Three

Jennie

I'd had big plans for tonight: make dinner,eat dinnertogether, finally decide which apartment we were going to rent in New York, discuss what to keep from both her place and mine, figure out when in the hell we'd find time to pack it all in the first place.

Oh, and spend the remaining eight hours relearning every inch of my bastard's body. Twice.

But that itinerary was before she'd walked through the door of her house to find mecooking dinnerin her kitchen. Before she'd tossed her jacket and keys to the couch and practically sprinted across the room. Before she pulled me back against her and sucked at the skin below my ear as if she hadn't tasted me in weeks.

Needless to say, the plan had beendownsized dramatically.

One: dinner.

Two: naked.

Even so, Lisa seemed inclined to skip steps.

"We're never going to eat at this rate," I said, tilting my head back as she kissed along my neck. Her warm breath curled over my skin and the knife I'd been holding clattered to thecutting board.

"And?" she whispered, pressing her hips to my ass before turning me to face her.

Thecabinetswere hard against my back. Lisa was harder against my front. She bent down, towering over me without the benefit of my shoes, and brushed her lips over my throat.

"And . . ." I mumbled. "Food is overrated."

She laughed softly, hands skimming my sides to rest at my hips. "Exactly. And God, it feels like I haven't touched you in weeks."

"This afternoon," I corrected, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "It was this afternoon, you know—when I sucked you off at your desk?"

"Oh, yes. I seem to remember something like that. It's a little hazy, though. Perhaps you could refresh my memory . . . tongue, cock . . ."

"Nice mouth, Manoban. Does your mother know you're such a pig?"

She barked out a laugh. "If the way she looked at us after we fucked in the coatroom at my cousin's wedding in February is any indication, then yes."

"I hadn't seen you in two weeks!" I said, feeling my cheeks warm. "Don't look so smug, you ass."

"But I'm your ass," she said, and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. "Don't pretend like you don't love it." I couldn't argue. Lisa might have spent more time out of Chicago than in it lately, but she was all mine. She never left any doubt about that. "And speaking of asses"—she reached down and squeezed mine, hard—"the things I'm going to do to yours tonight . . ."

I started to reply—to argue or say something smart in return that would put me back in the verbal driver's seat—but I couldn't think of anything.

"Jesus. You've been stunned silent," she said, eyes wide in surprise. "If I'd known that's all it'd take to get a little peace and quiet, I'd have brought it up ages ago."

"I . . . um." I opened and closed my mouth a few times but nothing came out. This was new. When the oven timer cut through the air, I forced myself to pull away, still a little off balance.

I pulled the bread from the oven and drained the pasta, feeling Lisa move up behind me again. She hooked her chin over my shoulder, wrapped her arms around my waist.

"You smell so good," she said. Her mouth went back to work on my neck, as her hands began a slowdescentdown to the hem of my skirt. I was more than a little tempted to let her finish.

Instead, I nodded to thecutting board. "Can you finish the salad for me, please?"

She groaned and loosened her tie, grunting something unintelligible as she began working at the opposite counter.

Ribbons of garlic-scented steam curled up from the bowl as I tossed the pasta and sauce together, trying to clear my head. As usual, it was impossible when she was nearby. There was just something about Lisa Manoban that seemed to suck all the air out of a room.

I'd been blindsided by how hard I'd fallen for her, and lately I missed her so much when she was gone. Sometimes I'd talk to my empty bedroom. "How was your day?" I'd ask. "My new assistant is hilarious," I'd say. Or: "Has my apartment always been this quiet?"

Other days, when I'd worn her shirt to sleep so many times it had lost her smell, I'd go over to her place. I'd sit in the huge chair that looked out over the lake, and wonder what she was doing. Wonder if it was possible for her to miss me even a fraction as much as I missed her. Jesus. I never used to understand women who acted like this when their boyfriends traveled. I used to just assume it was a good opportunity for a full night's sleep and somedowntime.

Somehow, Lisa had managed to work her way into every part of my life. She was still the same stubborn, driven woman she'd always been, and I loved that she hadn't changed who she was just because we were together. She treated me as an equal, and even though I knew she loved me more than anything, she never cut me any slack. For that I loved her even more.

I carried our plates to the table and glanced back over my shoulder. Lisa was still grumbling to herself as she sliced a tomato.

"Are you still complaining?" I asked.

"Of course." She brought the salad over, smacking my ass before pulling out my chair.

She poured us each a glass of wine before dropping into the seat across from me. Lisa watched me take a sip, her eyes moving from mine, to my lips, and back up again. A sweet smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, but then she seemed to blink back into focus, remembering something. "I've been meaning to ask you, how's Jisoo?"

