Exposed by Fate Page 10

  “Really? I could’ve sworn you wanted to wait.” His growl stoked the fire inside her even higher. “I can’t imagine any other reason for you to wear panties when I’ve forbidden them. You’ve wasted my time, Eliza. And now I’ll waste yours.”

  “No.” She pressed her hips against the table, seeking relief and finding none. “I forgot.”

  “Is that right?” His footsteps moved away from her. Nooo. Come back. “I’m going to forget something, too, so we’re even. How does privacy sound?” The sound of the window blinds being drawn startled her into looking over her shoulder. Oh my God. Her naked backside was now on display before an uncovered window. While her instincts screamed at her to cover herself, Oliver’s directions kept her glued to the table. It wasn’t easy. Not at all. Especially when across the street, a party raged on the roof of a hotel. Smartly dressed clusters of people sipped cocktails. She couldn’t hear them from this distance, making them seem like a muted television program, but they were there. Could very likely see her if they happened to glance over at the building.

  Her pounding heart echoed louder and louder in her ears. The longer she stood there exposed, the less apprehension remained. She focused on Oliver’s hot eyes traveling over her flesh, his hand gripping the fly of his pants, stroking. My job. Mine. “Oliver,” she said hoarsely. “I’m dying.”

  His attention snapped to hers, and she saw a flash of concern, before it vanished. He was behind her in a flash, dragging her sodden panties down her legs. That act alone caused her to tremble. God, she felt so empty without him.

  “Get your legs up on the table. Show me how you do the splits.” He hooked a hand beneath her knee and lifted it into the hard surface, her thigh brushing his rigid erection on the way. “Be a good girl and give me what I want. So I can give you what you’re dying for.”

  It was one thing to have her bare bottom visible to the party taking place across the street, but if she spread her legs on the table, every inch of her would be on display. Why did the idea of it make her pulse skitter out of control? “What if they see?”

  He palmed her between her thighs, eliciting a strangled cry from her mouth. Using the heel of his hand, he grinded slow circles over her clit. “They might get lucky enough to see what I’m about to own, but they can’t have it, can they? This is all mine. Get up on the table.”

  Eliza didn’t hesitated another second. The urgency battering her from the inside had grown unbearable to deny him what he wanted. What she needed. Supporting herself on shaky hands, she pressed her body forward, spread her legs and stretched them out on either side of her on the edge of the table. Oliver shouted a curse, drawing an answering gasp from her lips. A rich, dizzying feeling assailed her, so intoxicating her vision went temporarily dark. This was bad. So very bad. But it felt unbelievable. Knowing what he could see from behind with her sitting in the splits, knowing he liked what he saw, made her wish she could show him more, even though it was impossible. The harsh groans behind her left no room for doubt on that score. She was on display for him. His to peruse, memorize.

  The sound of a condom wrapper ripping intensified her longing, as did the gruff question that followed. “Would you like to know what today’s lesson is?”

  She leaned down and pressed her forehead against the cool surface. Her neck wouldn’t support her under the rush of anticipation. “Yes.”

  Between her legs, she felt the smooth head of his erection, rubbing, enticing. “Whenever you make my cock this hard, I’m going to find a way to get it inside your pussy.” He drove every inch of himself into her, ripping a scream from her throat. “That’s the fucking lesson.”

  Eliza’s senses fired, then swarmed around where their bodies joined. Her entire being, her next breath, depended on his movements. He ground his hips into her once, pushing his hard length deep, deep. “Ahhh. Again, please. Please.”

  “There’s my little beggar. Back for more?” He gripped both sides of her ass in his hands and rammed into her so hard, her hands skidded on the table. “I’ll give you as much as you can take.”

  “I can take it,” she gritted out. “All of it.”

  “You think so?” Both hands found her shoulders to keep her steady as he bore down on her, thrusting into her several times in quick succession. The buildup of dazzling pleasure it created had her mouth dropping open to cry out, but no sound emerging. He was huge inside of her, stretching her to accommodate every inch of him. Jarring her over and over against the table. Giving her no choice. “The rougher I am, the wetter you get, Eliza? You’re going to kill me.”

