Dream Nights With the CEO (4 page)

“Forget that!” she cried as she clutched at the utility belt around his lean hips. She didn’t even remember a utility belt, but what the hell. It was there, and she was using it.

She grabbed a pair of conveniently placed handcuffs and snapped one around his wrist. She slammed the other around the heavy iron post of her bed. Again, it hadn’t been there before, but it was now.

Beneath his mask, she saw a surprised twinkle in his eyes. “You seriously think that will hold me?”

“I do,” she said. “For just long enough.” Then she cupped him. He was full, hard, and very proud. She stroked him through the Spandex, loving every delectable inch.

She heard his breath hiss in surprised pleasure, and that was enough agreement for her to keep going. Rolling down his tights, she leaned forward, set her lips to his cock, then engulfed him completely. He was big, but her tongue slid over his tip as easily as if it were meant for her. He jumped in her mouth, but she had tight hold of him. And even if she didn’t, she’d settled deep down and begun to suck just as he had for her. Long, hard pulls while his thighs trembled and his breath heated the air against her legs.

Her legs? When had they gone into the sixty-nine position?

Her question stuttered off as she felt his tongue lick wet, rough strokes over her clit. And while she was shuddering in pleasure at that, she felt his fingers press into her. Stretching, pulsing, rolling inside her in an impossibly wonderful way.

Inside her mouth, his cock was pulsing and she attended to him with a need that burned through her. It was like sucking on the best lollipop ever. No gagging. Hot, salty taste. And she knew exactly how to swirl her tongue around and around to elicit another one of his deep, rasping groans.

God, he was so masculine. His sounds filled her even more completely than he did.

Not that what he was doing wasn’t ridiculously good. He was still plunging into her, his fingers thick and so wonderful with the way he touched every part of her. Then his tongue got into the action. What had been long, slow strokes sped up. Faster. Harder.

Her belly tensed. Her back arched.
More. Oh please, more!

She had no idea if her words trembled in the air or not. It didn’t matter. He gave her just want she wanted. Stroke after stroke in a variety of patterns.

Swirl. Push.

Sweep, tease.

He was killing her with the variety, and she loved every second of it.

Nip. Yes, his teeth actually rasped over her clit, and she nearly exploded. “Again,” she said. Or she tried to. Then she realized she could do the same to him. She pulled back her lips and bit together. At the exact same instant.

Both of them seized up.

“Again!” That was him this time.

So she did it. As did he.

Then in perfect concert, they both sucked.

Yes!

Orgasms shot through her. His and hers. Identical.

She screamed, her body convulsing with pleasure.

Then she bolted awake.

Even so, her orgasm continued for another thirty-seven glorious seconds.

Chapter Three

Wyatt woke with an explosive jerk. “Explosive” being the operative term, as his wet dream reached its culmination in an overwhelming—and rather enduring—release. Unable to stop himself, he kept coming while his mind replayed the glory of her scent—sweet and musky—and that incredible abrasion of her teeth.

How he could know these things in a dream, he hadn’t a clue. But he did. Her scent, hell the
taste
of her, was fresh and pure, as if she were lying right next to him and not one room over.

He hoped he hadn’t made any noise. What if he’d woken her? She’d never ask and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her, but damn, just the thought made his face burn.

He struggled out of bed, cleaning himself up as best he could. It was barely after three a.m., but he wasn’t going to sleep now. Not with that dream so fresh and hot in his mind—he was too likely to repeat his very inappropriate fantasy. So he showered, pulled on his favorite pair of ratty sweatpants, and sat down to work.

Fortunately, he had plenty to do, and time soon flew by. Until—maybe a couple hours later—there was an insistent knock on his door.

He stood, groaning at the pull in his muscles as he hobbled to the door. He jerked it open, his mind back on the spreadsheet he’d been manipulating. And there, pristine as always, stood Megan. He blinked at her, only vaguely realizing that the hallway was flooded with sunlight.

Sunlight?

“What time is it?”

“Eight th-thirty, sir,” she stammered, her eyes wide and her cheeks growing pinker by the second. Lord, she was pretty this morning.

“What?” He frowned. “Eight thirty? Did you text me?”

“An hour ago. Um, overcast skies today heading toward rain tomorrow.”

Explained the slight chill in the air. “And don’t call me ‘sir.’ Makes me sound old.” He was only thirty, and it was his grandfather who was called
sir
. “I know I’ve told you that before.”

“Yes, you have, Mr. Monroe.”

He rolled his eyes and scratched idly at his chest. His naked chest.

Then awareness finally flooded in. Awareness that he was standing before Megan in sweatpants that weren’t even tied. That not even the chilly air could disguise his dick’s growing appreciation of her looking all flushed and pretty this morning. Oh hell, he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.

“Shit.” That was it. That was the cleverness he came up with. One word, but it summarized it all.

“I’ll reschedule the meeting with Mr. Paulson for ten,” she was saying, her voice husky. And didn’t his dick love the sound of that? “And, um, would you like me to bring you some coffee?”

