Surrender to Temptation (14 page)

I thought I sensed a new warmth in his demeanor toward me, and then I remembered my earlier disappointment in thinking he cared for me.

I was suddenly so, so tired. I was a train wreck of emotions. I wanted to be done with games.

“Trust me, Devon.” His touch gentling the tiniest bit, Zach pulled my head forward until the head of his cock brushed my lips.

Clamping my lips between my teeth, I shuddered in a breath and looked up at him. What I saw on his face halted my anger in midstride.

Gone was any anger, any arrogance from his gorgeous features. In their place were wonderment, encouragement, and even pride.

I felt my mind empty of everything except sensation as he pushed forward between my lips.

I did nothing more than to purse my lips around his thick length as he thrust into my mouth again and again. The head of his cock rammed against the back of my throat, and I gagged, but still kept my mouth clamped around him.

If this was what he wanted, then this was what he would get. I would try to learn about pleasure without emotional attachment.

I felt a trickle of salt stinging the back of my throat, heard him hiss in a breath as his thrusts came faster and faster. I opened my mouth wider, strained to take him deeper, pressed my body against his legs.

I gave him everything.

With a hoarse shout he pulled free of my mouth with a wet popping noise. Grasping his cock in one hand, he fisted the shaft up and down once, twice; and then he was coming, hot, salty streams of ejaculate that he caught in the handkerchief he always carried.

“Mine.” His voice was harsh, coarse with need. “You are mine.”

I nodded and licked the salt off my lips with my tongue. Eyes closed again, I lifted my head and let him shake the final few drops of his orgasm onto my tongue, which I tucked back into my mouth before demurely swallowing.

I stayed kneeling, my knees numb, feeling as though a great well inside of me had been filled. I kept my eyes on the floor as self-awareness gradually came back to me.

Above me, Zach was breathing heavily, his hands still tangled in my hair.

“Jesus.” The word was a whisper. I heard him search in his pocket, then felt him clasp my chin in his hand. “Devon, look at me.”

I looked up, but I had nothing to say. I wasn't angry, I wasn't embarrassed. I just didn't know how much longer I could play his games.

“Come here.” Hauling me to my feet, Zach wiped my face with the tail of his shirt. He wiped away most of my makeup with it, but I didn't care.

I was strung tight, and yet peacefully empty. It was incredibly strange.

“Devon.” Zach growled when I refused to look him in the eye. Lowering his head to mine, he claimed my mouth with his own. Forcing his tongue past my lips, he claimed me with his kiss, branding me. He had to have tasted his own release on my skin, but he didn't seem to care.

His lips moved to the curve of my neck, and as they did he slipped his hand between my legs. I cried out softly when his skilled fingers found my clit. He manipulated the engorged nub skillfully and I came apart beneath his touch, screaming as the pressure inside of me finally exploded.

He held me to him until my shudders quieted, then smoothed my skirt back over my hips. My tears ran freely then, purging my flesh of all of the nasty emotions that I had been clutching at so tightly—my devastation and the sense of inferiority from seeing Tom again, the anger at Zach, even the guilt over not living up to what my parents had expected me to be.

Embarrassed, I shrugged my face into my shoulder to dry my tears as Zach undid his belt from my legs, my panties from my wrists. After a long moment he tucked them back into his pocket.

They were far too stretched out to wear.

I was silent as I massaged sensation back into my wrists, assessing the situation as Zach pulled out his cell phone. We were in the elevator at Phyrefly. Surely by now someone had noticed that it was stuck between floors. That someone was going to know exactly what had transpired as soon as we started moving again and I had to step off onto my work floor, my clothes wrinkled, my hair a snarled mess, and my makeup smeared across my face. Tears had left salt tracks down my cheeks, and I smelled of sex and of Zach.

“Mrs. Gallagher. This is Mr. St. Brenton. I have sent Miss Reid on a personal errand for me. She won't be returning this afternoon.” There was that thoughtfulness again, shown in his understanding that I couldn't face my colleagues right then—and possibly ever again.

“Philippa. Are there any meetings waiting on me? No? All right, then. Please head down to the Starbucks on the corner and get me a venti dark roast, black. Yes, you.” As he ended his call, Zach ran his key card in front of the elevator sensor again and then slammed a fist into the button for the top floor—his floor.

“Zach, I can't take any more today.” My voice was tired. The day had been an emotional roller coaster.

I wanted to go to bed. And when I got there, I wanted to sleep. I needed time to think about how I was feeling.

How could he inspire such passion in me, how could he make me want to do these dirty things, when he hadn't told me straight out that he felt as strongly as I did?

