Emilie Rose - Payback Affairs - Shattered by the CEO

“Do you believe that?”

Her gaze broke away. She smoothed a hand over the bedspread. “I don’t know. But Mom asked me to keep the house just in case, so I will.”

He couldn’t argue with illogical logic. “Bathroom?”

“Through there.” She pointed to a door.

“Internet hookup?”

“Anywhere in the house. I installed a wireless network when I moved in. My mother was—wasn’t well. I needed to be able to work wherever she needed me.” The strong emotional undercurrents in her voice warned him to change the topic or get embroiled in an emotional tar pit he’d rather avoid.

Five years ago he’d been enthralled by Tara, now he felt entrapped. Last time he’d wined and dined her and swept her off her feet. This time he wasn’t going to waste the effort. “Your room?”

“Across the hall.”

“Show me.”

She pivoted and crossed the caramel-colored carpet. Rand followed a few steps behind. His gaze dropped to her butt. She’d lost weight since they were together. He’d enjoyed her generous curves before, but this leaner version had its own appeal. Not that it mattered how attractively she baited her trap. He wasn’t biting her hook.

A maple queen-size four-poster bed took up most of the space. His blood heated and need clenched like a fist in his groin. He didn’t want to want her, dammit. But, to borrow a cliché, he’d made his bed and he’d have to lie in it. With Tara.

Consider it a job.

He’d had worse jobs than pleasuring an attractive woman. His father had made sure of that by making Rand work his way up from the bottom of the cruise line ranks. Not so for Mitch or Nadia. His siblings had never had to work in the bowels of a KCL ship or spend months sleeping in a window-less cabin.

Looking uneasy, Tara hugged herself and faced him.

Might as well get started.

He grasped her upper arms, hauled her close and slammed his mouth over hers. The initial contact with her warm, silky lips hit him like a runaway barge, rocking him off balance. And then the familiar taste, scent and softness of her flooded him with heat, desire and memories. He ruthlessly suppressed all three and focused on the mechanics of the embrace.

He sliced his tongue through her lips, taking, pillaging, trying to force a response and get the task done as quickly as possible.

Tara stood woodenly in his arms for several seconds while his tongue twined with the slickness of hers, then she shuddered and shoved against his chest. He let her go and she backed away, covering her lips with two fingers.

What exactly did she want from him? She’d said sex. For a year. He’d give her exactly what she demanded. Nothing more. Nothing less. If she didn’t like it, that was her problem.

He reached for his tie, loosened it then started on his shirt buttons.

Her wide gaze fastened on his chest. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to do you. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

She bit her lip. “Maybe we should wait.”

He paused in the act of yanking his shirttail free. “Until after dinner?”

“Until we’ve … become reacquainted.”

Her nipples tented her dress in little peaks, her breaths came quick and shallow, and the pulse in her neck fluttered wildly. Desire pinked her cheeks.

“You want me—whether or not you’re willing to admit it.” And as much as he hated it, he wanted her. Physically.

It’s a trap. Keep the hell away from her.

Not an option.

He closed the distance between them. “You made this deal, Tara, and I’m ready to deliver my end of it.”

“I-if I wanted sex with a stranger, I’d drive to the beach and find one.”

The idea of Tara with some other guy irked him. She was twenty-nine. Of course she’d had other lovers.

Including his father. He shoved down the disgust and dragged his fingertips down the smooth skin of her arm. He relished her shiver.

“But we’re not strangers, are we?”

She jerked away. “I’ll start dinner.”

She tried to step around him. He blocked her path. “So you’re calling the shots. I perform on command. Like a trained dog. Or a gigolo.”

She gulped and briefly closed her eyes. “I had hoped the desire would be mutual. Like it was before.”

“Before you slept with my father?”

She frowned. “I told you I didn’t sleep with Everett.”

“You forget, Tara, I know what you look like after you’ve been screwed. Your mussed hair, smudged makeup and the hickey you had on your neck that night, told the tale.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Believe what you will.”

The vulnerability in her expression nearly sucked him in. She lifted a trembling hand to brush back a loosened strand of hair. “We used to be good together, Rand. Don’t you want that again?”

Did he want to be a gullible fool again? Hell no.

Given her betrayal and the Kincaid men’s history with women, cutting her loose had been his only option. “I don’t repeat my mistakes.”

She flinched. “I never considered us a mistake.”

He had to keep her happy or risk having her walk out before the end of the required year. He didn’t know what game Tara was playing. She hadn’t asked for romance when she’d brokered this bargain, but apparently she required a measure of pandering before they hit the sheets.

Fine. If she wanted seduction she’d get it. But that was all she’d get. She wouldn’t get his heart this time.

The hair on the back of Tara’s neck rose. She didn’t have to turn to know Rand stood behind her. Close behind her.

She’d been so engrossed in her reading she hadn’t heard him return from Tuesday morning’s round of interviews. He must have slipped in through the back door of his office.

He planted a big hand on either side of her blotter, trapping her against the desk between charcoal-colored suit-clad arms. Even with the back of her chair separating their bodies she could feel the heat radiating from him and smell his delicious scent.

She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her mouth. “Can I do something for you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you breathing down my neck?”

“I’m reading over your shoulder.” His breath stirred her hair and something inside her fluttered to life like a butterfly wiggling to get free of its cocoon.

“I’ll send you the link to the company newspaper archives, and then you can read at your computer between interviews. Better yet, you can wait for my notes—the ones you asked me to make.” She pushed her chair back, forcing him to move or have his wing-tipped toes run over.

“But reading over your shoulder is more fun.” Rand stepped aside, leaned against the corner of her U-shaped workstation and smiled.

That familiar slow, seductive smile made her stomach flip. She studied the fit form beneath his tailored suit, his crisp white shirt and his neatly knotted black-and-gray striped silk tie. There was a difference in his body language today, one she couldn’t decipher. It made her uneasy.

He was up to something. She could see the cool assessment in his eyes and behind that false smile. She’d sensed that same calculation in his kiss last night—a kiss that had been all technique and no emotion. If there had been even a trace of genuine passion in his embrace, she would have made love with him. She needed to be held that badly.

God, she was pitiful.

But the thought of having Rand “do her,” as he’d said, repulsed her. She wanted him to make love with her because he desired her. Not because he had to perform.

If it weren’t for the fire sometimes making the gold flecks glimmer among the green in his hazel eyes, she’d wonder if he found the prospect of making love with her as abhorrent as she had the idea of intimacy with his father.