Jisoo Kimhad graduated from the same MBA program that I had, but had since left MMG to work for another firm. She was one of my best friends, and Lisa had offered her the Director of Finance position in the new branch but she'd turned her down, not wanting to leave her family and the life she had in Chicago. Lisa didn't blame her, of course, but as the big day drew closer and we still hadn't found anyone, I knew she was beginning to worry.

I shrugged, remembering the conversation I'd had with her earlier that day. Jisoo's douchebag of a fiancé had been photographed kissing another woman, and it seemed Jisoo might really be seeing what the rest of us had suspected for years: Andy was a cheating dick.

"She's okay, I guess. Andy still claims he was set up. The other woman's name still pops up in the paper every week. You know Jisoo. She's not going to show the world how she feels, but I can tell she's completely shattered over this."

She hummed, considering. "Think she's finally done? No more taking him back?"

"Who knows? They've been together since she was twenty-one. If she hasn't left him by now then maybe she'll stay with him forever."

"Wish I'd gone with my gut and knocked him on his ass at the Smith House event last month. What a miserable sleaze."

"I've tried to talk her into coming to New York but . . . she's so stubborn."

"Stubborn? I can't possibly see why the two of you are friends," she deadpanned.

I threw a cherry tomato at her.

The rest of the meal was all talk about work, about getting the new office off the ground and all the pieces that still needed to be put into place before that could happen. We'd begun discussing whether her family would be going back to New York again before the new offices opened when I asked, "When did your dad get back in town?"

I waited a moment, but when Lisa didn't answer, I looked up, surprised to see her pushing her food around her plate.

"Everything okay over there, Manoban?"

A few seconds of silence passed before she said, "I miss you working for me."

I felt my eyes widen. "What?"

"I know. It doesn't make any sense to me, either. We were awful to each other, and it was an impossible situation." Holy crap, what an understatement. The fact that we managed to survive working in the same office together for ten months without bloodshed or some sort of manslaughter stapler incident still surprised me. "But . . . ," she continued, looking up at me from across the table, "I saw you every day. It was predictable. Consistent. I pushed and you pushed back. It was the most fun I've ever had at a job. And I took it for granted."

I set my glass down and met her eyes, feeling an overwhelming surge of affection for this woman. "That . . . makes sense," I said, searching for the right words. "I don't think I appreciated what it meant to see you every day, either. Even if I did want to poison you on no less than twenty-seven separate occasions."

"Ditto," she replied with a smirk. "And sometimes I feel guilty for how many times I threw you out the window in my fantasies. But I most certainly plan on making it up to you." She picked up her glass, took a long drink.

"Do you now?"

"Yep. I have a list."

I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Well, first I'm going to peel off that skirt." She bent to glance under the table. "I'd hassle you for wearing that lacy stuff underneath just to torture me, but we both know I'm into that kind of thing."

I watched as she straightened and leaned back in her chair, hands clasped behind her head. The weight of her attention brought goose bumps to my skin. Anyone else would have been intimidated—I could still remember a time when I was—but right now all I felt was adrenaline, a thrill that shot through my chest and settled warm and heavy in my stomach.

"And that sweater," she began, eyes on my chest now. "I'd like to rip it open, hear the sound of those little buttons as they pop off and scatter across the floor."

I crossed my legs, swallowed. She followed the movement, a smile slowly lifting at the corners of her mouth.

"Then maybe I'd spread you out on this table." She leaned over, made a show of testing its sturdiness. "Put your legs over my shoulders, suck on you until you're just begging for my cock."

I tried to seem unaffected, tried to break from her stare. I couldn't. I cleared my throat, my mouth suddenly dry. "You could have done that last night," I said, teasing her.

"No. Last night we were tired and I just wanted to feel you come. Tonight, I want to take my time, undress you, kiss every inch of that body—fuck you. Watch you fuck me."

Was it suddenly getting warm in here?

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" I asked.

"Most definitely."

"And what makes you think I don't have a list of my own?" I stood, dessert forgotten as I rounded the table to stop in front of her. Her cock was already stiff, straining against the fly of her pants. She followed my gaze and smirked up at me, pupils dark and so wide.

I wanted to rip off my clothes and feel the heat of that stare on my skin, wake up in the morning exhausted and sore and with the memory of her fingertips still pressing into my body. How did she make me feel this way with just a look and a few dirty words?