He’d already drunk a pot of the in-room kind. Every drop had tasted like crap, but in the middle of the night he hadn’t cared. “Mr. Paulson?” he asked as he abruptly grabbed the nearest shirt off a hanger.

“Owner of this B&B. You said you wanted to talk to him.”

He nodded, his mind hopping back to his spreadsheet. “What do you think of this place?”

She swallowed. “It’s a good buy,” she said, her words careful and slow.

He blinked. “Really?”

“I saw the spreadsheet you sent me sometime after four this morning. It’s a good summary. Does that mean you’re going to buy?”

He heard the careful neutrality in her tone. “Answer the question. What do you think of it?” He gestured to the hotel in general.

She sighed, her breasts lifting and lowering in a distracting display. “It’s boring.”

Like hell, she was. He blinked. Oh yeah. The hotel. “Boring?”

She nodded, then began itemizing the details that her very smart brain had catalogued for him. Most of them would usually be called good things. Non-offensive decor, clean rooms, durable carpets. But taken all together…

“You really hate this place, don’t you?” he asked.

She frowned. “No. I…I just don’t like it very much.”

He nodded. “Okay. Cancel the meeting with Pauly.”

“Mr. Paulson.”

“Whatever. I’ll shower and meet you downstairs in a half hour. We can get on the road early.”

She nodded, but there was clear panic in her expression. And she didn’t move. God, would his erection ever go down? Shouldn’t embarrassment help in that area?

“Megan?”

“Um, are you sure? I mean, the numbers look good. Really good.”

He tilted his head, confused. “If it were your money, would you buy this place?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Enough said.”

“But it’s not my money or my decision!”

“Correct. It’s mine. And I value your opinion.”

“But…” She bit her lip, and he noted that the flesh plumped and swelled under her attention. He nearly groaned out loud.

“Megan,” he said, “go downstairs and order us some breakfast. I’m starving. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.” Now that they didn’t have any meetings today, he could wear jeans and a tee. Thank God.

She nodded, the movement crisp and professional. He started to shut the door, but she put out her hand to stop him.

“Um, sir?”

“Have you ever called me Wyatt?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “We’ve worked together for three years now. Why haven’t you ever called me by my first name?”

She swallowed. “It’s not appropriate, s— Uh, Mr. Monroe.”

“I’m not some multi-billionaire with a stick up his ass. Just call me Wyatt when we’re alone, okay?”

She nodded, her voice quiet. “Uh, Wyatt?”

“Yes?”

“If you give me your shirt, I can fix that button for you.”

He blinked and looked down. Sure enough, in his haste to pull on his shirt, he’d tugged too hard on some buttons. Two—no, three—of them hung by a thread. He looked up. She was standing there with her hand outstretched.
White hand, exquisitely soft as it wrapped around his dick. Then he felt the strength of her…

Oh God. He slammed down hard on those thoughts. “No need,” he said, the words strangled. “I got it.”

Then he gave her a crisp nod before closing his door. Ten seconds later he stepped into any icy cold shower.

…

Megan cradled her hot coffee and closed her eyes. It didn’t help. If anything, it imprinted the sight of her boss in near naked glory even more indelibly on her brain.

She’d always known he was a good looking man, but she’d no idea of the power in his frame. The chiseled cut of his muscular chest. A little bit of hair and a whole lot of muscle. She’d nearly swooned right there. And that was so
not
the sight she’d needed after last night’s erotic dream.

She’d started this morning keyed up, lusting after her mysterious masked savior. And then to see her boss—her boss!—looking like a hot Hulk made her knees go weak and tied her belly into knots. What she wouldn’t give to be the woman to take Wyatt to bed. She’d always loved a big man, and he put even the World Wide Wrestlers to shame.

In fact, she mused, hadn’t he been a wrestler in high school? Bet he’d had girls trailing after him by the dozens.

Lord, what was she doing? Fantasizing about her boss in tight spandex as he pinned someone to the mat? Herself, maybe?

This wasn’t helping. She had to get her libido under control before he came down for breakfast. He was her boss. She needed to focus on work.

So she pulled out her iPad and started studying the spreadsheets he’d sent her. His work was flawless, as usual, but the way he labeled the line items was odd, the categories bizarre. But that was Wyatt’s genius and she enjoyed studying how he thought.

Lots of businessmen could see a piece of property and figure out its current value. But Wyatt had an ability to see potential, to give it a number and project out based on a variety of costs. A lot of it was speculation, but over the last three years, Megan had come to see that his guesses were very close to psychic. It was one of the primary reasons he was so exciting to work for. If she paid very close attention, she would start to understand the method behind his madness.

Though looking at page after page of spreadsheets—easily a dozen of them on Miranda’s Place—she wondered if he was just too much of a sideways thinker for anyone to comprehend. Megan’s gift was in follow through. She might not be able to see the potential, but she sure could help bring it into being.