“I'm taking you to my office so that you can clean up.” His voice was steady, but was underlaid with something that I couldn't quite identify. “I have a shower, and something that you can change into. Then I'll have Charles take you home.”

I almost corrected him, reminding him that I didn't currently have a home, since the hotel where I was staying certainly didn't count. But what did it matter, really?

I needed some space. I was seriously freaked-out.

The elevator doors opened onto an empty reception area on Zach's floor. I was thankful that he had had the foresight to send Philippa the paper-doll princess on an errand, and I smirked a bit to myself at the thought of just how disgruntled it must have made her.

“The bathroom is through there. There are towels, soap, a robe—use whatever you need.” For the first time since I had met him, Zach sounded off of his game. Avoiding eye contact, I hurried into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me.

“Christ.” I whispered out loud to myself and breathed in deeply, bracing my arms on the counter and leaning over the sink. “What the hell was that?”

My head cleared minutely now that I was in a separate room. Zach was so charismatic, his personality so imposing, that I couldn't help but attune myself to him entirely when he was with me. Though I was acutely aware of him in the next room, I gulped at my aloneness, trying to slow my thundering pulse and calm my skittering nerves.

You are in way over your head, Devon
. Slowly I looked up, looked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Oh, the wide blue eyes were the same, and so was the blond hair. Same face, same body.

But Zach had revealed a part of myself that I hadn't known existed. Somehow I knew that he wouldn't hurt me. I trusted him—and I had from the very start. What scared me was how much I had liked it. The kink, the edge of violence, the obsessive need,
that
was what made me terrified.

I was craving more, even as my flesh was still tender from his touch. And what I craved wasn't restricted to the physical—no, those rare glimpses into the vulnerable Zach, the one that I suspected no one else saw, those were more addicting than the pleasure he pulled from my body.

Squeezing my eyes tightly together, I talked myself out of banging my head into the wall repeatedly in frustration. Instead I turned on the shower—unlike the one in his bedroom at his mansion, this one had a normal faucet. As I stepped beneath spray that was as hot as I could handle, I tried to get a grip.

He had warned me—he wasn't interested in a typical relationship. And I knew that I would accept whatever proposal he threw my way, because now having had a taste, I was desperate for more.

But could I do it without losing myself along the way?

•   •   •

I
schooled my face into a smile as I stepped out of the office bathroom. My hair was slightly damp from the mist of the shower, but I had combed it and pulled it back into a tidy ponytail. Zach hadn't had any makeup in his drawers—which I couldn't deny pleased me, because that meant that he didn't often have women in his office shower—but I had at least washed the remaining smudges of makeup from my face.

Though my skirt was still fairly presentable, my blouse was a disaster. It was missing two buttons, and had wrinkled horribly. One of Zach's dress shirts had hung on the back of the bathroom door, and after a long hesitation I had shrugged out of my shirt and into his.

Though I regretted it as soon as I had, I didn't have a choice. He must have worn the shirt and not had it laundered since, because his unmistakable scent—the one that he had branded me with—rose from the fibers of the garment as I tucked it into my skirt.

Well, I wouldn't be able to return to my department dressed like this. But I was at least presentable enough to go home.

Nerves rioted through my belly as I crossed the office to stand in front of Zach's desk. He was at the window that comprised the entire wall of his office, and though his face was expressionless, his body had tensed as soon as I had opened the door to the bathroom.

“Zach.” What I was about to do terrified me, but I felt compelled to regardless. He might have considered it a “misplaced sense of give and take,” as he had called it the night we met, but that was just how I functioned.

As much as it scared me, he had given me an emotional release that afternoon that I knew had taken me one giant step forward on my personal journey.

I owed him one.

He didn't respond to my soft query—he may not have even heard me. I repeated his name, a little bit louder. He turned, an eyebrow raised, and when he fully faced me I almost ran out the door.

The arrogant billionaire who ran a massive corporation had displaced the emotional, vulnerable lover completely.

“I—I know you don't want anything serious.” His lips thinned, and I stuttered, struggling to get the words out. “But you gave me something today, something big and scary and . . . well, big. I owe you.”

I inhaled deeply and forced myself to expel the next words on a rush.

“I will whip you. That is, if you still want me to.”

Pain and pleasure streaked over his face, then fury. I stood with my hands balled so tightly into fists that my nails cut through the skin. I watched as the enigmatic billionaire fought through his emotions and finally emerged on the other side as the calm, controlled man who was king of his own empire.

“I'm not interested.”

I blinked, certain that I had heard him wrong. The man who had just fucked me seven ways to Sunday in the office elevator was more than interested; he was in as deep as I was.

