by Shayla Black
“Are you hurt? Can you walk? Should I call for medical help?”
“I’m…fine.” His silken baritone has made my own voice go gooey, and I hate it. Hate it. “Just let me regroup here,” I spew through gobs of my frizzed-out hair. “I need to find where I dropped my dignity.”
Damn it. Even his snicker is smooth, almost an aural caress…and weirdly, beautifully familiar. Which makes no sense, since I’m not on a let’s-go-Tarzan-jumping-off-the-rock-wall basis with any of the guys in Design or Fabric Engineering. Once again, at the risk of redundancy, especially now. While everyone in the company is encouraged to get in on product testing, I save my own adventures strictly for girls’ nights, just to keep the Brett Buckhorn backlash to a zero-level roar.
“Holy crap! Kate!”
On the other hand, the source of that shout is a welcome arrival. I look up just as Sketch Skinner runs across from the snack bar, where he’s likely been enjoying his typical evening smoothie. Sketch is one of those older guys who still thinks it’s fun to surf every morning, parasail every weekend, and run a wildly successful sports gear company during the “free” time in between. And aside from my own dad, he’s probably the nicest human on the planet.
“Are you all right? Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Honestly, Sketch, no need to fuss. It was my own fault. A thousand things on my mind.” Okay, not a thousand. Worrying about that package from Brett and his fancy legal team only feels like that.
“And holy shit! Adan! Are you okay? Dude—”
“Adan?” I couldn’t issue the interruption with more shock if I tried.
“Kate?” comes the equally stunned blurt from behind me.
And that’s when it hits. Like another breath-stealing Tarzan hit. The reason his voice has clutched at my senses, enflamed my bloodstream, and curled into my belly…
And lower…
But it can’t be. It isn’t.
But just to be sure, I whip my head around, scraping my hair out of my face. “Adan?”
But it is. He is.
“Kate.”
As soon as he slips his hands around my shoulders, I’m certain we’re back inside the Westview library again. About to make out like we’re each other’s air again. And he’s staring like he wants to touch me again…just as he did that day. Like he wants to watch me come apart in his arms while the rain pours down the windows and the afternoon shadows become twilight magic.
While we become magic…
But all too quickly, my mind is fast-forwarded to the reunion last year. And I’m trying to look halfway poised as someone snaps obligatory pictures of us—but witty and poised just aren’t going to be my friends with this man standing anywhere nearby. Still so mesmerizing. Still so confident. Still so graceful and athletic but intense and concentrated…like he’s memorizing me this time around…
Just like he appears even now, on the floor next to me.
Like he’s really transformed into a modern-day Tarzan, and I’ve become his personal Jane.
Oh yes, please. Ohhh yes, yes, yesss.
Holy God, he’s glorious. Burlier than BMX teenager Adan, and more rugged than suited-up reunion Adan. And as soon as I think those two things, the key difference strikes me.
He’s all-man Adan.
And now that man is suffusing me with a smile that starts from the middle of his full, wide mouth, before spreading outward to engage his deep dimples. But he doesn’t stop there. He widens the expression so his glass-cutting jawline is enhanced, which guides my gaze back up along his hairline, over his sexy and expressive eyebrows. Beneath them are the stunning caramels of his eyes. Their shade is a little darker than I recall from our school days, but I have no comparison to draw on from the reunion. I was too damn nervous that night. There’s a good chance that the last ten years have darkened him in some ways. Haven’t they changed us all?
And yet just like that, the subtle changes of the years seem to slip away from his face. From him altogether. Maybe it’s the way he still braces an elbow against the floor, or the casual athletic wear outlining every inch of sinewy muscle in his ripped-as-shit form. Maybe it’s the fact that his legs are still peppered with fresh nicks and bruises likely incurred on recent adventures, or how his thick chestnut hair flops over his high, proud forehead.
And maybe it’s simply how he enhances all of that by shaking his head slowly and then releasing a boyish laugh. He finishes it by murmuring, “Out of all the company lobbies in all the cities in all the world, she walks into mine.”
