Samson buzzes me. I look up from the email I’m reading and answer. “Yes?”
“Miss West and Mr. Donovan are here for your meeting.”
What the hell is Paul doing with her?
“Keep them there,” I bark. I push back my chair and stride to the door, jerking it open and stepping out.
Delilah and Paul are waiting to come in. Rolls of paper fill Delilah’s hands, and her green eyes lock on mine, a hint of pink tinting her cheeks.
I shouldn’t like that I make her nervous, but I do. A little too much.
My attention shifts to Paul hovering close to her. I wonder if the man senses something. If he’s somehow picking up on the memories that ripple between Delilah and me whenever we’re in the same room together. The idea almost makes me smile.
But I don’t. “Paul, I’m sorry you wasted a trip here, but I asked to meet with only Miss West.”
Paul’s eyes dart between Delilah and me. Oh yeah, he senses something all right. But I doubt he knows what. Would she have told him she slept with someone while they were apart, or did she act the role of the blushing virgin the first time he sank his dick into her?
I’ve never cared about taking a woman’s virginity, but there’s something about Paul believing he’s the first man to have her that sets my teeth on edge. Some primal urge to make sure every other man knows she was mine before she was anyone else’s.
And as much as I’m disinterested in repeating our encounter, imagining Paul touching her has my back clenching with a spike of irritation.
“But as the project manager, I feel like I should—”
I pin him with my gaze. “If I wanted you here, I would have asked you to take part.”
A muscle tics in Paul’s jaw, but he knows better than to argue. He just nods and turns to Delilah. “Come by my office on your way back.”
Delilah throws him a look that I can’t interpret. Annoyance? Nervousness? I can’t tell, and that frustrates me. I’m used to being able to read people.
With one last frown in our direction, Paul moves off.
I step back and gesture for Delilah to enter my office. As she passes, her soft wildflower scent drifts to me, and all my senses go on high alert. I’m not even embarrassed about my eyes dropping to her heart-shaped ass swaying in front of me in one of those fitted skirts she likes to wear.
She stops in front of my desk as I circle it and sit down, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my chin as I watch her. She glances uncertainly at the two leather seats next to her, obviously wondering if she’s allowed to sit this time.
I raise my brows as I wait to see what she does. Without looking at me, she smooths her skirt and sits, crossing her legs.
I let my eyes linger on the exposed skin of her thighs, and when I meet her gaze, her cheeks are flushed again.
“Um,” she says. “So, would you like me to run through my thoughts on the green roof?”
I tip my chin at her. “I want to hear about feasibility.”
“Okay.” She stands and unrolls a schematic, placing it on the desk in front of me. She leans forward and my gaze is drawn to the neckline of her blouse, which is gaping just enough to show a hint of creamy cleavage.
I force my attention back to where she’s pointing out the details of her preliminary design.
Delilah’s eyes light up as she talks about the green roof, her hands making graceful movements over the plan. I’m watching her as much as listening to what she’s saying.
“Do you have an idea of what the additional costs might be?” I ask.
“I’m estimating it will be in the ballpark of an extra two hundred thousand on top of the one and a half million we’re looking at for the solar panel array. But considering the additional savings from increased energy efficiency, decreased water runoff, and that, theoretically, the green roof will also improve the solar array’s efficiency, the payback period of installing both systems is the same as installing the solar panels on their own.”
“And how long will that be?”
“Approximately eight years.”
I nod slowly, impressed with her diligence.
“Plus,” she adds, “you can use the increased LEED rating to one-up your competitors.”
My lips quirk up. The cost benefit is obviously in our favor. I’d liked the idea when she’d floated it in our team meeting earlier in the week, but I’d wanted to make sure she wasn’t increasing the spend without considering the return on investment. Clearly, she knows what she’s talking about.
“Is this something we can use for all the hotels?” I have a good idea what her answer will be, but I’m interested in what she has to say.
Or do I just want to keep her here longer?
Delilah straightens. “We can use it on several, but we’d need to do a cost analysis based on the climate of the various cities. A green roof might not be the best solution in some of the drier states. Although, there is always the option of using drought-tolerant plants.”
I study her design for a moment longer, then flip to a few waiting underneath. There’s a site plan showing the proposed hotel’s relationship with the surrounding topography and other buildings, as well as what looks like her original concept design with just the solar panel array on the roof.
It’s a delaying tactic more than anything. I already know what I’m going to tell her. “Okay.” I flip back to the plan on the top of the pile and look up at her. “Give the numbers to accounting and get them to get back to Paul with the approvals.”
She blinks at me. “Just like that?”
I shrug. “It makes good financial sense.”
“Right. Okay then. Uh, thank you.” She pulls the plans toward her and begins rolling them up, having to start over again when she rolls them crookedly. She’s flustered. Is it because she wasn’t expecting me to accept her proposal so quickly? Or because she’s alone with me in my office?