But the words stung, and a trickle of insecurity worked its way through me.

“If you want to forget it, that's fine.” My eyes scanned his face anxiously. What was going on?

“You presume too much, Miss Reid.” Pulling his chair away from his desk, Zach sank into it with controlled precision. He stared up at me with cool disinterest painting his features, and sickness rolled over me in a wave.

“What am I presuming, exactly?” Ice frosted my veins as I looked at the stranger across from me, the stranger whose taste was still in my mouth.

“Presuming that I want anything more from you at all, Miss Reid.” Casually he reached over to his computer monitor and flicked it on, seeming ready to dismiss me and start work. “I have had you now—had you more than once, so kudos to you for holding my interest. But I'm done with you. There is a world of beautiful women out there to fuck.”

Pain blossomed within me, in a surge of bright red and tasting coppery like blood. I was smarter than this—I knew that this was just an act. He had to be as scared as I was, but he was being a coward about it, pushing me away instead of clinging tightly like I wanted to.

“You fucking bastard.” I stared at him, my body stiff with pain. Why was he doing this? Why now, once I had become addicted to him and in need of my next hit?

“No one has ever claimed any different. Now, if you please, I have a lot of work to catch up on. I hadn't planned on taking such a long break this afternoon.” I stared as he deliberately turned toward his computer, seemingly ready to get back to work.

As he did, I caught the smallest of flickers in his eyes. It was there and gone in a flash, but it told me what I needed to know.

He wasn't as unaffected as he was pretending to be. But the mere fact that he was acting like this when we were both in over our heads was more than I could take.

Slapping my hands on his desk, I leaned over, getting so close to his face that he had no choice but to look at me.

There was that flicker again, right in those licorice eyes, pushed away mechanically. I saw the slight shift in his body, the minuscule amount that he allowed himself to angle toward me.

He opened his mouth, presumably to say something else cruel. I didn't think, I simply acted, pulling my hand back before letting it fly.

I slapped him across the left cheek so hard that my palm stung. To his credit he barely moved, certainly didn't flinch as he assessed me with those cool eyes.

“Fuck you, Zach. Fuck you.” I straightened, daring him to say something, to do something, anything.

He blinked, then looked back down at his computer.

Turning on my heel, clutching the loose folds of his shirt to my chest, I left, slamming his office door behind me.

TEMPTED TO ENTICE

Z
ach had done it again.

I knew that it was slightly irrational, since I was the one who had stormed out of his office, but I had hoped that he would show up at my tiny new apartment, or come by my desk in the accounting office, or even send me a text message. Something to tell me that he was sorry, that it had all been a mistake, and that he wanted to let me in—truly let me in—to his life.

As the days passed by, five and a half of them, to be precise, I came to understand that an overture from Zach just wasn't going to happen. The billionaire was nothing if not stubborn and set in his incredibly eccentric ways.

Crushed as I was, I knew that I needed to pick up the shattered pieces and try to start living my life again. The problem with that plan was that life without Zach in it seemed fuzzy and dull, lacking something important.

That missing element was Zach. But as long as he ran hot and cold, with those mercurial mood swings giving me whiplash, I didn't see that I had a choice.

I remembered the very first time we had met, in the small restaurant in Cambria. He had done it even then, coming on to me only to walk away.

It was exhausting.

Listlessly, I tapped away on my computer late in the afternoon of the sixth day. On day five, in a moment of personal crisis, I had stopped into a small clothing store on my way home from work after a sexy, crimson wraparound blouse in the window had caught my eye. That blouse was now wrapped around my own ample curves, and I felt uncomfortable and conspicuous in the unabashedly sexy top. I missed my habitual, severe black.

I had noticed Tony eyeing me from the corner of my sight line all day. I couldn't be mad, since the cleavage spilling from my shirt invited attention that I didn't particularly want.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. I wanted it, but the one man I wanted it from wasn't prepared to give it to me.

The clock told me that it was four thirty. Only another half an hour, and then I could escape the office building, where everything reminded me of Zach.

Right. I could escape the office, only to go home and think about him endlessly, reminders or not.

Get a grip, Devon.
Grinding my teeth so hard that I could hear the noise of the friction, I chugged a sip of the ice-cold coffee that had been sitting on my desk since that morning and turned back to my computer with what I hoped was renewed focus. When I wasn't miserable and mooning over Zachariah St. Brenton, I actually really liked my job, and I didn't want to lose it, not now that I had signed a lease on a place of my own. It was a tiny studio apartment, and the monthly rent was double what I had paid in Sacramento.

But it was not a cheap motel room. No, it was all mine.

