Office Player Read online

  Beth had done a complete one-eighty. The flirting had stopped, along with the playful banter, to the point where she would only communicate with him on a strictly professional level.

  It had taken months to wear her down, to get their relationship back to where it had been before the kiss.

  So, right here, right now, he had no plan to fuck that up with another drunken moment.

  “Beth, you’re extremely inebriated—”

  She laughed, the feminine sound tickling his skin and shooting his restraint into dangerous territory. “Extremely inebriated? Seriously, Dean, who talks like that?”

  He bit back a growl, hating the need to be the responsible one. “I do, when I’m trying damn hard not to take advantage of a friend while she’s drunk.”

  Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open.

  He glanced away before she replied and occupied himself by making sure she was steady on her feet. After he convinced himself she wouldn’t fall, he stepped away to open the car door, moving with a speed Superman would envy.

  “Get in.” His tone was harsh, the devil on his shoulder poking him so hard he wanted to punch his fist through the car window.

  Just kiss her.

  Fist those silky locks.

  Tame that sassy mouth.

  He clenched his jaw as he helped her into the car and fixed the seat belt in place. Once she was settled he closed the door, turned his back on the car, and tried to pull himself together.

  Breathe, just fucking breathe.

  She was drunk, for God’s sake, and he wasn’t a horny teenager anymore. He could handle his dick.

  This was the perfect time for him to finally grasp a moral compass and do the right thing where a woman was concerned.

  Normally, he did easy conquests, and the easy conquests he spent time with didn’t know the meaning of morals. He had his father to thank for that. The old man ruined his opinion on the opposite sex, not to mention his outlook on love and all that cuddly, emotional shit.

  Until Beth.

  He’d never wanted a woman as much as he craved her. Since his father had awakened him to the bite of female betrayal, there hadn’t been a pull stronger than sexual attraction toward anyone.

  What he felt for this woman was a hell of a lot more. She made him second-guess his opinion on commitment and made him want something he wasn’t sure existed.

  Unable to put off the inevitable, he walked around the car and paused at the driver’s side door. He took one last calming breath and begged for his cock to settle down, then yanked the door open and slid inside. Without a word, he belted up and became instantly enslaved by the smell of her perfume.

  Fucking. Hell.

  He had to breathe through his mouth to stop her intoxicating scent from dragging him under. There was no escaping her. No escaping this.

  No.

  He was in control. He could get her home without defiling her. No problem. He would drive her straight there, do the gentlemanly thing and help her inside. Then he would leave, hotfoot it to his house, and spend the rest of the night trying to kill the ache in his groin.

  “Where am I heading?” He watched her movements through the corner of his eye.

  She turned to face him, her head resting lazily against the leather seat. Her voice was sultry as she relayed the address, so damn flirtatious he couldn’t hold back from hammering his finger against the GPS while he programmed in her details.

  He wanted to sob like a little bitch at the injustice of the situation—Beth drunk and willing in his car while he sadistically stuck to the moral high road.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  It shouldn’t be happening.

  All it would take is one lapse in judgment and they could both be deliriously sated. At least until tomorrow.

  He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and watched his knuckles drain of color.

  He would be fine. He just needed to keep himself occupied. Once he got home, he could relax with a few beers, enjoy some adult entertainment to numb the thought of her, and have a one-on-one session with Mrs. Palmer.

  Fuck.

  He hadn’t needed to jerk off this bad in years.

  Chapter 3

  Beth shamelessly stared at him the entire trip home. She memorized the way taut muscles ticked across his jaw, how his strong, tanned hands gripped the steering wheel. The way his deep breaths expanded his broad chest, and the major tent action in his pants.

  That tentage was damn impressive. The elevation alone could shelter a family of five.

  She continued to stare, imagining the size, the taste, the texture… When clearly she needed to retrieve her mind from the gutter before she started to drool.

  Oral sex had never been her forte. Right now, though, the desire to take him in her mouth, to lick and suck and savor until he climaxed down the back of her throat, made her core clench.

  “What number is it?”

  She looked up from his crotch and came into immediate eye contact with a frowning, jaw-clenching Dean. Busted. Her mouth dried as his gaze narrowed, piercing her with disapproval.

  She glanced away, occupying herself with a frantic search for her keys in the bottom of her handbag. The hypocritical action hadn’t been lost on her either. At least she felt remorse, unlike the bartender… Well, okay, she wasn’t entirely remorseful, but she never claimed to be a saint.

  “Are we here already?” Her voice was too chipper as she searched her bag, pretending she hadn’t been caught visually violating him.

  “Yes.” His answer contained an aggressive undertone.

  She wasn’t sure if the hostility came from having to drive her home, or because of her visual transgression.

  “It’s number nineteen. The one with the white mailbox.”

  She clasped her keys, but continued to keep her sight diverted. If she glanced between his legs one more time, she would giggle like a child.

  She had to focus her attention on the quiet tree-lined street, the girls playing hopscotch on the footpath, the boys tackling each other in a game of soccer, instead of the tower of temptation in her periphery.

