Maureen Child - The Elliotts - Bedrooms Not Boardrooms!

“I guess avoiding each other isn’t going to work,” she asked once she caught her breath.

“Not a chance.” Liam eased from her body and instantly she missed him. He helped her stand and then began righting her clothing. Her legs quivered unsteadily. Watching him make love to her in the mirrors had been hotter than she could believe, but his haste to redress her was quickly quenching that fire.

“Are you trying to straighten me up so you can shove me out the door?” She winced at the hurt in her voice and pushed his hands aside to complete the task, albeit unsteadily.

“No. But if I don’t cover your delectable body, you’re never going to get out of this elevator or get the dinner and books I promised you.”

Pleasure wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “Oh. Well, in that case, may I return the favor?”

She bent her knees, intent on pulling up his slacks, but Liam caught her elbows and lifted her back up. “Not if you want to get out of here tonight. The thought of you on your knees.” He shook his head. “Hell, Aubrey, I can barely stand as it is.”

His words and the desire lurking in his eyes sent her pulse into a tizzy. “Maybe later, then. What can I do for you now?”

“A loaded question.” His eyes glimmered with suppressed hunger. He fastened his clothing, scooped up the roses and her purse and placed both in her arms. “The flowers are for you.”

The heady scent of the flowers filled her nostrils. “Thank you. Florist roses don’t usually have this much scent.”

“I special-ordered them. Twelve, because twelve days ago we first did this.”

His fingers tangled in her hair and he held her captive while he kissed her deeply, hungrily. By the time he released her lips, her head spun from lack of oxygen. Clutching the roses to her chest, she sagged against the elevator wall and filled her lungs with much-needed air.

Rendered speechless by the romantic gesture and his thoughtfulness, not to mention that killer kiss, she could only stare as he gathered the ice bucket and the champagne flutes and used his elbow to push the button to open the elevator doors.

Why oh why couldn’t his last name be something besides Elliott? And why couldn’t they have met and slowly fallen in love instead of instantly combusting?

The doors glided open. He nodded for her to precede him. Tantalizing smells greeted her as soon as he opened his apartment door. She followed him into the dining room. “Something smells delicious.”

He deposited the ice bucket on a long cherry table that had been set with ivory cloth napkins, silver and crystal. “Steak Diane. Lucky for you, I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

“I imagine you’re good just about anywhere.” The bold comment—shades of the old Aubrey—slipped out before she could edit it.

Mischief sparkled in his baby blues, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he pulled out a chair. “You’re more than welcome to test that theory after dinner. Have a seat.”

Aubrey laid the roses and her purse on the long table and sat. Liam’s hands briefly massaged her shoulders—just long enough to agitate her breathing—and then he bent to nuzzle a kiss on her nape. “I’ll be right back.”

After he left, Aubrey rested her head against the back of the chair. What are you doing, A.? This path leads to a dead end.

What’s wrong with a dead end as long as you both know that’s where you’re headed?

Nothing, as long as hearts and hopes and hormones don’t become entangled.

Liam made her feel young, energetic and sexy instead of old, neutered and dedicated only to her job. He relieved her stress and gave her amazing orgasms. What more could a girl want? She could be happy with that, couldn’t she?

Absolutely. Without a doubt.

Hmm. Why did she have trouble believing that?

Because she wanted more. She wanted a loving husband, children, a home and a minivan. Despite her parents’ bad examples, she knew there was such a thing as a happy marriage. Her college friends had married and started families. Aubrey frowned. She couldn’t remember when she had last spoken to her friends. In the last few years work had taken over her life. Each time one of her friends had called she’d been shackled to her desk by some urgent deadline. She’d even given up her jogs in the park for a treadmill—with her laptop fastened to the handlebars—in her spare bedroom. Voice-recognition software made it possible for her to dictate her work as she ran.

Unfortunately, she could never have the American dream of 2-point-whatever children and a house with a yard with Liam. Even if it were possible to get over their Romeo and Juliet family situation, they’d met and ignited too quickly. Love at first sight—not that she imagined herself in love yet—wasn’t based on anything deep and meaningful, and therefore it burned out quickly and painfully, and it left scars behind. Just look at her mother. Pamela Holt Dean Getty Richards Curtis paid more for therapy each month than Aubrey paid in rent and utilities combined.

The swinging door opened, interrupting her dark thoughts. Liam entered carrying a tray holding two plates and a small bowl. He set a plate before her. The other dish he placed in front of the chair at a right angle to hers and put the bowl between them. He discarded the tray, pulled a bottle of wine from the crook of his arm, efficiently uncorked it and poured the deep red liquid into the waiting goblets and then sat.

From the bowl he extracted a cloth and extended his hand. “May I?”

Surprised by this consideration, Aubrey placed her palm over his. Liam wrapped the warm, damp lemon-scented cloth around her hand and then embarked on the most sensual hand washing of Aubrey’s life. He dragged the cloth between each finger, massaged her palm and the sensitive inner skin of her wrist, and then he repeated the process with her other hand. By the time he finished, the desire he’d so recently sated had rekindled and her breath came in short bursts. All because he’d washed her hands. She couldn’t get over it. How did he get to her so easily?

He lifted his wine glass. “Enjoy.”

“For as long as it lasts.” She touched her glass to his with a clink of fine crystal and then sipped. Liam definitely knew his wines. Aubrey lifted her knife and sliced into the tender beef and then paused. “If we’re going to have this … affair shouldn’t we make some ground rules?”

“Good idea.”

“No calls at work,” she offered and then took a bite. The succulent meat melted in her mouth. “Delicious.”

“Thank you. You’re right. Calling at work was risky even with the precautions I took. We need to keep our business and private lives separate. Completely separate,” he stressed.

Guilt stabbed Aubrey between the shoulder blades. She washed down the lump in her throat with a gulp of wine. She had to destroy the report from the sales department. “Okay. And when either of us wants to end this, all we have to do is say so and that’s it. No further contact. No questions asked. No explanations required.”

“Agreed.”

“No ‘I love yous’ or talk of the future. We both know this is temporary.”

“Got it. Here and now. That’s it.”

A few moments passed as each ate in silence. Aubrey couldn’t imagine being ready to say goodbye anytime soon, but then her mother probably never went into any of her marriages anticipating the messy divorces that followed, either.

She met Liam’s gaze. “Meeting in public is out, and we can’t meet at my apartment. My father owns the building and he lives in the penthouse above me. Besides the risk of running into him, there would be too many prying eyes. But a hotel seems.” She shrugged.