As I set my coffee cup down, I caught the eye of Mrs. Gallagher. When I had walked in that morning she had taken one look at my red blouse, sighed heavily, and walked away. Since then, I had caught her staring at me with that concerned look etched in thick lines between her eyes—by now I knew that I wasn't imagining it. She had even been very nearly pleasant in our interactions.

Her strange attitude hadn't helped the sense that my life was off balance. Even now, as she pursed her lips in my direction, I wanted to scream. Though there was no way that she could know just how far my relationship with Zach had gone, she clearly suspected and disapproved, even as she felt pity toward me.

I didn't want anyone feeling pity for me. If I couldn't be in a relationship with Zach, pale as things seemed in the aftermath of our intense chemistry, I needed to move on with my life. And I didn't want to lose sight of what I had gained since moving to San Francisco.

I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes. Just a small fraction of my workday, but at the moment they felt like an eternity.

I gave up on work. It just wasn't going to happen. Instead I opened my e-mail browser and, after rubbing my temples with tense fingers, I set out to do what I had been trying to do for days.

I needed to get some sense of closure. I needed to have my say. Though, after our final encounter, I wasn't sure if he would actually read my e-mail or not, but at least I would have tried.

From:
Reid, Devon [[email protected]]
Sent:
Friday, 4:53 PM
To:
St. Brenton, Zachariah [[email protected]]
Subject:
Closure

Zach,

I'll keep this brief . . . I don't know if you will even read it or not. If you are reading, then I want you to know that I'm sorry. I didn't meet with Tom to upset you. I certainly didn't invite him here, but since he showed up I thought it was a good opportunity to tell him the things that I didn't when I left. This was something that I needed to do for myself.

I'm also sorry that I can't be who you need me to be. I know you think that I should be afraid of you, but I'm truly not. I am afraid of how I feel when you push me away, though, and since you won't let me in, then there doesn't seem to be much hope. I know that this isn't easy for you, either, and I know that that kind of trust takes time. I wish . . . I don't actually know what I wish anymore.

Thank you for everything you have done for me. You helped me uncover parts of myself that I didn't even know existed. I have to find the strength now to continue that journey on my own.

I wish you all the best, Zach. I'd say that I'd like us to be friends, but I think it would be too painful for me to be around you at all and not be able to be with you, so I will stop at that.

Devon

I swallowed past the thick lump in my throat as I hesitated, then clicked the Send icon on my screen before I could lose my nerve. My nose prickled and my eyes were damp—it really felt like it was over now.

The rational part of me knew that it wasn't normal, feeling this upset over a man that I had known for less than a month. I tried to tell myself that my behavior was obsessive and not a little bit crazy.

It didn't matter. I was devastated.

Looking at the clock yet again, I saw that it was after five. Most of my colleagues had rushed out the door minutes earlier, eager to shed their suit jackets and hit Friday night happy hour at the bar across the street.

I was going to go home, have a good cry, and then get back to trying to pull myself back together.

“Good night, Miss Devon Reid.” Startled, I stopped in my tracks momentarily when Mrs. Gallagher's voice cut through my thoughts. I peered into her office, perplexed, and hoped that my eyes weren't overly red from unshed tears.

“Good night, Mrs. Gallagher.” The woman never bid a hello or a farewell to any of her employees, and though her expression was stern as I clutched my worn leather purse to my chest, I was thoroughly unnerved by the gesture.

“I hope you're feeling better by Monday morning.” The woman lowered her reading glasses to the tip of her nose and peered at me over the top of them. “This cold that's going around is brutal. If you're not well by then, take Monday off. But I will expect you back in shape first thing Tuesday morning.”

Mrs. Gallagher shoved her glasses back up her nose and looked down at her work, effectively dismissing me. I blinked at her in surprise before hurrying away to the bank of elevators.

The woman was astute, and knew damn well that I didn't have a cold. The kind gesture of a long weekend to pull my act together was unexpected and incredibly strange.

Her underlying message, however, had been perfectly clear: Get over him and get your life back together.

It was exactly the kick in the pants that I needed, though I suspected she wouldn't appreciate it if I told her that, for the persona that she demonstrated in the office was not of the warm and fuzzy variety. Sniffling, I straightened my spine, inhaled deeply, and tried to get myself together.

My life wasn't entirely occupied by Zachariah St. Brenton. I could be happy without him.

Maybe if I told myself that enough times, it would be true.

The elevator pinged and then opened, and I did my best to shove all thoughts of myself bound on its floor during my last encounter with Zach from my mind. Making sure to keep my chin up, I stepped in and turned to press the button for the lobby.

I choked on my own breath when I saw Zach standing by the control panel, appearing calm and in control. He looked at me and nodded, stepping back to make space for me.