  Or maybe talking to fill the void would be better. She should invite him inside and forget about the humiliating compliment she made about his drool-worthy aftershave.

  Only problem was, the “wanna come in for coffee?” line would be asking for trouble. Especially when she didn’t understand the innuendo behind the invitation.

  Why wasn’t a coffee, just a coffee? Why were there strings involved when said coffee was offered during flirtatious situations? Coffee deserved more respect than that. Right?

  Her thoughts sharpened, giving her the clarity to realize any innuendo would be a bad idea. But she didn’t want Dean to dump her and speed off into the fast approaching night. Leaving their interaction at this awkward pinnacle would make Monday morning an awaiting disaster

  And besides, she wanted to stare at him a little longer. To give her drunken, slightly uninhibited self free rein to ogle, instead of ignoring her feelings like her prim and proper side insisted.

  “Nice digs.”

  Her heart fluttered at the compliment. Some people spent their time and money on children, pets, or hobbies. She gave all she had to her townhouse.

  Originally, the inside space had seemed too big for someone living alone, but her parents and out of town friends used the extra space when they traveled long distances to visit. It also helped that she didn’t have an interest in going clubbing and drinking every weekend, preferring to spend her money on renovations.

  Her home was her sanctuary, the place she felt safe and secure since moving to Melbourne. Each room had been decorated to suit her personality, from the feature walls to the furniture. Hours upon hours of hard work had gone into making the front yard a manicured masterpiece. So, it meant a lot to hear someone compliment her tiny piece of the world.

  “Do you want to come in?” The question came out too quick. Way too quick. But hey, at least she hadn’t
mentioned coffee.

  He continued to stare straight ahead. At her home. “I’ll make sure you get settled inside. Then I need to head back to the office and finish up a few things.”

  The reminder hit her with another barrage of scandalous images of Max in expensive, old-man underwear, the pictures firmly nailing themselves onto the walls of her mind.

  Grabbing her handbag, she climbed out of the car with intoxicated grace and navigated the few steps to her front door with more finesse than her walk through the city streets. Dean followed right behind her, silently standing by while she unlocked the door and forged inside.

  His proximity made her tingle—her skin, her tongue, her nipples. She fell down a rabbit hole of sexual possibilities and lost all hope of focus. At least until she was halfway down the hall. That’s when commonsense kicked in, and she stopped abruptly, turned, and slammed directly into Dean’s chest.

  The air left her lungs, her vision shorting for the briefest of moments as she started to fall backward. Before her ass hit the floor, his arms engulfed her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

  “You okay?” He frowned at her, searching her eyes for an answer she was too breathless to give.

  She couldn’t get away from him this evening. Divine intervention seemed to be playing a part in trying to bring them together.

  Not that she minded. However, she was a little disappointed her memories of his body hadn’t done him justice. All those nights fantasizing of smooth skin, strong hands, and intoxicating scents didn’t include a fraction of the appeal she currently rubbed against.

  He was all hard, hot, and radiating testosterone, forcing her rapidly beating heart into meltdown.

  “I left the keys in the front door,” she admitted, her cheeks heating.

  His gaze cut into her, dark and full of cocky satisfaction as he jiggled the keys from his hand wrapped behind her back.

  She wanted to wipe that look off his face. To turn his smug superiority into something less intimidating. No, she needed to.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed up on the tips of her toes and placed her mouth against his.

  The connection ignited memories and fantasies like gasoline doused kindling. Lust hit her in a rush and she sank into the strength of the arms tightening around her.

  She flattened her hands on the hard mounds of his pecs and fought the urge to dig her fingernails into his flesh. Restraint was key… Or it would’ve been.

  Hell, she didn’t know what the game plan was anymore.

  All she could do was savor every scorching, heart-palpitating movement of their kiss and let herself be consumed by the pleasure of contentment. It was perfect. The delicate caress, the unity of chest against chest, the nervous way her belly flipped and tumbled…for all of about thirty seconds before his arms fell and he stepped back.

  Total. Buzz. Kill.

  A crease marred his brow as he raked a hand through his hair. “Beth.” His tone held authority, even the slightest hint of a chastisement. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Don’t.” She threw up a hand and stepped away, frustrated at her stupidity. She didn’t need him to be the voice of reason or to point out her idiocy.

  She couldn’t believe she’d been mindless enough to throw herself at the one man she vowed never to become involved with.

  And he rejected her.

  Jackass.

  “I’m the one that’s sorry,” she added. “That was stupid of me.” She continued down the hall, shame shadowing her every inch of the way. “You can let yourself out.”

  It took a few more steps in full-blown tipsy-tantrum mode before her mind caught up. “Oh, wait.” She swung back to face him. “I need my keys.”

  The bastard grinned at her. The same devilish grin he used when playfully making fun of her at work.

  It didn’t take more than two brain cells to realize he was mentally laughing his ass off.

  “You know, I’ve never seen you this drunk before.” His mouth twitched. “I kinda like it.”

