Made to Love (10 page)

“Deal,” she replied.  She turned her face to
mine and I ravished her mouth thoroughly once more before heading to the door. 

“Thank you, Miss Andrews.  It’s always a
pleasure,” I joked, before leaving and heading back to my own office, the smell
of her following me the entire way there.

Reagan

I sat back down at my desk after Nathan left,
feeling flushed and unsatisfied.  My entire body was still singing in response
to the make out session we’d just indulged in, and I’m pretty sure I needed to
change my underwear.  I raised a hand to my mouth, which was still tingling and
probably swollen.  Every nerve was on high alert.  It was good things had ended
when they did, because honestly?  Much more and I’m sure I would have exploded again,
right there on his lap.  I didn’t know if it was testament to Nathan’s skill,
or the fact that my body now knew what it felt like to have his fingers inside
it, but whatever it was, I wanted more of it. 

I was nervous about things progressing with
Nathan.  He made me feel things I couldn’t explain; things I was honest enough
to admit I wanted.  It worried me that I’d been out with him once already and
had yet to clearly define my limitations, the things I needed to establish to
make this relationship, or whatever it was, work for me.   But for the first
time that I could remember, I actually
wanted
a guy to hang around.  The
thought of having no other contact with Nathan outside of the obligatory hook
up upset me.  And the fact that it upset me, worried me.  Because minimal
contact relationships were my thing; it’s what I did.  What if I had an episode
when he was with me?  Him being with me, us having a real, honest to God
relationship, meant I would have to explain things I had never bothered to, or
needed to, before.  Was I ready for that?

I shook my head at myself.  I liked him, he
liked me, and we were going to leave it at that for the time being.  I needed
to stick with that and stop letting my head mess with what I wanted.  At least
for now.  Should the need to explain my past, and the issues it presented, ever
arise . . . well, I would cross that bridge if I came to it.

My thoughts were interrupted by an incoming
email from Isaac.  He was due back sometime next week, and his emailed instructions
to me regarding the Johnson & Johnson account were coming with increased
frequency.  I had no choice but to turn my attention to work, and buried myself
in it, working straight through lunch.  I was preparing for a two o’clock
meeting at Grand Central, when my IM pinged.

Nathan.

NPreston:  Dinner?

I hesitated, a quick denial coming to mind.  But
. . . what the hell?  Besides, I would be denying out of habit, not from any
real desire to say no. 

RAndrews:  Perhaps.  What did you have
mind?

NPreston:  My place.  7-ish?

His place.  Certainly a big leap from the
wine bar.  My fingers danced above the keys.  Decisions, decisions.   Was I
really ready for
this? 
I had already experienced how quickly things
could get out of control with him here at the office.   Was I ready to be alone
with him at his house, with his bedroom within walking distance?

So much for my earlier mental pep talk.  The
fact that I was interpreting his request for dinner as an invitation to show up
naked just further proved how fast I was losing it.  I had to get a grip!

NPreston: Hello?

RAndrews: Sorry!  Yes, dinner sounds
good.  Can I bring anything?

NPreston:  Just yourself :)  I can pick
you up?

Reagan: I’ll take a cab.  Send me the
address.  See you tonight! :)

Angela appeared in my doorway, and I quickly
signed out and grabbed my binder for the meeting.  I couldn’t concentrate as
Bailey rambled on about Isaac’s impending return, and other miscellaneous
information. 

I was having dinner tonight with Nathan.  At
his house.  

Sorry, Bailey.  Some things just take
precedence.

I became more agitated as the meeting wore
on, each minute bringing me closer to seven o’clock.  Should I go home and
change?  I didn’t want to overdress, but didn’t want to show up in the rumpled clothes
I’d worn all day, either.   I definitely needed a makeup refresher . . .
perhaps do something different with this hair.

Maybe I should stop and get a bottle of
wine. 

Or maybe I was making too much of this and I
just needed to head over there straight from work.  I didn’t want to appear
like I was trying too hard.  My inexperience with these types of things left me
with too many “maybes”, and I had no one to help me fill in the blanks.

I was anxiously checking the time when Bailey
called my name.  I looked up, clearly at a loss on what had been said.

Shit.

“Yes?”  I hoped to God Bailey took this as a
question, as in “Yes, what did you need?” rather than an agreement, as in “Yes,
I would love to take that on” type thing.  This is what I get for not
listening.

