Page 1 of High-Rise Heat

1

Ilsa

“Holy shit! Is that our view?” I drop my carry-on bag in the entry way and walk straight through the presidential suite to the balcony terrace.

The investment firm we work for told us they’d spare no expense on this trip, but I had no clue they’d put us at the top of the tallest high-rise that Hong Kong has to offer. The city skyline sparkles in a carnival of color, shimmering in teal and pink and silver.

“Dom!” I call back into the suite, where I see his shadow near the door, tipping the bellman. Between us are floor-to-ceiling windows that run the whole length of the living room, all of them reflecting the spectacle of color behind me. “Get out here. You won’t believe this!”

I walk to the edge of the balcony, feeling as if I’ve stepped into a universe of stars. Not only is the sky twinkling, but the entire terrace is reflective and breathtaking—the railing walls are made of glass and a private pool reflects the city. There’s even a lounge area with a modern fire-pit where flames dance from a mound of cut glass that look like a raw gems. It’s a sparkling terrace of wishes, a thousand stars and neon reflections of light.

“Damn! How many rooms are in here?” I hear Dom say from one of the hallways and a prickle of delight warms my stomach. The summer air is warm and balmy, and a tiny ball of nerves flutters over my skin. I’msharingthis suite with Dom—my boss.

I glance back through the glass. Dom wheels in our luggage cart, looking like he just walked out of the pages of GQ magazine, completely elegant and unflustered by the long flight. His fitted grey suit is cut to perfection, hugging his tall frame, and there’s not a button out of place. Dom wears business suits the way other men wear t-shirts. They justfithim. I’ve never seen him more at ease than in a business suit, as if there’s nothing more comfortable in the world. In fact, I can’t say I’ve ever seen him wear anything else.

My palms slip against the terrace railing as I watch him unload the cart. He fills out his trousers too well and his fit backside makes me flush. Dom and I have been on dozens of business trips before. We’ve shared a hundred shitty cups of hotel coffee and mastered the art of eating chow-mien out of Styrofoam take-out boxes with plastic chopsticks. We’ve spent countless nights laughing and talking strategy—followed by an awkward good-night hug—before I’d retreat back to my private room. Two years he’s been grooming me for the firm’s restaurant division. Two years of waking up in the morning and strolling into the hotel lobby where I’m met by Dom’s brilliant seize-the-day smile as if I didn’t sleep alone in my hotel room fantasizing about what might’ve happen if he’d knocked on my door in the middle of the night and asked for dessert.

Only Dom isn’t that kind of a man. I can imagine his suit on the floor and his Irish skin dolloped in whipped cream as much as I’d like, but the reality is he’s the epitome of professional. He’s brilliant andalwaysthe gentleman, and gentlemen don’t appreciate you thanking them for their business acquisitions tutelage with cans of whipped cream and naughty intentions. Not even after the two of you made a silly drunken pack on your first business trip together to never keep anything from each other. I’m pretty sure “I want to jump your bones” doesn’t fall under appropriate boss and mentee secret-sharing. So, yes, that prickle of heat I feel when Dom is near is one card I keep close to my chest.

Dom knows these trips are important—to the company, to our careers, to me. And he’s gone out of his way to make sure I feel like his equal. “It’s hard to be a woman in a man’s world,” he’s said, and it’s been his personal declaration to make sure I’ve never felt taken advantage of. But that pronouncement has also created an unspoken tension between us, because Dom would never mess up our business relationship with something like sex … despite our longing glances or the hundreds of late hours we’ve spent together in foreign cities, both of us over-worked and full of pent-up stress.

He’s my boss—the boss who respects my job too much to ever make a move—that, and the easy excuse of separate rooms.

Butthistrip is different.

