Page 31 of Heated
She loses that pained, haunted expression, and anger tautens the skin across her cheekbones, emphasizing their boldness, their strength. Her jaw flexes the tiniest bit, but I catch it, and as perverse as it might make me, my cock pounds at the signs of her ire. Yeah, I’m turned on, and part of me is hoping she takes it out on me with teeth and nails.
Well shit. When did I become a man who enjoyed an edge of pain with his pleasure?
The answer?
Zora.
When the possibility arose that I might be the receptacle of that pain/pleasure if she was the one doling it out.
“Penance?” She bitespenanceoff in a way that should have my cock flinching in horror, but nope. Apparently, it’s made of much sterner stuff.
“Or think of it as an arrangement. An arrangement between acquaintances.” I shrug.
“Is that supposed to sound better?” she grinds out. “Why don’t you explain what you mean by both before I pick up my coffee, book, and go home?”
I’ve never believed that bullshit cliché of women being beautiful when they’re angry. Until now. She’s absolutely transcendent. And possibly dangerous.
I slip her cup from her fingers while she’s distracted and set it down on the floor on the other side of me.
“Let me start at the beginning.” And I do, telling her the abridged version of originally being hired by Ryson, Dare, and Gregerson LLC, the culture there, being up for a partnership, and, finally, about the corporate retreat.
“You don’t find that a little misogynistic at all?” she asks, nose wrinkled.
“How so?”
“They want partners who are solid, grounded, family oriented? What about the women who decide they don’t want children—or a husband, for that matter?” She squints at him. “Here’s another question. What’s the percentage of women in your firm? Partners?”
I see where she’s going with this, and she’s not wrong. Out of thirty associates, five are women, and only one is being considered for partnership.
“Your silence speaks volumes.” She snorts and curls her fingers at me. “Gimme my coffee. Your family jewels are safe from me ... for the time being.”
Controlling the smile that’s fighting to slip across my mouth, I hand her the warm to-go cup.
“Good ol’-fashioned misogyny aside,” she continues, dark eyes fixed on me over the coffee-cup lid. “What does this have to do with me or any ... arrangement?” Her lips twist on the last word, as if sucking on a shit-flavored lollipop.
I inhale a long deliberate breath, hold it for several seconds, and then release it. Meeting that unwavering stare, I lean forward, voice lowered.
“This retreat is pretty much a casual vetting process for the associates being considered for partnership. Every person on that list will be bringing their wife, fiancé, or partner. Since mine just recently broke up with me, I find myself in need of a substitute. You.”
She blinks, eyes going blank with shock for a moment. But as comprehension dawns in the chocolate depths, anger joins it. And another, foggier, murkier emotion that I can’t ...
“That’s crazy,” she snaps. “And if this is your idea of a joke orpenance,” she practically snarls, “then let me tell you what you can do with it. And be warned. It starts withshoveand ends withup your ass.”
Her glare and the blast of heat from her fury could peel the skin from my bones. And it requires every ounce of control I’ve earned and learned over the years not to lean closer into that fire, not to beg her to singe me with it. Lust battles with curiosity, the need to know where that anger originates. So I can extinguish it.
“It’s not a joke,” I say. “I wouldn’t joke about something as important as my job and the future of my career.”
Her lips snap shut, and she glances away from me.
What was that about?
The question leaps and dances on my tongue like a living flame.
“No one, and I mean absolutely no one in your firm, will buy that we’re a couple.”
Genuine curiosity ripples through me. “Why do you say that?”
“Are you serious?” she scoffs. “You previously dated Valerie Summers. Tall, blonde, rich, size two Valerie Summers. Amongotherthings.”