  “Oliver—”

  He seized her jaw with one hand, forcing her head up and cutting off her next litany of begging. When he spoke, his mouth moved over her ear, bathing it with his hot breath. The way he leaned over her sent him pumping into her at a different angle. One that caused his flesh to slide over her clit, her sensitive front wall. “You think the people outside can see what I’m doing to you, babe?” His hips moved like pistons. Faster. Harder. “You think they’re wondering what the hell I did to get it so good? I certainly am. But I’m going to make sure you need it again. And again. Make sure you can’t sleep or eat without remembering what I feel like, you tight little beauty.”

  Eliza moaned. Climax loomed so close, her muscles felt ready to explode or give out. She didn’t know. Her arms trembled at her sides, hands clawing at the table.

  Oliver growled and sunk his teeth into her neck, hand still clasping her jaw. “They might be able to see what I’m doing to you, but they can’t feel how you’re trying to wring the come out of me.” Sweat fell from his forehead onto the table. “They can’t hear the way my flesh smacks yours, loud and wet. They wish they could, but I’m the only,” thrust “one,” thrust “fucking you.” Thrustthrustthrust. “Aren’t I?”

  “Yes.” With her answer came a rippling flood of sensation so potent, she bucked against the table, her body not sure how to handle it all. Every muscle she possessed spasmed uncontrollably. Oliver continued to pound into her from behind, groaning at the force of her orgasm. She could feel her flesh convulsing around him, knew instinctively it pleased him and he wouldn’t be far behind.

  “You’re making me come. Don’t want to stop, but…” He gripped her hips and yanked her back, pushing deep at the same time. His fingers dug into her flesh possessively. “Ah fuck, take it all. Take it.”

  Feeling Oliver’s powerful body shake had to be one of the most amazing feelings in her life. Pride, awe…something she couldn’t explore when her emotions were too raw. It threatened to encompass her, drag her into an unknown abyss. Just like last time, she felt a spark of panic. As if she’d let a piece of herself fly away and could never get it back.

  Oliver’s lips tracing her shoulder, kissing her neck, anchored her immediately.

  Just as quickly as the panic receded, it came back.

  What would she do when Oliver wasn’t there to ground her?

  Chapter Thirteen

  One lesson left.

  Oliver leaned against the hallway wall and watched Eliza return to the party. When she reached the door and looked at him over her shoulder with a hint of uncertainty, he nodded at her to let her know he’d be right behind her. Honestly, he didn’t even know if the gap in their returns would make an ounce of difference. They both looked how he felt. Satisfied. Fucked up. Shell-shocked. All of the above.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, he slumped against the wall. Time to take stock. He’d just had heaven-glimpsing sex with an amazing girl. An unbelievable girl. The next step was to have a drink and cab it home, maybe heat up some leftovers and watch the Discovery Channel. His usual plan shouldn’t make him feel smothered in loneliness. He was living the dream right?

  No. It had stopped being his dream. He wanted his usual routine, but…he wanted someone with him while he did it. Not just any someone, though. The girl had a face. A beautiful face that he was just starting to acknowledge had been living in his head for a while. Too
long. He hadn’t been ready to see it. Now that he had, he was too fucking late. He was all used up. If an exact replica of him tried to date Eliza, he would talk her out of it. Could hear the speech in his head, clear as day. Eliza, you can do way better than that scum bag. He’ll use you without thinking twice. You can’t change him.

  She had changed him, though. Or maybe he’d just been sitting back, dying for her to make the first move, knowing he’d be damned for making it himself. He didn’t know. He only knew he wanted to go back out into the party, scoop her up and bring her home. Lay her down on his bed and kiss every inch of her, promise her that he’d be gentler this time. It felt like what he was supposed to do. He didn’t want to make an appointment to fuck her one more time, then call them square. Set her up with someone who wouldn’t fully understand whose presence he’d been gifted with. Jesus.

