Shade Page 8

  Claire bursts in, her gaze sweeping the room.

  “I have your next week schedule ready for you. You’ll be out on the field starting Tuesday morning. Your flight was booked for seven o’clock. Oh… And pack thick clothes. It’s cold in Wisconsin,” she says, her voice drenched in poison before she turns around and storms out.

  SHADE

  “Remind me. Why do we have to share a ride again?” I ask, blowing a stream of smoke to my side.

  “Because it’s a business dinner, Shade. And you’ll get back to the house for the party, anyway.”

  As the gates close behind us, her phone begins to buzz. She slides her finger onto the screen and smiles contently while I try to ignore her, although my gut tells me to pay attention to her.

  I wait.

  She types her little fingers off for a good ten minutes before she slips her phone into her purse, her face glowing with a smile.

  A message flashes on my cell phone.

  M: She got it.

  Without expressing the slightest emotion, I shove my phone into my pocket.

  Running her fingers through her curly hair, Elia can’t wipe away her smile, her demeanor making me nervous.

  “So…” she starts.

  Here it goes.

  Jaw locked, I stub out my cigarette, run both my hands through my hair, fold my arms across my chest, and wait.

  “Claire Long confirmed to me that her people brought in the desk you have asked for.”

  My muscles flex under my suit.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I mutter.

  “Since when are you so set on the finish color of your desk?” she asks, irony lining her voice.

  “Since when do you give a damn, mother?”

  She puffs, annoyed.

  “Really, Shade? You’ve never given a flying crap about being in an office, and now, you’re into decorating your workplace? Do you honestly expect me to believe you?”

  “Frankly, I don’t give a damn whether you believe me or not.”

  Her eyes glint with a wicked smile. I don’t like her expression. Not a damn bit.

  “Okay then. Maybe you’ll give a damn about this one. I believe you fucked that sweet, blue-eyed pussycat from the office on Claire’s desk,” she says bluntly, her eyes on me, gauging my reaction.

  She pushes my buttons–– that’s what she always does, but it’s not going to work with me this time because I’m not going to play with her.

  Not now.

  I need more time.

  Guarded, I set cold eyes on her.

  “What are you talking about, woman? What pussycat? Have you lost your fucking mind?” I ask, calmly.

  Her smile drops from her face.

  “Claire showed me your office. Your desk was trashed. That woman’s pen and a small snap that fell from her underwear were on the floor.”

  “What woman? Who are you talking about?”

  “Tara Hart, the company’s trainer.”

  A small puff escapes my lips.

  “What the hell have you two been smoking? Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound? Stop talking to that Claire woman. Your IQ drops every time you have a conversation with her. ”

  “Shade––”

  “Don’t fucking Shade me. What’s with you and Claire Long? Just because her husband fucked some young chick at the office doesn’t mean everybody does it.”

  She blanches, confirming my suspicion.

  I’m so fucking right. It doesn’t take a genius, though.

  Everything has become so damn predictable.

  “I don’t know anything about Claire’s life. And this is not about her anyway,” she says.

  I chuckle, feigning amusement.

  “Oh, yeah... It always is. Otherwise, she wouldn’t sweep snaps off the floor and go commando on her employees. And you have nothing better to do than let her pull you into that shit. I thought the company is about work and being professional, not gossiping. Just...” I pause and hold my hand up for a moment, shaking my head. “Stop talking, Elia. You embarrass yourself.”

  She looks away, annoyed, but she doesn’t stop.

  “Like I said, it’s not about her. You took that woman in your office, Shade. And I know you and how women react to you,” she says, batting her lashes.

  I shift into my seat and turn to her.

  “Why the hell would I need to fuck her, Elia? I get my cock sucked every fucking night, just the way I want it. When they’re done giving head, they’re out of my life. Just like that. I don’t need to explain anything to anyone. I don’t need to make conversation or have someone in my bed overnight, let alone fuck some pup at the office on some witch’s desk.”

  She shrinks in her seat.

  “You shouldn’t have trashed her desk then.”

  “It’s not her fucking desk. It belongs to the company, so tell her to shut up. Even better, I’ll tell her myself on Monday morning.”

  “Oh, no, no... Don’t do that,” she says, backpedaling swiftly. “It’s not her fault. She didn’t do anything wrong. I asked her to come to me if she sees anything out of the ordinary. That’s exactly what she did.”

  “Anything related to me, I gather. Because that’s how you build trust Elia, isn’t it? What about this? I’ll work with whomever the hell I want, and you and your dog Claire, back off. How is that for you?”

  “Shade?”

  “I’m done.”

  The limo pulls to a stop before I jump out.

  The driver holds the door for her while I round the car and head to the entrance. Hurriedly, she catches up with me so that we walk into the hotel together. People greet us as we stroll into the vast ballroom.

  As soon as she pulls away from me and starts grinding other people, I plop into a chair and let out a long exhale. These are going to be two excruciatingly long hours.

  Throughout the evening, I do my best to plant the seeds of doubt in her mind. Every single time she glances at me, I have a different woman in my arms.

  As sneaky as she is, I’d be surprised if I was off the hook.