“You will be meeting with Robert Johnson over
drinks this Friday evening to finalize some plans.  Mr. Preston will be unable
to attend, but I’m told it will be informal.  I will get details to you before
then.”

Nothing like telling me last minute!

I hadn’t thought anything could distract me
from my evening plans, but Bailey’s words had done it.  The Johnson &
Johnson account was huge, meaning millions to Elite, and wining and dining said
clients was being left up to me?  What if I completely screwed up?  What if I
had one of my panic attacks during dinner and Robert Johnson called the whole
thing off because, really, who wants to deal with a weirdo, right? 

Who leaves client entertainment up to the
newbie?  I mean,
who does that
?  It was like sending in a first year
resident to do solo brain surgery.  Or asking the new office temp to build a
new payroll system because, hey, she’s good at Excel so naturally she must be
tech-savvy. 

Seriously?

The meeting adjourned and I walked back to my
office, still anxious, but for entirely different reasons.  Bailey quickly
followed me. 

“Sorry I didn’t give you a heads up.  I just
got the info from Isaac as I was heading to Grand Central.”  He leaned against
the doorframe.  “Want me to go with you?”

Yes, please. 
“I think I should be
okay.  How hard can it be, right?” I joked.

Bailey winked.  “That’s my girl!  You’ll be
getting some talking points from Isaac in your email, if you don’t have them
already.  Just look them over, show Robert the plans, and keep him happy. 
You’ll be fine.”

His confidence in me was overly generous, and
I felt unwarranted.  I’d only been working here just under two weeks; how did
he know me well enough to know I’d be fine? 

After promising to let him know if I changed
my mind about him accompanying me, he left and I checked for Isaac’s email,
eager to see what information he had shared that would help put my mind at
ease.  My heart skipped a beat when I noticed Nathan had responded to my
earlier IM with his address.  Part of me wanted to cancel, take the time
instead to go over the information from Isaac and make sure I was fully
prepared for Friday night.  But seeing that address in the corner of my screen
made me realize how badly I wanted to go. 

I jotted the address down, and then dug into
Isaac’s email.  There were a lot of things he wanted me to cover and I resisted
the urge to run to Bailey’s office and raise the white flag.  I worked through
the rest of the afternoon, alternating between familiarizing myself with
Isaac’s requests and checking the time.  Finally, shortly after six o’clock, I
packed up my things and headed to the bathroom.  I’d opted to forgo going all
the way home to change, but knew I definitely needed to freshen up. 

My nerves were strung tight, but I couldn’t
escape the small knot of excitement that had settled in my belly.  I had
promised myself to just relax, enjoy the evening, and let it go where it
would.   I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment, before pulling all the
pins from my hair and shaking it loose.  It fell heavily down my back and I
fluffed it up with my fingers.

Too much? 

I decided to go with it, and moved on to
reapplying my mascara and gloss.  I squirted a few shots of body spray I had in
my bag, and finally satisfied I didn’t look or feel as if I’d slept in my
clothes, I headed down to the lobby. 

“Miss Andrews,” the security guard called as
I passed his desk.  “Here, this is for you.”

I stopped as he handed me a white envelope,
the front of which was blank.  Intrigued, I opened it and found a small note
inside, written in a sloping masculine scrawl.

You’re probably wondering if you should
cancel.  You shouldn’t . . . I’m grilling

steak and plan to turn on my incredible
charm, both of which I’m pretty sure are

hard to resist.  You don’t want to miss
it, trust me.

                                                                                                                Nathan

P.S.  Don’t make me come get you.

                My cheeks flushed as I read his words.  He was
right on all counts, and I had not even the slightest doubt that if I did
cancel on him, he would seek me out at my apartment just as he promised. 
Stomach clenching in nervous anticipation, I tossed the note in my bag and
headed out to hail a cab.

Nathan

I hadn’t planned to bring Reagan here this
soon, but my desire to spend time with her was quite literally overruling any
logical thought.  Despite my plans to bed her and get her out of my system, I
couldn’t escape the nagging notion that it wouldn’t be that simple.  Hard to
get had never held my desire, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had put forth
this much effort just to get a woman into my bed.  And to actually be enjoying
those efforts was completely foreign. 