For a long second, nothing he’s said registers with me. But when it does, I jerk to my knees. Swiftly. Frantically. In complete shock. At the same time, I stab him with a wide, befuddled glare.
“Your lobby?” I shake my head as the confusion deepens. “What. In. The. Living…”
“Okay, so I should probably make some introductions.” Sketch flashes his oops-I-did-it-again grin. “Though it seems you two know each other already?”
My jaw works up and down, but nothing comes out. I guess it beats uh-huh.
“We do,” Adan fills in with his self-effacing charm—though it returns right back to its magma smolder as he looks back down to me. “Katherine and I went to high school together.”
Katherine?
Before I can get out a new what-the-hell, Sketch whomps his palms together like a coach being told he’s getting the A team for the big game. “Perfect. That’s just perfect, then!”
I finally scoot my gaze to my boss, prompted by the slick hand rubs with which he’s followed the bold applause. He still looks like an ecstatic coach—only now he’s getting ready to trade everyone on the team away to some city where it snows ten months out of the year, “Perfect? I utter slowly. “Why?”
“Because you’ll be the perfect tour guide for Adan around here tomorrow.”
“Tour guide?” Adan joins his bewildered tone to mine. It’s crazily comforting. “Around here?”
“Kate is our chief operations officer,” Sketch explains to him. “The promotion is fairly recent, so you probably didn’t see her listed in your information packet, Adan. I apologize for the oversight. You know what kind of hoops we’ve been having to publicly jump through because of Buckhorn’s ouster…”
“Of course I do.” Adan sits up straighter while issuing the assurance. “You didn’t have to say anything past Buckhorn’s name. I really get it.”
“I’m…errrm…not sure I do.” I work at making it more diplomatic than derogatory. In the space of this one day, I’ve gone from accepting that Adan Tyler would never be more than a distant memory to staring him down from two feet away. And now hearing that he needs some kind of a guided tour tomorrow. After reading a packet that I was supposed to be listed in.
Seriously…what’s going on around here?
Thankfully, Sketch doesn’t attempt more elaborate hand signals before supplying that answer. “Mr. Tyler saw the industry coverage about us giving Buckhorn the boot, and reached out to offer his own testimony about some past ugliness with the man.”
Adan dips his head my way by a subtle inch. “What he really means is ‘Fuckhorn,’ but we’ll let it slide.”
As I battle to stifle my giggle, as well as wondering what Edie would be thinking of the man’s “aura” at this point, Sketch goes on. “As we got to talking about that subject, Adan asked if we were seeking new investors.”
I push more of my hair from my face to ensure my stare jabs right into Adan this time. “Excuse me?”
Adan shifts a little, as if he’s actually discomfited that this not-so-little revelation has been shared at this moment. Sketch doesn’t have the same problem. “That’s right!” he declares. “Your old high school buddy is now one of our major backers. Because of his influx, we’ll finally be able to expand the offices and start the new BMX line.”
“Wow,” I manage to stammer. “Th-that’s…pretty awesome. That’s been your dream for a couple of years now, Sketch.”
“And this guy
is making it happen.” Holy cow, the guy is edging closer to verklempt—which isn’t making his new investor a speck more comfortable. But damn it, why does all that awkwardness just make Adan a million times more alluring? Two million times more irresistible? “I’ve—ummm—been doing pretty well on the skateboarding and BMX circuit lately.”
“Yeah,” I rebut. “I know.”
“You do?” Update on the alluring thing. The way he pierces me with a dumbstruck stare, straight through the thick tumble of his hair, officially tops any level he’s ever achieved of the stuff before. And he takes care of the “irresistible” part with his heavy whooshes of breath, succeeding at emphasizing the pecs that have only gotten more defined over time.
Another thing that’s gotten nicer? His way of snapping out of his anxiety as quickly as he fell in. With a refreshed smirk, he states, “Yeah, well…my money guy’s been after me to diversify my portfolio.” He tosses an equally adorable wink my way. “I think that’s money guy language for stop buying so many fast cars.”
