One Night Standards (15 page)

“I'm not stupid.” Sophie felt tears edging out of her eyes, and she wiped them carefully with her fingertips.

“You slept with a man who was directly competing with you,” her mother countered quietly. “You chose to let your focus go. You weren't even discreet about it.” The elevator doors opened, and her mother stepped out. “If that wasn't stupid, Sophie, I don't know what is.”

“That's not fair.” Sophie crossed her arms. “I worked my hardest on this. I put in long hours, I did the research, I did everything I possibly could. And maybe we lost, but I tried.”

“Yeah. You tried.” Her mother threw her purse down on the hotel-room bed. “And yet your lover will get the account. Tell me, do you really think he's going to see you again after he wins it?”

Sophie felt a pang. The question had crossed her own mind.

He said he was falling in love with me.
But did he mean it?

Her mother rubbed at her temples. “Sophie, talking about this won't help any. I am too angry with you to speak to you, and it's not going to be better. So be silent, or get out of here.”

Sophie felt something inside of her snap. “Mom, all my life, you've been the logical one. The disciplinarian. The one who always told us what to do and when we weren't good enough…”

Her mother sat down on the bed, next to her purse. “I am too tired for this, Sophie. I do not want to have to go into a ‘why Sophie's life is terrible' conversation. This wasn't about
you.
This was about me!”

“It's still about you!” Sophie stood in front of her mother, her heart racing in her chest. “You saw how many hours I put into this. You saw what I sacrificed to make this happen!”

“Obviously not enough!”

“Even if I hadn't slept with Mark, we wouldn't have won the account!”

Her mother stared at her as if she'd been slapped. “That's a lie,” her mother said, her voice shaking. “The products were impeccable. The only way Trimera could win was by playing dirty….”

“Which they
would have done anyway,
” Sophie pointed out. “Whether I was with Mark or not. We don't have the money to fight them, Mom. It was a long shot, and I'm proud we made it as far as we did!”

“You're merely trying to justify what you did,” her mother railed. “You're making excuses for your behavior….”

“You know what? It was a bad choice to sleep with Mark. But I will say this—I didn't do a single thing that I'm not proud of.”

Her mother's eyes widened. “You're proud of sabotaging our chances?”

“I'm proud of the work I did, and I'm proud of loving Mark.”

There. She'd said it. She couldn't believe she'd admitted it out loud, but it was too late to take it back, and she was filled with enough righteous anger that she wouldn't have taken it back given the opportunity.

“Love?” Her mother's scorn was evident. She got to her feet. “You
are
stupid, if you believe that!”

Sophie stood her ground.

“So that's it, then.” Her mother's eyes filled with tears. “You've chosen an outsider, some
man,
over your own family. Well, that's fine.”

“It doesn't have to be an exclusive choice, Mom,” Sophie said, the tears she was seeing bothering her more than any of her mother's hurtful words. “I didn't choose him over you guys.”

“Get out.”

“Mom?”

“Get out!”
Her mother opened the door. “You think that your choices don't have consequences? Well, if you're so proud of what you did, and you love this man so much, then go stay with
him!
”

“Mom,” Lydia interrupted. “Come on. You don't mean that. You're upset….”

“You're damned right I'm upset, Lydia, and you stay out of this! This is between your sister and me!”

Sophie grabbed her roller bag from its place in the corner of the room. “Fine. I'll leave.”

“Mom, Sophie, this is crazy,” Lydia said. “It's just business, after all!”

Her mother did not budge from her place at the open door, continuing to hold it open. Sophie rolled past her. “I am sorry,” she said.

Her mother didn't respond, so Sophie kept on walking.

Lydia followed after her. “Mom doesn't mean it,” Lydia tried. “She's angry, you know how much this meant to her….”

“I screwed up,” Sophie replied. “But I didn't deserve that.”

“I know.”

They walked in silence for a second, until they got to the elevator. “So what are you going to do?” Lydia asked.

Sophie was wondering that, herself. “I'll think of something.”

“Mom will probably try to change flights, get out of here tonight instead of tomorrow, cancel the hotel room.” Lydia sounded concerned.

“I'll stay on tomorrow's flight.” No sense in continuing the family dramatics while trapped on a cross-country flight, after all. “And I'll stay somewhere else tonight.”

“With Mark?”

Sophie closed her eyes. She didn't know if it was making things worse, but she needed to find out if he still meant what he'd said: that he was falling in love with her.

I'm not choosing him over my family,
she told herself doggedly.
I'm choosing my own life. I did my best—now, I need to see if this has a chance.

M
ARK WAITED IMPATIENTLY
. After Simone's snide remark, he was debating with himself how he could convince Sophie to forgive him and to continue their relationship. Then, out of nowhere, she'd called him, asking if she could stay at his apartment. He'd agreed willingly, thinking it was the perfect opportunity for them to get some things hashed out.

If everything works out,
he thought,
I could have it all. The account…the girl. Everything.
It was almost too much to hope for.

Mark opened his door to find Sophie there, looking wrecked. Her makeup was mostly rubbed away, presumably from crying. She looked young, tired and vulnerable.

“Oh, God, Sophie. What happened?”

“Can I come in?” she asked instead, in a small voice.

“Of course.” He took her roller bag and ushered her inside, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a comforting squeeze. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink, maybe?”

