He could not—
The bell above the door to the establishment jingled cheerfully as it opened. He stepped inside and closed the door firmly but quietly behind him, the bell cutting off.
His shoes squeaked on clean tile as he took a few steps into the deserted reception area. The shop was small but tidy, warm and brightly lit, with a colorful seating area crammed full of mismatched comfortable chairs. There were magazines spread out on the coffee table, ranging fromBetter Homes and GardenstoCar and Driver.
A curtain separated the rest of the business from the front. It rippled like someone had disturbed it recently. She knew he’d entered, no doubt. She hadn’t seen him yet, though. He could still leave.
Chandlers aren’t quitters.
He adjusted the cuffs on his shirt, though they didn’t need adjusting. Team See Her had destroyed Team Avoid Her at All Costs. He was committed to this now. There was no turning back.
It was fine. He wouldn’t gorge himself on her. He’d simply... gather information. As president of Chandler’s, it was his duty to evaluate any issue which could affect their company.
Cold. Formal. It’s business.In no way, shape, or form could he let the careful barrier he’d constructed to keep her at a distance slip.
Firm objective in mind, he squared his shoulders and walked to the curtain. As he parted it, that firm objective promptly turned into an objective that was roughly the consistency of tapioca pudding.
Livvy sat on a stool in profile to him, bent over a worktable, doodling on a scrap of paper, seemingly oblivious to his entrance. Her foot tapped, striking the concrete floor in rhythm with his pounding heart.
She decorated her sweetly rounded body like a canvas and framed it with tiny scraps of fabric: today, a red bustier and black leather pants. On another woman, he might wonder if she were in costume. On her, he didn’t care. He only wanted to rip the clothes off her.
He remembered her natural hair color from when they were young, a perfectly lovely midnight black. Her parents had grounded her for a week the first time she’d used drug-store peroxide and dye to turn it some shade of the rainbow. They gave up by the third or fourth color.
Now it was almost subdued, pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head, dark brown shot through with burgundy highlights. He failed the struggle to not think about what those waist-length waves looked like spread across a pillow. Or licking his body like flames as she slid down his chest.
She bent over her drawing, her bare midriff pooching over the waistband of her pants. She didn’t look at him, but she did speak. “I see you decided to quit lurking.”
The last time he’d heard that voice, he’d been driving into her, her snug pussy gripping his cock, toned legs locked tight around his waist, her fingernails drawing blood on his shoulders.Don’t stop, she’d whispered in his ear.Fuck me harder.
He didn’t know what he’d said in reply. Their encounters were usually a haze of sweat and pleasure and filthy words and filthier actions. Nicholas assumed he’d complied, because he’d ached the next day. He didn’t know if she’d been similarly affected. He’d always left before dawn, before she woke up.
Those were the rules. One night, wherever in the country she might be. After nine years of illicit sex, he’d learned them well.
He had to swallow twice in order to speak, but he was gratified he didn’t sound like he’d been punched in the stomach. “I was not lurking.”
“I didn’t realize there was a threshold for how long a guy needed to loiter in a parking lot in order to be classified a lurker.” She placed the pencil neatly next to the pad and stood. Her black, laced, knee-high boots added about three inches to her five-foot-nothing height. She crossed her arms over her chest. A tattoo decorated her shoulder and arm, highlighting her toned muscles, a twining vine of prickly black flowers. It was new.
He wanted to touch it, butthatwasn’t new. He always wanted to touch her.
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. The corner of her lips curled up. “Hello, Nicholas.”
He grasped on to the polite, meaningless greeting like a man grabbing the handiest lifeline. “Livvy. You’re looking well.” An understatement.
Her kohl-lined eyes dipped over his body, from his head to his feet, leaving fire in their wake. He found himself straightening.Asshole. You’re two seconds from flexing your muscles for her.
“You too. New tie?” She batted her lashes.
He automatically smoothed his hand over his tie, but then stopped. Last time they’d seen each other, she’d grabbed the strip of fabric and hauled him close to press her mouth against his. Did she remember? “Perhaps. I don’t recall.”
“Nice. It brings out the blue in your blood.”
Her attitude wasn’t new either. “My blood isn’t any more blue than yours is,” he pointed out. Both of their grandfathers had been the first generations in their families to be born on American soil. It had been one more commonality that had made the two men such good friends and business partners.
“Hmm. Must be the Scrooge McDuck vault of gold you swim in every morning that gives it that bluish tinge.” She leaned back against the table. “Who told you I was here?”
“A cousin. She saw you at a gas station.” It had taken a second to google Livvy and discover she was working at this place. Nicholas was mildly ashamed of the level of familiarity he had with her social media profiles. Far more than an ex should have.
She didn’t ask him which cousin, probably because she realized it didn’t matter much. He barely knew everyone in his clan. His vast extended family shared two things in common: one, they were amiable and bright but not terribly self-sufficient, and two, they were all employed by the corporation.Family first.