I laugh. Not loud, but not pretending to be a delicate flower either. This is the guy who sat behind me in Biology just so he didn’t have to be the one to dissect the frog when that unit came, but joked about it ten years later as we contemplated the “mystery meat” on the hotel’s buffet. This is also the guy who wore a pink and purple wig every year on Disco Dress-up Day and dared to bring that to the reunion too.
But it’s hard to summon visions of him in that get-up when my current reality is consumed by him like this. Lounging on a polished cement floor, one arm draped over his raised knee like a hunk in a cologne ad, joining me in my casual laughter…
In short, sexier than hell.
“And speaking of your fast cars…” Sketch swings a nod toward the building’s front doors. “The detailing guys called about fifteen minutes ago. They’re finished with your ZR1, and they’ll bring it around to the front when you’re ready to leave tonight.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate you taking the time to have them do it.”
“Oh, I’m sure the pleasure was all theirs.”
I should be mixing more chuckles in with theirs, but I hardly know what I’d be laughing at. I’ve hardly comprehended their context past the bafflement crowding my brain. Adan has a “money guy” now? And a portfolio? And a car that sounds more like a secret spy branch of the government? The same car he’s politely asking Sketch to “call around” for him now?
As Sketch steps away to handle that request, Adan pushes easily back to his feet. At once, he offers a hand down to help me do the same. Yes, me. The STEM geek girl who hasn’t forgotten a second of the one afternoon she spent with him. The girl who grew into the woman who’s compared every date in her life to that afternoon. The woman who’s gawking at him now, her own chest pumping as if she’s just piggybacked for a ride on one of his half-pipe stunt runs, her gaze blown just as wide.
The woman too damn aware that he hasn’t let go of her hand. Even after she steps back, proving she can definitely be upright on her own.
At least that’s the reality I’m going with—until the man recloses the extra space between us. And then tucks his head down toward me. And, after unclipping himself from his Tarzan rappelling rope, uses that hand to secure me by the back of my nearest elbow. With his hand clasping me by the other arm, I’m as motionless as if he’s trapped me.
But is it officially a trap if the captive never wants to leave?
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Katherine?”
Bold of you to assume I’m capable of thoughts at the moment.
“I…I doubt that very much, Mr. Tyler.”
His eyebrows arch up. “Mr. Tyler?” I might as well have just called him Jar Jar Binks. “Oh, now we do have some talking to do.”
Bold of you to assume I’m capable of speech, as well.
Somehow, I manage at least a professional smile. As soon as that’s accomplished, the words finally come. Thank God. “Well, I hear I’m giving you a grand tour of the place tomorrow.”
“Not acceptable.”
I swallow. It’s painful. “All right. Well, there are a lot of other people able to show you around, and—”
“No.” He pushes in closer. He’s officially in the damn cage with me now…and hell, how I hope we never find the key. “I mean waiting until tomorrow is unacceptable.”
And now, with his lips in that determined line and his gaze shadowed to the shade of hammered bronze, I’m pretty sure I’ve swallowed the freaking key. And am praying my crazy-nervous stomach acid fries it into nothingness. God knows, nothing in my lower belly needs unlocking anymore. While I’m physically no longer the virgin he fingered to heaven so long ago, I’m mentally back in that fast-breathing, everything-is-wild-and-wonderful head space. I want him to kiss me. I want him to touch me. I want him to do everything to me. And I want it five minutes ago.
“Where are you headed right now?” He murmurs the query for my ears alone. His intimate husk is a new match on the bonfire of my need.
“I…I’m not sure.” It’s the truth. The eight o’clock boxing class seems like a waste of consideration. My heartrate must be nearly at aerobic speed already. “Probably, at this point, straight…home…”
I start trailing off as soon as his lips slide upward, slower and sexier than a movie idol about to swig some beer and then ride a bull. Or hit a home run. Or rope down a star. I wouldn’t put any or all of those scenarios past Adan Tyler. “Perfect. I’ll drive you there, then.”