After a long, flustered moment in which my self-control was shattered, I nodded in return, then faced the elevator door and tried to calm my racing heart.

This was to be expected. He was my boss. It was a big building, but we were bound to see each other from time to time. If I wanted to stay at this job, it was something that I would have to accept.

The silence was like a weight on my shoulders as we descended through the building. My mind tormented me with images of our last elevator ride together, and I couldn't help but wonder if he thought of it, too. As I chased the mental image of him binding my hands with my own lace underwear, I looked up to see his reflection in the polished chrome of the door, and I scowled to myself. It wasn't fair that he should look so mouthwatering when I felt—and looked—so ragged. His suit was charcoal today, and beneath it was a pale gray shirt with subtle stripes. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button, and despite all of the lectures to myself, I found that I wanted nothing more than to place my lips against the enticing triangle of skin that that one small button revealed.

The elevator had almost reached the lobby, and I was congratulating myself on being strong, when he spoke.

“You said that you're not afraid of me. Is that true?” Startled, I turned to look at him sharply. He was still staring straight ahead, his expression a mask of control.

“Of course it is.” Unsure of the situation, I twisted the strap of my purse in fingers that were trembling. “Whatever else you make me feel, fear isn't any part of it.”

Zach nodded, then subsided into silence. It wasn't until the elevator hit the ground floor and the doors slid open that he pressed his hand to my elbow and drew me to his side.

A burst of fireworks exploded inside of me, starting at the small patch of skin where his fingers rested and sparking outward. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him, uncertainty and an undeniable need all twisted up together.

“I would like you to come somewhere with me.” Holding out his hand, he caught the elevator doors before they were able to close. My heart pounding a staccato rhythm in my chest, I stepped out of the confined space, then turned to face him, my expression serious.

“Why?” By this point I had nothing to lose by asking. “Why now?”

Zach's eyes clouded, but I continued to stare directly into them, relentless. I needed him to give me something, anything, before I could step into the insanity that was our relationship again.

He seemed to be on the verge of refusing, and my heart sank. I reminded myself that Zachariah St. Brenton was not a man who was accustomed to explaining himself.

Then he spoke, and his words were guarded. It was almost as if he wanted to make sure that he said the right thing, and I felt a trill of hope swelling where it had no business to.

“I'm not ready to give you the things that you really need. I might never be. But I find that I can't stay away from you.” His brutal honesty broke my heart in two before seaming it back up again. He was trying, trying so hard, and how could I refuse that?

“What do you think I need that you can't provide?” I measured my words carefully. “Because I'm an adult, Zach, and I'm walking into this with my eyes open. I want you. I want all of you.”

Without warning, he tugged me into his arms, fisted his hands in my hair, and kissed me until I was breathless. My world narrowed until it was entirely focused on him.
This
was what I had been missing for six days. The force of his desire for me had kept me awake at night longing to touch him again. When Zach released me, I stumbled back, then pressed my fingers to my lips that were now swollen from his kiss.

“I'm a selfish bastard, and I want you. I can't share my past with you, because I can't even deal with it myself. But if you trust me, I can take you into my life as it is now.”

The expression on his face was unabashedly sensual, and I saw that the front of his dress pants had tented during our kiss. I was hot, twitchy all over, and wanted nothing more than to lose myself in him.

Eyes wide, I nodded quickly before I could lose my nerve.

“Devon, be sure.” He drew me to him again roughly, pressing his hardening cock into the soft swell of my belly. I trembled against him.

“Be sure that you're ready to go deeper.”

•   •   •

T
he ride in Zach's car, with Charles at the wheel, passed in a bright blur. The only things I was entirely conscious of were the sensation of my hand clasped tightly in Zach's, and the heat of his thigh as it pressed intimately against my own.

We pulled up in front of a brick building. Small and dark, it had a slightly gothic look to the exterior, and it took a moment before I located a sign painted the color of chocolate.

“
Lush
?” I turned to Zach, suddenly self-conscious. “I'm not dressed for a club, Zach.”

His eyes burned a path over the skin that my low-cut red blouse had left bare, and I shifted uncomfortably, my body overly warm, as if he had touched me.

“You always look lovely.” He took my hand and helped me from the car as Charles opened the door. “And this isn't a typical club.”

I raised my eyebrows in question, but he didn't respond, just placed his hand at the small of my back and led me to the door of the building.

“St. Brenton.” The man holding some kind of digital device at the door scrolled down the screen, his eyes widening when he found what he was looking for. I wondered if there was a note beside Zach's name that said something like “temperamental billionaire: treat with utmost caution.”