I want it to be the latter.
“Well, thank you for listening to me. I appreciate it,” she says.
I stand and walk around my desk, and she lifts her chin as I stop in front of her. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I ask, “So how are things with Paul?”
Her eyes widen. “Paul? Um, they’re fine.”
“No problem working on the project together?”
She hesitates, probably wondering where I’m going with this. “We’ve worked together before.”
I take a step forward. “And does he always treat you that way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like a child instead of a very competent architect.”
Delilah blinks, her lips parting. The next moment, her expression shutters. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a high-profile project. It’s Paul’s job to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
I suppose it’s hardly a surprise she doesn’t want to discuss her boyfriend with me.
“Paul and Philippa seem to have a good working relationship.” I don’t know why I say it. It could be because I sense some undercurrent between Paul and the beautiful blonde. Or maybe it’s because I’m an asshole and I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one. And there’s no doubt in my mind that Paul’s an asshole. After all, he’s broken up with her once already—which I should probably thank him for—then come crawling back.
Delilah stares down at the plans in her hands. When she raises her gaze again, there’s a spark of anger in the deep green of her eyes. The sight sends a flare of heat through me.
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to insinuate,” she says, “but my personal relationship with Paul and his professional relationship with Philippa aren’t any of your business.”
“I’m not trying to insinuate anything. Just commenting.”
“Well, how would you like it if I commented on your girlfriend’s relationship with another man?”
A smile curls my lips. “That’s not really an issue for me.”
Something shimmers in her eyes. Is it relief? I can’t tell for sure because she tilts her head and it’s gone. “Let me guess. You’re one of those men whose relationships consist of multiple one-night stands because they’re afraid of emotional intimacy?”
I raise my brows and she presses her lips together, probably remembering who I am and where she’s standing.
She gives a little shake of her head. “I’m sorry, that was completely—”
“Accurate. Except for the being afraid part. Replace that with not being interested in, and you’ve got it.”
“Right,” she mutters. “Well, lucky me to be one of the many, then.” She pivots as if she’s about to leave.
“More memorable than most,” I say, and she jolts to a stop, looking at me over her shoulder. I don’t know why I’m poking her. Or why I enjoy seeing her cheeks turn pink with either embarrassment or anger—both options being equally appealing. I’m not interested in her as anything more than an employee and a very pleasant memory. Not to mention she’s another man’s girlfriend. So why can’t I leave this—her—alone?
Her nose wrinkles. “Should I be flattered that if you line up all the women you’ve slept with, I’ll be one of the few you can pick out?”
“Most women would.”
She puts her hand on her hip and angles her head to the side so her dark hair tumbles over one shoulder. “I doubt that. But if that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, then you just go ahead. While those women are chasing you around, begging for a night in your bed, I’ll be with my very attractive, very intelligent boyfriend, having some very enjoyable emotional intimacy.”
I casually cross my arms over my chest. “Not long ago, you were the one begging for a night in my bed. You were more than happy to have a one-night stand so I could give you what you needed.” Baiting her like this is crazy. If I’m not careful, I could end up with a sexual harassment suit. And yet, I can’t seem to stop.
The urge isn’t helped when she curls her lip and says, “I should have waited. If I’d known who I was spending the night with, I would have realized what a big mistake I was making. Now at least I’ve got a man who takes care of my needs and has an interest in me as a person.”
Her eyes spit fire, and I find myself standing way too close to her, taking in her wildflower scent and basking in her anger.
Even though I brought up Paul in the first place, I don’t particularly like her thinking about him while I’m standing in front of her. Though she says she should have waited, she’d loved every second of the hours we’d spent together. The scratch marks down my back had proved it. That needling irritation is what makes me keep going. “Does Paul know? Did you tell him about that night, or did you keep your little indiscretion to yourself?”
Her chin rises. “I was honest about what happened.”
“Exactly how honest? Does he know it was me? Have you shared that truth with him?”
Her delicate jaw clenches, but her gaze darts away—proof she hasn’t. “There’s no point,” she says. “It would only make the working relationship between the two of you uncomfortable.”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” I throw her words back at her.
Her nostrils flare and those bright green eyes flash. “Surely you can’t believe it’s a good idea for him to know?”
“You don’t think he deserves to know that the man sitting across the table from him is the man who took his girlfriend’s virginity?” Her lips part on a gasp, but I keep going. “That a month ago, you were screaming my name as you came on my cock? Tell me, Delilah, when you look at me, do you remember my mouth between your legs? Do you touch yourself and think about how you did it for me that night?”
Her breaths are fast and choppy. “No.”