That led neatly into a topic she’d been planning to broach with him for a month now. A promotion. It was time, she realized. Past time, really. And now they had all day to discuss it. Which naturally pushed her body into a cold sweat.

She waited until they were a half hour outside of Effingham. As was usual for them, he was driving, she was taking notes. Or she would have been if he were talking. Normally, it would have taken at least that long for him to stop going on about this property or that idea, but today he was unusually silent. So a half hour into their drive, she had no excuse left.

“Um, Mr. Monroe—”

“I thought you were going to call me Wyatt.”

She blinked, thrown off track for a moment. “Sorry, Wyatt.” His name rolled too easily off her tongue. Maybe it was last night’s dream, maybe it was another email from her mother about the joys of children, but she was feeling extraordinarily attracted to her boss right then.

It was only natural. They’d worked side by side for over three years now. He was the most amazing man she’d ever known, and he was drop dead gorgeous to boot. Of course she was attracted to him. That was why she’d called him “Mr. Monroe” and “sir” for all these years. It reminded her that he was off limits. She loved her job, and she’d be damned if she let hormones derail what she planned. Especially now that she was about to demand a promotion.

“No need to apologize. It just that I’ve been thinking about when we first met. You were a maid then. I was the new owner. ‘Mr. Monroe’ was appropriate. But now…” He shrugged. “It just feels stilted all of a sudden.”

He was right. And if she wanted to be on a more even basis with him—professionally speaking—it only made sense for her to stop talking to him like she was still just a housekeeper. “All right, Wyatt, I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about.”

He glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. It seemed part wariness, part excitement. As if his eyes warmed even as he grew nervous, but he didn’t speak. Eventually, she realized that he was waiting for her to say what was on her mind.

“Right. I think, um—Wyatt—I mean…” She took a deep breath.
Be bold!
You deserve this.
“It’s time I had more responsibility. And, um, a raise.”

He glanced over at her again. She looked at the road. The car was tracking straight. Everything about him was rock steady except for that little look. And here her heart was beating triple time..

When he spoke, his deep voice filled the little car almost to bursting. “What more responsibility do you want? Has it become, um, difficult as my assistant?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’d like to continue in this capacity. But I’ve been looking at your numbers.”

He arched a brow at her, and she shrugged. “You send me spreadsheets nearly every day. Did you think I didn’t look at them?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, of course you look at them. I just…” He flashed her a rueful smile. “They’re only my tortured thoughts—”

“Put down in an intelligible fashion. Here’s the thing. You hate making sure that what you see for a project actually happens. You like the thinking up part.”

This time his smile was wider and rather handsome. “‘Like’ is such a pale word. I would go with ‘obsessed’ with that part. Driven by it. Neurotically so.”

She chuckled. “I was trying to be polite.”

“Don’t. Just say what’s on your mind.”

“Okay. You hate the follow through, but I love it. I like yelling at contractors, picking out paint, and seeing the details come to life. I know I’ll need lots of direction, but I think I can do it. And I want the chance.”

He was silent a long time. They were in a freeway interchange, so he had to navigate that. But once they were through, he was still silent. Not a word, not a gesture. And pretty soon Megan was wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. She liked her job. Why was she pushing—

No
, she stopped herself. She wanted this promotion. She deserved it. And she’d be damned if she let anyone—even Wyatt, her hot, brilliant boss—keep her from it.

In the end, he finally nodded. “Okay. Promotion plus a twenty percent raise. Whatever property I buy, you get to spearhead the work. On one condition.”

Her heart had leapt nearly out of her throat at his words. Twenty percent raise? Yes! But then she processed his last three words. “What condition?” she said, pleased that she hadn’t stammered.

He didn’t answer until he’d pulled over into a rest stop. Then he parked the car and killed the engine before turning to face her directly. His gaze was so dark that she stopped breathing. She’d never seen him looking so…haunted.

“What did I say to you?”

“What?”

“Back at Miranda’s Place, you told Miss Clark that I had said something to you. Something horrible that you needed to hear. What was it?”

Megan felt the blood drain from her face as he asked—no, he demanded—that she expose one of her most painful memories to him. She wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember it. What had been a normal, generous discussion for him had been a watershed horror for her. But its full effects hadn’t hit her for days.

Of course he didn’t know what he’d done. She sighed. “I was so young then.”

“When? Three years ago? We’ve only been working together that long.”

“Almost four,” she said. But it felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed for her since that morning. “It’s not important,” she said, but looking at his face, she knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

“I hurt you,” he said softly. “I want to know how. I want to try to fix it.”

She smiled, her heart melting. Wyatt the fixer. That wasn’t how she usually thought of him, but it fit. He saw potential and tried to make things better. It was one of the reasons she…

Well, she wasn’t going to let her emotions start talking now. That was the surest way to disaster.

“Megan—”

“I’m not broken, Wyatt. I was young and needed a wake-up call. You gave that to me.”