This trip is ourlasttrip. Not only has the firm put us up in this star-lit presidential suite together, but this isit. This is the largest acquisition our firm has ever made and it will give us a significant foothold in the Asian market. If Dom and I nail this deal, I’ll get promoted to the head of the restaurant division, which is what Dom’s been grooming me for the last two years anyway. We both know it’s been leading up to this. Nail this weekend and Iwillbe Dom’s equal. I’ll be given my own accounts and staff and office on the twenty-second floor of the building that just so happens to be on the completeother sideof Manhattan. Yup, I won’t be working with Dom anymore. I won’t even be in the same building. This is our last trip together. It could be the jet-lag or the warm foreign-country air, but I know he feels it too, the finality of this. And, yes, I’m about to make the biggest deal of my career, but honestly, it’s not the deal that’s got my palms sweaty.

“Damn, that’s beautiful.”

I turn to see Dom leaning against the glass doorway, his auburn hair catching the wind. A hint of that rogue Irish-boy peeks out from under all his polish and grace, and I can’t help but smile. Dominick Pierce is the smartest and most brilliant acquisitions lawyer I could ever imagine having by my side. He’s taught me more about negotiation and business law than I could thank him for, but that’s not what’s got me twisted up inside. Dom’s gaze lingers somewhere between me and the glittering city at my back, but I can’t read his expression.

I hold his gaze, consciously imagining something there that probably isn’t. It’s irrational, and I know that, even though the affection I feel for him is real. Even though the respect and admiration he has for me is real. But respect doesn’t easily translate to lust.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?” I ask, turning away from the heat I want to imagine is in his gaze and shifting our attention to something lighter. I walk toward the pool, hearing him laugh uncomfortably.

“Um…” he mumbles. “No, I didn’t,” he says politely and I suddenly realize the implication of that comment.

I stop in front of the sheen of silver water and try to shrug off my own unconscious intention. “Too bad,” I say playfully, even though my imagination is already a traitor. What would it be like to walk out here in the morning and find Dom in this pool? To be met by his beautiful smile and wet body? And he just said he doesn’t have a bathing suit, so … my neck heats making me kick off my shoe and dip my toes in the water. The surface ripples as my foot descends into the cold, sending a chill all the way up my leg and under my skirt. “Oh wow!” I say, surprised. “They don’t heat the pool.”

I pull my foot out, despite the soothing chill of goosebumps that shiver over my skin.

“I bet it feels good,” Dom says, walking toward the balcony railing with his head angled away from me. I wonder if he’s doing that deliberately. If he’s avoiding me with my shoe off and my ankle wet. Is he’s also thinking about what it would be like to be in this pool surrounded by water and skin?

All I can do is speculate as Dom looks out at the city. He leans against the wall of glass and it looks like he about to fly, perched on the edge of a precipice. I can’t help but feel like my heart is standing out on that edge with him. We’ve both known for weeks that we’d be sharing this suite. And here we are, for the first time up in this high-rise. Alone.

My body warms with how badly it wants this to happen, and a part of me considers walking over to him right now and kissing him. I could close this unspoken distance and tension by pressing him up against that glass and showing him exactly how I’ve imagined this happening.

“Do you want to choose a bed?” Dom asks and my eyes cut to him. A flush of heat spreads across my chest and I know I should’ve worn something more professional. This airy sundress is thin as crepe paper and it barely hides how my nipples peak at that comment. Only he’s not looking at me. Instead he’s nodding back to the suite. “I think there are four bedrooms. You can pick whichever one you want first. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh … sure,” I say, realizing he only means for me to find my own private space, which nipples-be-damned I wouldn’t mind right now. I had no idea how badly my body has been waiting for this weekend. Nor did I realize that even the slightest innuendo, whichwasn’tinnuendo at all, could betray how eager my body is. Dom is over ten feet away, yet my body is achy and flushed andpositivethat this is a sure thing. But, if I’ve learned anything from the last ten years of fighting my way up the corporate ladder, it’s that treating anything like a sure thing is a recipe for disaster—especially as a woman.

“Are you nervous?”

My eyes find him again. “Nervous? What do you mean?”

“About tomorrow,” he says calmly, a slight wind playing with the collar of his shirt. “About the negotiation?”

“Oh, uh … no. Of course not.” I shake myself and find my shoe. “Sorry. It must be the jet-lag.” I slip my foot back inside the heel, needing to focus. “We’ve got this planned, Dom. Everything will be perfect.”

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