, I’m going to have you tonight. Take you right here in this room, and have you call me Master.”

“I think those giant balls you’re rumored to have are going to be rolling around the floor first.”

“Hmm.”
One black brow now arched and the dark eyes glittered like coal exposed to candlelight. “I’ve never heard you be crude, Savannah. But you probably don’t realize that’s not really your way, do you? You’ve been meeting someone else’s expectations so long you’ve never developed an identity of your own. Geoffrey engineered the perfect chameleon, straight from his loins. If you’d submit to me, maybe you could find out who you really are.”

“Using personal insults to get a woman to spread her legs for you.
That’s a unique come-on. I’ve got things to do, Matthew. Good night.”

“You’re not leaving.”

As he loomed over her, oddly she chose that moment to notice how white his shirt was, fresh and pressed. She knew how that would smell, the clean starch of a well-laundered shirt.
The smell of him beneath it.
His hair was shaved perfectly at the nape and she wondered how that would feel beneath her fingertips, how those big, restless hands would feel on her body, what he could do to her with that unsmiling mouth. She could almost feel her skin prickle in anticipation of the rasp of the five o’clock shadow.

She
was
a chameleon. He was right about that.
Tennyson Rule Four:
Never show fear.

She couldn’t go around him, and she had a momentary, dangerously appealing image of a desperate feint to scurry for the elevator. She quelled the ridiculous image and the apprehension that had fueled it, and set her briefcase deliberately back on the table. She faced him, her back straight, hands at her sides. “Fine, then. You’re right, Matthew. We’re two adults. We have a sexual attraction. It’s obvious. Let’s relieve it. We’ll have
sex,
get it out of the way. I’m sure you’ve indulged the itch as often as I have on a boring Friday night.”

Coal became fuel with fire. She was reminded of that by the expression that flared in his dark eyes, even though his voice remained mild.
Dangerously so.

“That’s good, Savannah.
Very good.
But I don’t want to scratch an itch.” He closed that last step and his arm went around her waist, his other to her hair. He yanked out her barrette in a rough motion that sent her hair tumbling down, around her face and over one eye. She would have shaken it back, but he immediately had a fistful of it and yanked it, letting her feel the brute strength that was his to command. “You won’t make any more references to anyone you’ve ever fucked. You’re mine, Savannah.”

“Go to hell,” she snapped, and gasped as his mouth came down on hers, hard, hot and hungry, his hands still tight on her hair and waist.

At the first touch, she knew she’d lost the edge. He was pure male beast, heat and superior strength. All the images she’d fantasized late at night in her lonely bed, with him as the center feature, now flooded her senses. Fantasy combined with reality to make her weak, out of control. His tongue caressed hers with a skill that let her know what he could do with it elsewhere, but he wasn’t seducing her. He was taking over, demanding unconditional surrender.

But you only surrendered unconditionally if you had no weapons left, and she sure as hell wasn’t there yet.

She bit down on his tongue, got her hands in between them and shoved at his face to break away. When she wrenched away, he tore her blouse open, revealing flesh barely confined in the shelf cups of the lacy bra, as he had described them. Savannah slapped him, used her nails with pleasure to draw blood. He caught her wrist before she could jerk back and, despite her struggles, he brought that hand back to his face, rubbed her fingertips in the welts. Taking three of the fingers into his mouth, he slowly sucked at his blood and her flesh, freezing her in place with the sheer ferocity of the gesture, the flame in his eyes as he did it.

She had known he was fit, toned. She hadn’t realized he was so bloody strong. Catching her other wrist, he swung her around and pinned her against the wall, pressing his body against the full length of hers, lifting her. As he came up against her, he insinuated his knee between hers so her snug skirt rode up at pressure of his leg. With her toes stretched to hold onto the floor, her pussy was her center of gravity, pressed hard against the muscular length of his thigh. She automatically tightened her muscles to hold her balance, and the feel of that, the close relation it had to clamping her thighs around his hips, made her breath leave her. She yanked at her wrists, her legs thrashing, but he simply held her in place. She bent her fingers back into claws, prepared to strike if he gave her the chance.

With his gaze never leaving hers, he brought one set of those sharp fingertips back to his face.

She stopped struggling, realizing she was just wasting energy she might need when he shifted his grip and gave her another opening. It was senseless to fight him on ground where he had the advantage. She had to wait for the weak moment.

At least that’s what she told herself, to explain why she suddenly went so still, like a frozen rabbit, as the hunter took her hand into his mouth again, stroking the tender crevices between her fingers with tender touches of his tongue, down to the palm.
Down to the sensitive pulse point of her wrist.
Her hand now curled over his eye and nose, her nails within a lash length of his vulnerable brown iris, and she could not make herself move. Her heart hammering against her ribs, she could only stare at him.

“This is rape,” she managed.

“No, it’s not. You’re not trembling because of that. You’re the type of woman who’d fight a mugger to the death to keep his filthy fingers off your Rolex, and just be pissed off if he pulled a gun.”

He feathered the knuckles of his free hand down her cheek, startling her. “If there’s one thing about you that scares me, Savannah, it’s that.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re afraid I’ll make you do and feel things you don’t let yourself feel. You’re afraid if you expose your throat, I’ll rip it out. You don’t believe you can trust anyone, especially a lover.”

“We aren’t lovers, Matthew.”

“You are such a liar.” The offensive words were spoken softly, like a caress against her skin, putting her further off balance. Pressing her up against the wall, he rubbed his thigh, slow and strong, against her mound. Her feet left the floor, his grip on her wrists her only way of staying upright, a precarious position that made her thighs clamp harder around his, increasing the pressure of her clit against lean muscle. “We’ve been lovers since the moment we met, the first time we sparred at a conference table.” His face and lips had somehow gotten closer, so his cheek was now almost against hers, his five o’clock shadow sliding along her
jawline
, his breath tickling her ear. “Every offer and counteroffer has been a thrust and withdrawal, a teasing foreplay that you felt as much as I did. You think I didn’t notice when you’d lean back in your chair and cross your legs, like you were listening to me make a point, but I saw the slight tightening of your thighs. You were aroused and indulging the sensation, giving your pussy a sweet, secret squeeze.”

Savannah drew in a shuddering breath as he pressed his lips just beneath her ear, his hair brushing the side of her face. Her hands balled into fists of need rather than anger.

“Or that time you stood at my shoulder, leaning over to point out something in a report. You had your hand on the back of my chair, and your blouse fell open just a bit, like the petals of a flower, showing me that ripe breast. I inhaled the smell of your perfume, imagined you touching yourself there with the wand of your perfume bottle first thing in the morning. When I let out that breath, the heat of it touched you. Your nipple got tight. When you straightened, I saw it pressing against your blouse, even through your bra.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She jerked her head away from his mouth and swung, knocking him smartly in the temple. Seizing his ear between her teeth, she bit.