“I’m…ermmm…walking distance.”
“Not if we take my detour.”
“Your…huh?”
I’m almost unable to get it out. The man has widened his grin—but that’s not the most nerve-racking part. At the same time, he trails his touch to the place I like calling my sweet spot: the place at the back of my elbow, which is practically more sensitive than the center of my sex. At this moment, joined with the intensity of his hooded stare and the envelope of his masculine scent, maybe even more so.
“Come on, Katherine.” He releases my elbow—thank God—but maintains that determined grip around my hand. “I think we have some catching up to do.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Unbelievably, even now after his insistence on Katherine, I’m able to keep all that on silent mode. But not for long. Not after he issues a polite farewell to Sketch and then pulls me out to the front curb of the building. Not after I get my first long look at his wickedly sleek car, which does nothing for dispelling my suspicions that he might have a side gig as an international spy or visiting starship captain.
Impressions he only enhances once I’m seated in the passenger’s side bucket seat—and he leans over, grabbing the tongue of my seat belt from behind my opposite shoulder. As he drags the smooth metal out, he deliberately brushes its edge against my sweet spot once more. My smile disappears on a gasp. His gleams with captivating carnal confidence.
“Buckle up, Miss Casey.” His use of the formality is overt to the point of obnoxious—but I can’t find half a brain cell to be incensed, due to his immediate follow-up. “If I’m doing this right, you’re in for a very fun ride.”
4
He zooms the car through the city streets with ease, his hands strong and confident on the wheel. I’m glad for the chance to stare at them with open appreciation. Those long, luxurious fingers have haunted a lot of my dreams since the afternoon he used them to enflame me…excite me…
“How about dinner in Sausalito?”
I jerk my head up, realizing we’re zooming through the Presidio, with its lush greenbelts, towering trees, and distinctive buildings with their red-tiled roofs. Up ahead, the Golden Gate stretches over the sparkling waters of the bay. The picturesque town of Sausalito, which really feels more like a Mediterranean fishing and artists’ village, occupies a small stretch of the shore on the other side of those waters.
“I love that idea.” I turn in my seat, returning his warm smile with a dazed one of my
own. “Sausalito is one of my favorite places in the world.”
“Thought that’d be the case.”
“You did, did you?” I tease as he shifts gears and guns the engine. My sarcasm already feels so right; as natural as wiggling a frog’s liver in his face.
He narrows his gaze. “Okay, hold up. I’m about to take you to dinner, and you brandish the ‘frog’s liver’ smirk? That’s not playing fair, Miss Casey.”
“And calling me Miss Casey is?”
“There’ll be no more Miss Casey if there’s no more Mr. Tyler.”
“And now who’s not playing fair?”
“Your point being?”
“You’re officially my boss. Actually, I think you’re now my boss’s boss.”
“Again, your point being?”
I pivot to face forward again, contemplating that for a long moment. “Hmmm. Now that I think about it, you’re the one who may have a point.” For a second, I get preoccupied with the view. There’s nothing in the world like beholding the bay’s indigo waters and the city’s iconic skyline from the expanse of this breathtaking bridge. “The company has no rule against employees having friendships. And we are friends.”
“That we are.” Though I wonder why his agreement comes past a clearly clenched smile. Yet before I can summon a tactful inquiry about it, he relaxes his jawline. “But I also think that certain rules are—”
“What?” I prod into his self-interruption, though at once I yearn to erase the word from the air. I should be leaving well enough alone. Letting the perfect snarl of his car’s engine consume his matching pause. Letting the ensuing tension get devoured by the spectacular sky beyond the Marin Headlands, the dipping sun transforming the wispy clouds into lavender, orange, and amber feathers. Most importantly, not sounding like a desperate dork who’s spent eleven years pining for his soft kisses, his talented fingers, and the perfect, exquisite words he wrapped them with…
Which is totally why I stack another piece of stupidity right onto that one.