  Even if I make her question my story for a moment, I’m sure her gut tells her otherwise. It always does, so I roll with her and fuck with her as much as I can.

  Close to eight o’clock, I get confirmation that a car waits for me in front of the hotel. I excuse myself before I run out the door.

  Swaying on her heels, she struts behind me, following me like a shadow.

  As soon as we step out of the hotel, I pull away from her and walk past the limousine.

  “Shade?”

  I keep walking, without turning.

  “Where are you going?”

  Irritated, I stop short and spin around.

  “To the whorehouse for my evening treat. Why?”

  “What about your party?”

  I smile.

  “I’ll be fashionably late, but I’ll be there.”

  She begins to say something else.

  “Bye, Elia.”

  Her mouth drops open in surprise, but I don’t have time to analyze her expression.

  Experiencing an odd sense of relief, I sprint to the car, anxious to get to my apartment.

  8

  TARA

  The lingerie set fits me perfectly.

  It’s way more risqué than everything else I’ve put on in the past. I’ve bought my own sets throughout the years, but always sided with the tamer versions.

  I pull the trench coat on and slip into a pair of high heels. Black satin ribbons wrap around my ankles, finished up with rhinestones trimmed little bows. I add another layer of mascara, my eyes sparkling like sapphires.

  The phone starts to ring just as I peel my eyes away from the mirror.

  I fish out my phone from my purse and answer the call.

  “Miss Hart, the car is ready for you,” the driver says as I grab my keys and purse and head to the door.

  A few moments later, I walk out of the building and climb into a limousine.

  Half an hour later, my
ride pulls in front of a skyscraper not far from Elliott Bay. Squares of bright light and patches of darkness line the building’s walls.

  A man waits for me outside.

  He introduces himself as the concierge clerk before he shows me to the entrance.

  The building looks like a posh hotel, except that there are no guests, only the doorman, and the concierge clerk.

  We walk across the lobby in silence, heading to a private elevator.

  The man holds the elevator door for me, presses the only button on the panel, and leaves me alone.

  The elevator takes me to the top level where it opens straight into a private residence.

  The door slides shut before the elevator starts descending and I make the first steps into the foyer.

  I amble across the space, my heels click-clacking on the marble floor before I reach a big door.

  As I look closely, I notice that it’s slightly open.

  I take a moment and listen.

  Shade’s voice drifts through the air while soft music echoes in the background.

  Slowly, I push it open.

  A large chamber sprawls in front of me.

  On the left, I spot a bedroom with a round bed and sheer curtains while on the right, I notice a living room with ceiling height windows and a bar.

  The wall of glass in front of me opens to a rooftop patio. Pixels of glittering lights fill the night view in the distance.

  The room I’m walking in is dimly lit.

  Feet away from me, Shades stands next to the flowing curtains, the blue reflection of the pool sparkling behind him.

  Shirtless, and half turned to me, he talks on the phone, his gaze rooted to the view.

  Dark suit pants fit his narrow hips and muscular legs, a white shirt crumpled in his hand.

  His head is slightly tilted down, his V-shaped back curved.

  The sound of my heels against the tile floor makes him raise his eyes. He looks at me, a slow smile arching his lips as he takes me in with hungry eyes.

  Still on the phone, he tosses his shirt on a chair and swaggers to me.

  A beautifully drawn tattoo stretches on his flank, nearing his ripped abs.

  As he slides closer, I make out the words and vines that curl around an empty cage masterfully captured in black ink.

  He winks at me as he flashes a grin, his stare making me hot and nervous.

  “Yeah... no, no. That’s fine. No, not tonight. Okay, then. Thanks,” he says before he tosses his phone on a nearby side table.

  He turns to me, his eyes twinkling with a smile.

  Tingles swirl beneath his touch as he slowly slides his hands across my shoulders and slips his fingers into my hair.

  Slowly, he tips his head down and kisses me softly.

  “Hey, baby.”

  My voice falls back to the bottom of my throat as I curl my arms around his neck and press my face against his shoulder.

  Gently, he begins to stroke my hair.

  “You finally made it, didn’t you?”

  I nod once before I tilt my head up and look into his eyes.

  “I’m happy to see you, Tara.”

  “Me too. I, um…”

  My voice trails off as a smile grows on his face, his attention arrested by my lips.

  “Shh…” he murmurs. “We’ll have enough time to talk.”

  I stare at him. He nods softly.

  “I want to make love to you, now. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I mutter.

  He slips his hand inside my belt and pulls my coat open. His gaze dips to my lingerie clad body, the sight making the corner of his lips lift with a smile.

  “That’s the way to do it, baby. I never liked too many clothes on a woman’s body anyway.”

  I grin amused.

  He tears my coat off, frames my face with his hands and slowly nudges me against the wall, his lips sliding onto mine.

  My skin burns beneath his touch as he gently cuffs my neck and kisses me slowly.

  He smells and tastes like heaven, his exotic cologne meshed with a hint of smoke, his lips warm and minty, his touch, so sensual and arousing, making my body hot and yearning as it responds to him at once.