  He bent forward and put his hands on his knees, trying to breathe through the horror of that. This is what all those nights of empty sex had led to. He felt like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol and the Ghost of Hook-Ups Past had just shown up to take him on a tour of Hell. But he wouldn’t wake up from this. If he scheduled that final lesson with Eliza, he’d be dooming himself to watch her walk away.

  So he wouldn’t.

  The light bulb went off in Oliver’s head, and he slowly straightened. If he didn’t schedule the final lesson, she couldn’t leave. Couldn’t go out with Porter. They’d agreed on it, taken a shot of ouzo to seal the deal. Okay. So what did he do with the stay of execution?

  When he let the idea settle, his heart started to pound. Could he? Could he…try and keep her? If he spent time with her, just the two of them, without sex being the reason, maybe he could convince her he wasn’t past redemption. He couldn’t be. Not when he felt like the world would stop turning after their final lesson. And hey, hey, Ebenezer Scrooge redeemed himself at the end A Christmas Carol, didn’t he? Sure did. Showed up with a big-ass turkey and everything.

  New game plan. Get Eliza alone and don’t have sex with her. Sounded shitty on the surface, but if he could get her to see past Oliver the Womanizer, he had to believe she’d give him a shot. The alternative was to fuck her blind one more time, cement his addiction to her, then watch her bail. Not an option at this point.

  He shadowboxed the air in front of him and stretched his neck, feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks. Until he acknowledged what he was up against. A disinterested female. God help him.

  After straightening his bow tie, he went toward the door Eliza had gone through and nudged it open. His gaze found her at the bar ordering a drink. Long minutes passed before he realized he’d been staring at her. God, he wanted her. For keeps. He wanted to make her laugh. Wanted to be the man who had the privilege of showing up at the party and being introduced as her boyfriend. Eliza’s boyfriend. It sounded so innocent but it made him hard. It made him wish he’d kept her back in the conference room for round two. Maybe he could have passed it off as lesson two point five.

  Jesus, he was already fucking up the plan. He pasted a casual expression on his face and strode into the ballroom, his attention locked on Eliza’s smooth, exposed back. He could do this. Convincing women of his worth was his thing, right? Yeah. It actually mattered this time, though. If he failed, he lost the girl.

  A knot tightened in his stomach. I can’t fail.

  When Oliver was ten feet away, he watched the bartender prop his elbows on the bar in front of Eliza, lean close and smile. Oliver’s step faltered a little under the hot, blast of jealousy. His hands curled into fists, his jaw clenched. Easy, man. Sweaty, clenchy jealous guy isn’t exactly charming. Damn, if he felt like this over a flirting bartender, he’d have to be put in an asylum if she went out with Porter. Smoothly—he hoped—Oliver moved in beside Eliza and let a hand slide across her back to settle on her hip. When the bartender’s eyes snagged on his hand, he gave her a hard squeeze through the silk. Eliza sucked in a breath and sent him a questioning look, obviously thrown by his possessive behavior. Hang on, babe, I’m just getting started.

  “I…um.” She gestured toward the bartender. “Oliver, this is Jerry.”

  Oliver tipped his head in greeting. “Thank you for keeping her company.” In other words, fuck off.

  “It was my pleasure.” Jerry tossed a white towel over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just that not a lot of customers order ouzo at the bar.”

  “I understand.” He almost pulled off a friendly tone, but not quite. “Although I’m sure her being the most beautiful woman in the room didn’t hurt, either.”

  “Not even a little.” Jerry laughed and walked off, presumably to pour their ouzo. Oliver felt Eliza’s gaze on him and turned. Her expression reminded him of earlier, right after he’d informed her of his research on Conrad Sterns. Maybe simply telling the truth about how he felt was the answer? Definitely something to explore. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled as Jerry set down glasses in front of them. “I just forget sometimes how easy you make it look.”

  “I don’t understand.” But he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. “What do I make look easy?”

  She drew a pattern on the bar with her index finger. “You say things that would sound like a line coming from anyone else. It’s an incredible talent.”

  “Nothing I say to you is a line.”

  “See?”