I refused to dwell, however, as I flipped the
steaks.  It was just after seven, and I waited with bated breath to see if she
would show.  In the short time I’d known her, it seemed she tended to overthink
things and I half expected her to have talked herself out of coming.  Which
would suck, because then I’d have to go track her down and these New York
strips would go to waste. 

I sighed in relief when I heard the
doorbell. 
She’s here.

I headed to the front foyer and opened the
door.  The first thing I noticed was her hair.  She’d taken it down since I’d
seen her at the office, and it fell in a thick, dark curtain over her
shoulder.  I itched to wrap it around my hand as I did unspeakable things to
her body. 

All in good time.

“You showed,” I commented, stepping aside to
let her in. 

“I was told there would be steak and charm
here tonight.  I figured it was worth investigating,” she shot back. 

I raised an eyebrow at her as I took the
bottle of wine she held out to me. 
Touché.
   

We headed into the kitchen where the sliding
glass doors were opened to the deck.  Raising a finger in her direction, I
stepped outside and slid the steaks onto a plate and brought them in.  I set
them on the counter and winked at her.  “I am most definitely a man of my
word.”

She eyed the steaks and chuckled.  “I am sure
you are.”  Our eyes met momentarily.  Her words weren’t referring to just the
food, and we both knew it.  Her cheeks tinged pink.  She was nervous, but
trying her damnedest to not show it.  “What can I do to help?”

I immediately set out to put her at ease.   I
uncorked the wine, poured her a glass and handed it to her.  “You can take
this, go sit and relax.  Hungry?” I asked as I gestured to the table,
beautifully set by my housekeeper earlier that afternoon. 
Thank you, Joyce.

“I am, actually,” she answered.  She took her
glass in one hand, and picked up the plate of steaks in the other.  As an
afterthought, she grabbed the wine bottle with the crook of her elbow and held
it against her, and then headed to the table and sat down.  I followed with the
salad and garlic bread.  We ate companionably, making idle chatter, and I
watched her gradually relax.  I found myself simply watching her as she rattled
on about some surprise meeting with Robert Johnson on Friday night. 

Wait, what?

My eyes narrowed as I turned my attention to
the conversation at hand.  I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her
entertaining Robert Johnson alone.  Not at all.  It wasn’t that I doubted her
ability, but I knew Robert Johnson.  There was no way this dinner was happening
without my presence.   Damn Isaac for putting this on her in the first place!

My face gave away nothing as we finished
eating and she helped me clear the dishes.  Turning, I extended my hand to
her.  “How about a tour?”

We walked hand in hand throughout my
brownstone, as I chatted aimlessly about mundane features such as the flat
screen TV that extended from the ceiling at the push of a button, or the built
in surround sound that filled the entire place; things I’m sure she cared
nothing about, but things I was using to ignore the feel of her hand in mine,
and how much it made me want to suck on her fingers.  I was purposely avoiding
my bedroom, and I could tell by the way her eyes darted to the side, that it
didn’t escape her notice.  I was stalling, and couldn’t explain why.  What was
I doing giving her some lame ass tour of my house when had it been any other
woman in my home, she’d already be on her back?  I never bothered with
formalities.  And Reagan on her back was where this was headed, right?  So what
was my problem?   I was suddenly irritated with myself. 

Realizing I had better move this along before
she fell asleep of boredom, I turned away from the doorway of my office and
slowly began to ascend the staircase to the second floor.  Reagan hesitated
uncertainly at the bottom step, her arm extended as our hands remained
clasped.  I waited, saying nothing. 
Come on baby, don’t give up on me now.

She refused to look at me, as she seemed to
come to some sort of decision.  She gulped back the rest of her wine and
climbed up to the step below me.  I still didn’t say anything; but simply
turned and together we headed to the second floor.

Game on.

I didn’t bother to stop at guest bedroom or
the master bath, but headed straight for the closed door at the end of the
hall.  Anticipation pulsed through my veins as I relished that the moment I had
been thinking about, no – obsessing about – was finally at hand.  The
atmosphere around us had taken a turn, suddenly charged with feverish tension. 
I hadn’t felt this aroused since I’d lost my virginity as a teen.  I opened the
door, and then, dredging up every ounce of willpower I had, stopped in the
doorway. 