“No what? No, you don’t think he deserves to know? No, you don’t remember? Or no, you don’t play with yourself and think of me? How honest are you, kitten?”
Her eyes narrow. “You seem to remember an awful lot about that night for someone who’s probably screwed any number of women since then. How often have you touched yourself thinking about me?”
She’s not trying to be seductive. She’s angry. And sick bastard that I am, I like it just as much.
“Too many times to count,” I admit, savoring her sharp inhale. “So next time you and your boyfriend are sitting across the table from me, you’ll know I’m remembering your sweet pussy wrapped around my dick and I’ll know you’re remembering my fingers and tongue in you, and how hard I made you scream. You might be with Paul, but I have no doubt you’ll be thinking about me the next time you fuck yourself with your fingers.”
Hectic patches of red bloom on the arches of her cheekbones. My eyes dip to the jut of her stiff nipples through her thin blouse. I would give anything to bend my head and suck one of those hard tips into my mouth.
But I can’t.
I wouldn’t, even if she didn’t have a boyfriend.
“Vibrator,” she says shakily.
I raise my brows. When she speaks again, her voice has strengthened, and she meets my gaze head-on.
“I’ll be using a vibrator. And when I come, I’ll be thinking about whatever the hell I want to think about. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, and pushes me away from her.
I let her, stepping back so she can slip past me. Without another glance in my direction, she leaves, not even giving me the satisfaction of attempting to slam the door behind her.
A few seconds later, I’m unzipping my pants in the bathroom. Exhilaration pings through me, and I’m so fucking hard it hurts. I enjoy it far too much when she talks back to me. Seeing the anger snapping in her eyes makes me desperate to bend her over the nearest desk and remind her how much she’d loved having my dick in her.
I bare my teeth in a smile as I stroke myself. Because she is honest, and she was very careful not to say what—or who—she’d be thinking about. Which tells me everything I need to know.
The mental image of Delilah playing with her tight little pussy while she thinks about me is the only thing running through my head as I groan out my release a few hard strokes later.
“HOW’S THE PROJECT GOING?” Tate asks.
“It’s moving along. We’re almost ready to sign off on several preliminary designs.” It’s late at night and Tate, myself, and Roman are probably the last people in the building. Roman is still in his office, but Tate and I encountered each other on the way to the elevator, so we’re heading down to our cars together.
“How’s marketing?” I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders and scowls. “We’re doing our best to offset any new press about Dad’s arrest by replacing it with everything positive we’re doing, but it’s an uphill battle.”
I frown at him. “Why is that?”
“The press is more interested in our private lives than what the company is doing. At yesterday’s interview, the woman spent more time asking me about my reputation than our current projects and the effort we’re putting into making our developments more sustainable.”
“What did you do?”
“Took her into the bathroom and fucked her.”
I shake my head. “That’s not helpful, Tate.” I don’t know what the hell we were thinking, putting him in charge of marketing. All we’ve done is give him access to more women who are obsessed with finding out if the youngest King brother is as kinky in the bedroom as he’s rumored to be.
We exit the elevator and make our way out the front. Our cars are waiting there for us, and I nod a farewell at Tate and climb into the back of mine. While my driver, Jonathan, waits for a gap in the traffic, I look out the window, my gaze caught by a familiar couple standing on the corner—Paul and Philippa.
I narrow my eyes as I watch them. They seem to be arguing. Philippa gestures wildly while Paul rubs his hand over his face and attempts to respond. Then he grimaces as if he’s frustrated, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and wraps her in his arms.
Well, fucking, well. Looks like my senses are on point. The guy is an asshole.
I don’t get to see anything else as Jonathan accelerates away from the curb, obscuring the couple from view. But I don’t need to see anything else. It might not have been a kiss, but there was far more intimacy in that interaction than there should be between colleagues.
My mind jumps to Delilah, and I rub my thumb across my lower lip. Despite what I said in my office, her relationship with Paul is none of my business. There’s no reason for me to insert myself into the situation. Yet, the fact that Paul is screwing her around sends a surge of anger through me. I’d bet anything he started fucking Philippa when he broke up with her—if not before. He probably regretted it soon after because compared to Delilah, Philippa comes across as a cold fish. So either Philippa doesn’t want to let go, and he’s too weak to make her, or he’s stupid enough to believe he can juggle both women without getting caught.
I lean back in my leather seat. As much as Delilah deserves to know, and as much as having Paul out of the picture would give me incredible satisfaction—and I’m not thinking about why that is—telling her won’t end well for anyone. She’ll just have to open her eyes and see the man for who he is.
I try to turn my thoughts elsewhere. After all, I have far more important things to worry about than the relationship of a woman I screwed once, even if she does work for me now.
And yet, it’s the flash of fire in Delilah’s beautiful green eyes I see as I stare out the window, not the lights of passing cars.