  “You kinda like it?” Annoyance coated her words as she planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah, you like it enough to have an erection the whole ride home, but not enough to kiss me back.”

  Whoa, little lady.

  Where the hell was this humiliation fuel coming from?

  She just used the word erection in front of Dean Sutherland.

  The Dean Sutherland.

  Her boss.

  Monday was going to be one mother of a bitch.

  Her throat burned in a mix of embarrassment and anger. She was overreacting. They both knew it. Too bad she couldn’t stop herself. The way he stood, with his chin arrogantly high and the smug taunting smile, ate away at her, poking her closer toward the cliff’s edge.

  “It’s okay though,” she drawled. “It’s selfish to expect more than one impressive Sutherland man to desire me, and your dad already voiced his interest earlier.”

  Silence descended like a bomb as Dean’s face hardened, that cocky grin transforming into one flat line of lips.

  She’d gone too far. Not only had she stepped on the imaginary line, she’d jumped over it, never to return.

  Blood drained from her head with every passing second that his features hardened.

  His gaze narrowed to spiteful slits. His nostrils flared. His jaw ticked.

  She couldn’t work out why she was being emotional and immature. This wasn’t like her at all. It was pathetic and beneath her.

  She swallowed over the lump in her throat and fled down the hall. Too scared to face the heat. “Please, just leave the keys on the floor on your way out.”

  Tears stung her eyes. Pathetic tears which had a lot to do with sleep deprivation, stress, and the ever-annoying amount of alcohol.

  It had nothing to do with his rejection.

  Nothing whatsoever.

  She stalked into the living room, placed her handbag on the nearest recliner, and leaned against it as she removed her shoes. She undid the straps and listened for the sound of the door, praying he would leave before her emotional breakdown took over.

  “Beth.” His menacing voice reverberated down the hall, followed by loud approaching footfalls.

  In seconds he was behind her, his presence looming close. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  The anger emanating off him made her want to run. Hide. Instead, she stood her ground and tilted her chin in defiance as she turned to face him.

  “You’re sleeping with my father?” he growled.

  She jerked back with a gasp, not only at his unrestrained vehemence, but the not-so-subtle hint of jealousy.

  Two minutes ago he hadn’t been interested in her at all.

  “That’s none of your business.” She made to move around him, only to have him step in her way, hovering close.

  “Like hell it’s not.” Pain filled the dark depths of his eyes as he leaned close, almost nose to nose. “I’ve waited patiently for over a year to get you back. A fucking year, Beth, and now, when you’re too damn drunk and too damn emotional to think straight, you finally decide you want something from me? What’s going on? And what does all this have to do with my father?”

  A rush of air left her lungs.

  He wanted her?

  He’d been waiting?

  She blinked back at him, in disbelief. And hope. And confusion.

  “Are you sleeping with him?” Defeat etched his words and settled in his eyes.

  “No.” She shook her head to reiterate. It seemed absurd to be asked such a laughable question, but he was serious. His eyes searched hers, peering into her soul for confirmation. “I’m not sleeping with him. I never would.”

  “But he propositioned you.”

  The words hadn’t been a question. He knew.

  She answered anyway, needing to soothe his blatant frustration. “Yes. That’s what the meeting was about this afternoon.”

  His thoughts were almost visible, from the darkness that curled his lip, to t
he fear furrowing his brow.

  “You’re mine,” he stated with confidence, then defied the statement by retreating a step and placing more space between them.

  He began to pace the living room, back and forth, over and over, his frustration not dwindling.

  She didn’t know what to do. What to say.

  Suddenly, Monday morning seemed so much better when there had only been a kiss to contend with and the separate issue with his father. Now both problems were firmly interlocked and the approach of the new working week gathered steam like a building apocalypse.

  “I need to go.” He stopped before her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other thrusting the keys toward her.

  “Right,” she whispered, entirely confused.

  Over time she’d determined the relationship between Dean and his father wasn’t rock solid. They dealt with each other in a sterile, professional manner and, although they rarely argued, she’d never seen them bond like father and son should. But the last thing she wanted was to become involved in a family feud.

  It was also on the tip of her tongue to ask why he said the things he did, the words that made her heart thrum and her belly flutter, but the possible repercussions weren’t worth the probable boost to her ego.

  She couldn’t afford to have a messy relationship with him. Ignoring the entire afternoon and forgetting it happened would be best.

  “Thanks for the ride home.” She started for the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and aspirin to ward off the inevitable hangover.

  It may not be completely dark yet, but the dwindling alcohol buzz and the emotional backlash had drained her. She needed to sleep…or pass out, whichever came first; whichever killed the embarrassment quicker. “I’m going to bed. Please lock up on your way out.”

  “We’re not finished.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Now you’ve made the first move, I won’t let you back down. When you’re sober and thinking straight, I’ll be here. I’m not letting you walk away again.”

  She paused, a halfhearted chuckle leaving her lips before she headed for the stairs leading to the second floor and her bedroom. “Whatever you say, Dean.”

  “Scoff all you like, but mark my words, I’m not backing down.”