  He looks down at me again, catching the slow rolling of my hips as I grind against him. Biting his lip, he shakes his head, raises his eyes and gives me a full mouth smile.

  “You’re as beautiful as I imagined,” he says, the heat of a blush rolling onto my face.

  He slides his hand up my thigh, slips his fingers under a garter and slinks them slowly inside my panties.

  A gasp falls from my lips when his touch brushes my smooth flesh at the apex of my thighs.

  I start to move against his hand.

  “You’re right, baby.”

  His fingers roll between my folds before he dips them into a pool of wetness.

  “You’re really happy to see me,” he purrs against my lips before he slides his tongue into my mouth and thrusts a couple of fingers into me.

  My nails scrape his skin.

  “You feel good,” he rasps, my body warming up, my core clenching.

  He strokes my clit with his thumb while my fingers trail the waistband of his pants, work his fly open, and grab his hard shaft as it springs free from his boxer shorts.

  Body oozing heat, he grinds his erection against my fist.

  “Shade... oh... ”

  I gasp and moan, my body tense, his strokes making me scale up so quickly.

  Swiftly, he retrieves a condom from his pocket, rips the foil, and rolls it down his hard length.

  He runs his hand down as well, smoothing the plastic, my eyes right there with his touch, and then he pulls my panties to the side, and drives his fingers deep inside me.

  One more time.

  My center clenches, my eyes locked with his.

  “That’s good…” he mutters, smiling drunk on how I feel against his touch.

  Hitching my thigh up on his hip, he slowly enters me.

  “Oh....” I breathe out as he fills me to the brim.

  Smiling, he curls his hands under my rear and lifts me.

  My legs wrap around his waist as my back presses against the wall, my center sliding down on him.

  I bite my lip as I stifle my reaction.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “You’re hard... and so big,” I say, my lips curling into a small smile.

  “Are you really complaining?” he asks, jokingly.

  Shaking my head, I breathe out a chuckle.

  “No. ”

  He rocks his hips and gives me a few slow thrusts before his mouth comes onto mine and he starts to pound me. The harder he rams me, the harder we kiss.

  My back hits the wall repeatedly, my core wet and heated, my pleasure surging, ready to explode.

  “You’re damn good,” I murmur as we lock drunk eyes.

  His face is flushed, his eyes burning, his lips teasingly pulled into a smile.

  He hits my sensitive spot inside–– just right, and everything comes undone.

  “Shade...”

  A spike of pleasure sweeps through me as he pummels me to reach his climax, groans vibrating in his chest.

  Moments later, he sets me down. I touch the ground with shaky legs as he lets go of me.

  “Give me a minute. Okay?” he says and kisses me on my cheek before he pulls away from me.

  He heads to the bathroom while I stroll to the window.

  An oval, blue-lit pool stretches across the terrace, the subtle lighting illuminating a few lounge chairs and wicker tables.

  Moments tick by before I hear his voice again.

  “You want something to drink?”

  I spin around.

  “Okay.”

  He’s already behind the bar, mixing colorful drinks before pouring them into the cocktail glasses.

  I spin around, strut to the bar and hop on a barstool across from him.

  Shirtless, and barefoot, he rounds the counter, nears me and hands me my drin
k.

  Dark, faded jeans cling low to his hips, a few drops of cologne glimmering on his clean-shaven face.

  His eyes narrow at me, amused.

  “What is it, Tara?”

  He takes a sip from his drink while I get a taste of my cocktail, my eyes hovering over his pecs before slipping down below his waist.

  He sets his glass on the counter and turns to me.

  Holding my gaze, he slides his hands up on my thighs, parts them slowly and lodges himself between my legs.

  I set my glass to the side as well and look into his eyes.

  Mischief flashes through his gaze.

  “Are you old enough to drink?” I ask.

  The words barely make it to my lips when his smile dies out.

  My stomach shrinks, my smile fading away too.

  “Why do you care so much?” he says, half-jokingly, a pang of sadness dripping in his voice.

  I bring my hand to his face, cup his cheek, and run my thumb over his lips.

  Light sparkles in his eyes again.

  His short-lived hope shines briefly through his gaze before it falters away as well.

  “Does it matter to you?” he asks seriously.

  I shake my head and smile.

  “No... It doesn’t,” I murmur as I cup the other side of his face, bring him closer to my lips, and start to kiss him.

  His arms loop around me as he responds to me with passion.

  Sweet tension spins inside my chest.

  He is so full of contrasts. Hard to read sometimes and unpredictable, while other times he’s deep and thoughtful, a puzzling mystery.

  We break our kiss.

  His skin is flushed, his eyes warm and glistening, a playful grin on his lips.

  He threads his fingers through my hair, a different expression sliding onto his face.

  “You’re one of my youngest, you know,” he says, his smile distracting me as he makes an effort to conceal his emotions.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He retrieves a cigarette from the pack sitting on the counter, slips the filtered end between his lips and flips the metal lighter open.

  Narrowing his eyes, he rolls the flame over the tip and takes a long drag.

  He tosses the lighter back on the counter.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he says without offering more information.

  He blows the smoke up and shoves his free hand into his pocket, his gaze locked with mine.