“I don't drink much ordinarily,” she said, then barked out a short, bitter laugh. “But today's far from ordinary. Sure, I'll have a shot of whatever you've got.”

He guided her to his sofa, then quickly fetched her a short glass of scotch. “It's all I've got in the house,” he offered.

He expected her to sip it. Instead, she took a manful slug of it, coughing explosively afterward. “Thanks,” she said when she regained her breath.

“Okay, talk to me.” He sat next to her, taking the glass from her hands and putting it on the coffee table, out of her reach. “This isn't because of the damned Marion & Co. account, is it?”

“Yes, and no.” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “This is because of the account, but it's more about you and me.”

He was afraid of that. “We didn't…”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted. “I used the same arguments. But my mother was upset, and to be honest, she was right. Deep down, I knew how important this was to my family. I knew that on some level, getting involved with you would jeopardize our chances. I knew all of that, and I chose you anyway.”

He swallowed hard against the knot in his throat. “But you didn't lose the account because of me,” he said staunchly, desperate to convince her. To convince them both, really.

She leaned over, putting her hand against the side of his face. “The point is, even knowing that…I'm still choosing you. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't.”

He was humbled by the admission. Turning his face, he pressed a heated kiss into her palm. “I love you, Sophie,” he breathed. “And I hate to see you hurting like this. Especially because of me.”

“Then help me forget.”

She reached for him, her eyes full of need and sadness. He stood, tugging her to her feet. Then with great tenderness he swept her up, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, and carried her to his bedroom. He placed her on the bed gently. “Sophie,” he murmured, kissing her before releasing her. Slowly, he took off his shirt. She simply watched him, so he reached for her, helping her out of her clothing. He removed her jacket and unbuttoned her silk blouse with fingers that trembled. He'd had sex plenty of times in his past—and he'd had incredible, scorching-hot sex with Sophie, for that matter. But somehow, this time, it all seemed different and new. It meant more. This time wasn't clandestine—they weren't sneaking around, and the specter of business no longer loomed over them. They weren't pretending this was “just one night” that didn't mean anything, that didn't affect them. She'd chosen him, she'd said. As far as he was concerned, this was the beginning of forever.

He kissed her neck as he stripped the blouse away, and she threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him tightly against her. He bit her skin delicately, then sucked, hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped but didn't release her hold on him. If anything, she clung tighter.

It had been two weeks since he'd had a chance to talk to her, much less touch her. He wanted to drink her in. In the heated frenzy that was overtaking him, he felt as if he never wanted to be apart from her again. His mind reeled from the impact of that thought.

To get his bearings, he focused on the moment: the feel of her, the scent of her, the taste. He seemed hyperaware of her. “You're so amazing,” he whispered, tugging off her skirt. “So beautiful.”

“You make me feel beautiful,” she replied. “When you make love to me…I can't explain it. It's magic.”

She was now in just her matching black underwear and stockings, complete with garter. He groaned as his body tightened in response to the inviting picture of her, lying on his bed in that state. He broke away from her long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes and roll on a condom. Her gaze devoured his body every second he was away. He dove for her, tenderness starting to slip in the face of an overwhelming hunger.

She obviously felt the same way because the moment he hit the bed she was touching him, her fingers gliding over the planes of his stomach, circling his shaft and stroking it until he groaned and involuntarily pressed forward. She kissed his chest, licking his clavicle lightly before nibbling at his shoulder. The counterpoint of butterfly-light caresses versus the insistent hand closed over his cock was enough to drive him wild. To his surprise, she nudged him onto his back with force.

“I want you,” she said, her eyes ablaze with it. “Right now. I want to take you.”

“Have I ever said no?” he answered with a rasping laugh.

“It wasn't a question,” she said, and he was relieved when she laughed as well. It was a small step, but the grief in her eyes was receding. It was replaced with desire, yes, but something else…something he'd dwell on later, since now she was positioning herself over his taut body, taunting him by slowly edging herself onto him, teasing the tip of his cock with her entrance. Her breathing had gone shallow, and her eyes went half-lidded, her smile slow and bemused.

“You're going to kill me,” he said through gritted teeth, after the torture had continued for several minutes.

“You're a big guy. You'll survive,” she said, but obligingly she lowered herself more, finally taking in all of him. Feeling the tight clutch of her body circling him forced him to concentrate everything he could on taking his time, not simply gripping her and driving his way toward completion. The feel of her was enough to make him lose his mind if he let her. He struggled, feeling every muscle in his body tense in the battle of willpower versus pleasure.

“Oh, Mark,” she said in a low voice as her body moved sinuously over his. His fingers dug into her hips, trying to somehow control her pace and hold her to him. She laughed, her hips moving in with a slight twist that made his eyes cross from sheer sensual overload. “This feels so
good…
”

His breathing was ragged. “Now I know you're going to kill me,” he gasped.

“You'll thank me later.”

Despite the joking quality in her statement, her face grew serious, her eyes closing as she focused intently on the task at hand. Her breasts jutted out proudly and he shifted his hands to cup them, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her. She pressed forward and he circled her nipples with his thumbs, gratified by her panting gasps of surprised desire. The action made her circle her hips yet again, and he almost lost it. His hips rose to meet the juncture of her thighs.