Lisa shifted in her chair and I stepped between her legs, reaching out to push the hair—that eternally freshly fucked hair—from her forehead. The soft strands slipped between my fingers and I tilted her head back, bringing her eyes to mine. I've missed you so much, I wanted to say. Stay. Don't go so far away. I love you.

The words stuck in my throat and nothing more than a "Hi" slipped out instead.

Lisa tilted her head, smile widening as she looked up at me. "Hi." Warm hands gripped my hips, pulled me closer. Laughter curled around the single word and I knew she could read me like a book, saw every thought as clearly as if it were written across my forehead in ink. It's not that I wasn't comfortable saying I loved her, it's just that it was so new. I'd never said it to anyone before her, and sometimes it felt scary, like opening up my chest and handing her my heart.

Her hand moved up to rest on my breast, thumb brushing along the underside. "I can't help but wonder what's under this pretty little sweater," she said.

I sucked in a breath, felt my nipples harden beneath the thincashmere. She slipped one button through the hole, and then another, until thecardiganfell open and her eyes moved over my barely-there bra. She hummed in appreciation. "This is new."

"And expensive. Don't ruin it," I warned.

She couldn't contain her smug smile. "I would never."

"You bought me a four-hundred-dollar slip and then used it to tie me to your bed, Lisa."

She laughed, pushing the sweater from my shoulders, taking her time to unwrap me like a gift. Long fingers moved to the waist of my skirt and the soft sound of the zipper filled the room. She did as she'd promised, purposefully peeling the wool from my hips and down my legs to pool at my feet, leaving me in only my lace bra and rather skimpy panties.

Theair conditionerswitched on and a low whir carried through the apartment, a burst of cool air rushing along my exposed skin. Lisa pulled me down onto her lap, my legs on either side of her hips. The rough fabric of her pants brushed against the backs of my bare thighs, my practically naked ass. I should have felt vulnerable like this—with me in so little and her fully dressed—but I relished it. It was so much like our first night together at her home, after my presentation, after we'd both admitted we didn't want to be without the other and she let me tie her up so I could have the nerve to hearhow muchI'd hurt her.

And then I realized this position was intentional. I suspected she was thinking about that exact night, too. Her eyes shone with such hunger, such adoration, that I couldn't help but feel a sense of power, like there wasn't anything this woman wouldn't do if I just asked.

I reached for the buttons of her shirt, wanting her naked and over me, behind me—everywhere. I wanted to taste her, scratch marks into her skin, and connect them with my fingers, my lips and my teeth. I wanted to stretch her out on the table and fuck her until any thought of either of us ever leaving this room was a distant memory.

Somewhere in the apartment, a phone rang. We froze, neither of us saying anything, both waiting, hoping it had been a fluke and that nothing but silence would follow. But the shrill ringtone—one I'd become all too familiar with—filled the air again. Work. The emergency ringtone. And not the regular emergency one—the emergency-emergency one. Lisa swore, resting her forehead against my chest. My heart pounded beneath my ribs and my breaths felt too quick, too loud.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," she said when it continued to ring. "I have to—"

"I know." I stood, using the back of the chair to support my shaky legs.

Lisa scrubbed her hands over her face before she stood and crossed the room, finding her phone where she'd slung her jacket over the back of the couch. "Yeah," she said, and then listened.

I bent for my sweater and slipped it over my shoulders, found my skirt and pulled it up my hips. I carried the dishes into the kitchen while she talked. I was trying to give her some sense of privacy but grew concerned as her voice continued to rise.

"What do you mean they can't find it?" she shouted. I leaned against the doorway and watched as she paced back and forth in front of the wide wall of windows. "This is happening tomorrow and someone's misplaced the fucking masterfile? Can't someone else handle this?" Apauseensued in which I swear I actually watched Lisa's blood pressure rise. "Are you kidding?" Anotherpause. Lisa closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll be there in twenty."

When she ended the call, it took a moment for her to look at me.

"It's okay," I said.

"It's not."

She was right. It wasn't okay. It sucked. "Can't someone else handle it?"

"Who? I can't trust something this important to those incompetent assholes. The Timbk2 account launches tomorrow and the marketing team can't find thefilewith the financial specs—" She stopped and shook her head, reached for her jacket. "God, we need someone in New York who knows what the fuck they're doing. I'm so sorry,Jen."

Lisa knewhow muchwe needed tonight, but she also had a job to do. I knew this better than anyone.

"Go," I said, closing the distance between us. "I'll be right here when you're done." I handed her keys and stood up on my toes to kiss her.

"In my bed?"

I nodded.

"Wear my shirt."

"Only your shirt."

"I love you."

I grinned. "I know. Now go save the world."