“So, this is it,” she whispered so softly I
wasn’t sure if she even meant to say it at all.  I watched the pulse in her
neck as it beat a steady rhythm against her skin.  Hell, she was as nervous as
I was.

She looked around, her eyes avoiding the very
large bed in the center of the room.  I stood my ground in the doorway.  If we
ventured into the room, and to the things that would surely follow, she had to
take the first step.  My heart stopped the next second as she did exactly that.

“You look like him,” she murmured as I
watched her walk over to my dresser and lean down toward a picture of me and
Thomas.  She was right; outside of our difference in hair color, my brother and
I could have been twins.  “When was it taken?”

Dear God, I had this woman in my bedroom,
mere feet away from my bed, and she wanted to talk about Thomas.  I took a deep
breath, working to stave off the urge to pick her up and lay her across the bed. 
Or up against the wall.  At this point, either would work.  I ran a hand
through my hair and walked over to join her at the dresser, staring down at the
photo she was referring to.  “About a year before he died.”

  I continued to stare at the picture,
momentarily lost in thought I had just returned from a four month stint in
Australia, seeing the sites, and enjoying the women.  Thomas had picked me up
at the airport, and had spontaneously taken a picture of the two of us on my
phone.  I had no idea what had prompted him to do so; selfies were so unlike
him.  He’d been practically beside himself as he’d animatedly talked to me
about an idea he’d had for a new business venture.  Something that would have
taken him away from our father’s empire, a place Thomas had never desired to be
a part of, regardless of how much he’d loved our father.  Thomas had had ideas,
plans for the future and had wanted me to be by his side and help bring them to
fruition.

Thinking back now, perhaps he’d simply wanted
to capture the happiness of the moment.  Whatever the reason, I was glad he
had.  It was my favorite picture of us. 

I frowned slightly as I thought about that
day.  Thomas hadn’t gotten the chance to begin work on his plan, thanks to our
father, who’d given him a multi-million dollar account that had drained most of
his time and energy for the next eight months.  And then, well, he’d ended up
in a box in the ground not long after, courtesy of some idiot drunk driver. 
His ideas would never see the light of day.

Reagan reached down and clasped my hand
again.  I looked down at her, shaking off the melancholy thoughts that had
crept into my head.  She tilted her face up to mine, staring into my eyes for a
few fleeting seconds before her lids fluttered shut and I covered her mouth
with my own.  I tried, I really did, to be gentle, but my hunger for her
snapped into focus on this one single moment, shutting out all other rational
thought.  I devoured her mouth, afraid to push her too much too fast, but
unable to separate that fear from the very real feel of her body against mine. 
I let go of her hand and grabbed her waist, pressing her against my cock, which
was hard and straining against my jeans.  Her hands were restless against me,
tugging at my shoulders, running through my hair, clawing at my back.  It was
as if she wanted to touch all of me but didn’t know where to begin. 

I slid my mouth down to her neck, gently
sucking and kissing my way across her collarbone.  I glanced up at her,
hesitating briefly, wondering if and when she’d be pulling the brakes on what
was happening.  Her eyes were closed, her brow slightly furrowed as she gripped
my hair and pressed my head firmly to her chest in silent permission.  I
grinned against her skin.  She wasn’t going to brake check me just yet. 

I reached up and popped open a few buttons on
her shirt, my lips covering every inch of skin as I slid it open.  I raised my
head slightly when her left breast was revealed, covered in nothing more than a
tiny scrap of white lace.  Goosebumps danced across her skin as I flicked her
nipple with my tongue through her bra, watching as it puckered into a hard
pebble, demanding to be kissed.  I had a fleeting thought that perhaps I should
reign myself in long enough to get her to the bed, but then she shrugged out of
her blouse completely, standing before me in nothing but her lacy bra and black
pencil skirt, and I forgot all about the bed for the moment.  I knew there had
never been anyone sexier than she was, right here, right now. 

I straightened and wrapped my arms around
hers, suddenly unable to get close enough to her.  I groaned as I captured her
mouth again, squeezing her against me.  Through the recesses of my foggy brain,
I slowly became aware she wasn’t kissing me back.  I opened my eyes, taking in
the rigid set of her shoulders and the hands that had fallen from my waist and
now hung limply at her side. 

What the hell?
 

I raised my head to look at her.  Her eyes
were shut, her face completely drained of color.

Something was wrong.