  Attempting to hide his frustration, he tossed back the ouzo Jerry had poured. “I don’t need to use lines on you, Eliza. We’ve already gone to bed together.” They both flinched at his words. Mayday. Mayday. “That came out wrong. Completely.”

  “I spoke too soon. You’re not as smooth as I thought.”

  “Good,” he said on a pent-up breath. “I don’t want you to think I’m smooth.”

  She stared at him. “I am so confused right now.”

  He massaged his forehead. “Have lunch with me on Monday?”

  “So not helping with the confusion.”

  In fifth grade, his mother had found the Cliff’s Notes to Cyrano de Bergerac in his book bag and forced him to read the entire book, cover to cover. Right now, he wished like hell he had someone feeding him poetic words. The right words. He’d take a pass on the giant nose. He hadn’t really thought this through, had he? Why would he be asking Eliza to lunch? They had never gone out without Caroline as a buffer before. Their arrangement didn’t include a prix fixe. Of course she’d be thrown off.

  “Oh.” Her smile seemed strained. “Lesson three. I wasn’t expecting it in the middle of the day. I guess you want to make it quick.”

  “No, I—” Oliver cut himself off. It hurt him to know she thought he wanted to hurry up and end their arrangement, but as long as he got her out to lunch, he could worry about correcting her assumption later. Let her think it was about sex. When she got there and realized he just wanted to feed her and look at her, maybe grab a kiss or two—he wanted to be her boyfriend, not her priest—she’d be even more surprised. It might even be to his advantage. So what to tell her now? The truth? “I want to see you in the daylight,” he whispered.

  For a moment, she looked stunned. Maybe even a little hopeful, but she eventually laughed. “There you are, Oliver. I was worried about you.”

  Another line. She thought it was another line. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Do you want to dance again?”

  She glanced toward the now-crowded dance floor. “No, actually I think I just want to go home. It’s Shark Week.”

  He nearly choked on his tongue. “What?”

  “Never mind.” She slid gracefully off her chair. “Want to split a cab?”

  Fuck yes, he did. But he wanted to go home to the same place, and she’d only laugh at him or think he wanted more sex. “I’ll walk you out and hail one for you.”

  “Aren’t you…staying?”

  Oliver noticed her gaze had snagged on something over his shoulder. Brow dipping, he turned to find Blue Dress, the girl who’d
waylaid him earlier, staring at him over the top of a champagne flute. Talk about Shark Week. She looked ready to strike. He gave her an absent smile he hoped wouldn’t encourage. It didn’t work. Without taking her attention off him, she set her glass down on a passing tray and swayed toward him. Oliver watched in slow motion as the girl punched another gaping hole in his chances with Eliza.

  “So.” She flicked a dismissive glance at Eliza. “Are we still getting out of here?”

  Seriously? When had the universe decided it hated him? “No. We’re not. Excuse me.” Without another word, he turned back to Eliza. At least, where Eliza had been a second ago. Where the hell…?

  He caught up with her at the door. “Hey. Where are you going?”

  “I can hail my own cab. Really.”

  “Eliza,” he blocked her path and gripped her elbows. “Let me explain.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.” She looked up at the ceiling. “It shouldn’t matter.”

  “But it does?” Heart in his throat, he shook her a little. “But it does, Eliza?”

  “No….I don’t know. I have to go.”

  A powerful combination of hope and disappointment kept him rooted to the spot, watching as she sailed past the coat check and out into the lobby. He followed a second later, hailed a cab and went home to watch Shark Week alone.

  And to regroup.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eliza snagged the pages from the printer and stapled them neatly. There. She’d spent the morning—not to mention most of her Sunday—getting her game plan ready for her meeting with Conrad Sterns. Unable to sleep after the gala Saturday night, she’d dug deeper than her initial research and found a magazine feature Conrad’s ex-wife had done two years ago. In it, she was quoted as saying, “My husband is a minimalist. Or he thinks he is, anyway. If he didn’t step on fur the second he swings his legs out of bed, he’d expire from discomfort.” Just that single quote alone had given Eliza an inside track as to what she would pitch to Conrad. Understated luxury. Hidden comforts. She had his number now.