 
# Revenge

## Jasmine Haynes

© 2011 Jasmine Haynes

Cover Design by Rae Monet Inc

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All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
**Revenge**

**Naughty After Hours, Book 1**

All-business Jessica Murphy has a bad case of the hots for her sexy boss. To CFO Clay Blackwell, his gorgeous accounting manager is undeniably off limits. But as their passion heats up, they're about to break all the rules.

Tough but fair, Clay Blackwell never acts on impulse, especially not with a woman who works for him. Not even if there are a few cracks in his home life. After all, he has rules to live by.

By night, Jessica Murphy lets her fantasies about her impossibly tempting boss run wild. By day, she's the consummate professional, always playing by the rules. Rule #1: Don't sleep with your boss. Rule #2: Don't seduce a coworker. Rule #3: Never poach on another woman's territory. And Clay's live-in girlfriend just happens to work at the same company.

But the rules no longer apply the night Jessica works late and catches Clay's girlfriend getting wild with a coworker right on Clay's desk.

Now it's time to throw out the employee handbook and save her boss from his heartless lover. Because there's always Rule #4: Never let a good man be ruined by an undeserving woman.

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# Acknowledgments

Thanks to my special network of friends who support me, brainstorm with me, and encourage me: Bella Andre, Shelley Bates, Jenny Andersen, Jackie Yau, Ellen Higuchi, Kathy Coatney, Pamela Fryer, Rosemary Gunn, and Laurel Jacobson. Thanks also to Cody Alston for the idea, and to Clio for a great list of websites to investigate! And a special thanks to Rae Monet for her sexy covers.

# 1

Jessica Murphy jerked awake, then snapped to a sitting position on the break room sofa. In the dark, the microwave clock flipped to ten-oh-five in bright blue letters. Good Lord, all she'd wanted to do was rest her eyes, a five-minute catnap; she'd slept for over an hour. The board meeting was on Friday, and she needed to review the March quarterly financials tomorrow with her boss, Clay Blackwell, the chief financial officer. But there was an issue in CIP, the construction-in-progress account.

A noise had woken her. It couldn't be the cleaning staff; they'd left before her so-called catnap. She rose from the couch, crossing to the door by the illumination of the microwave clock. The hallway was dark. She'd turned out all the lights, not wanting to waste electricity, especially when she was Accounting manager for West Coast Manufacturing, which meant she knew exactly how much the PG&E bill was.

There it was again. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she strained to hear. A moan. Then she was sure she could make out voices, though the words were indistinguishable. She shivered slightly. The automatic thermostat turned the heating down at nine, raising it again at six in the morning. Despite being the beginning of April, the San Francisco Bay Area was still chilly at night.

Stepping out into the hallway, which bordered all the cubicles in the middle of the large Accounting department, she made out lights on the far side. From the CFO's office. But Clay had been long gone before she'd crashed on the break room sofa. Obviously, he'd come back.

What if he'd discovered her sleeping? Jessica fluffed her hair, which was curly and tended to get mashed after she slept on it. It must look like a rat's nest. And her lipstick was probably smudged. She ran a finger under each eye to get rid of any mascara, then smoothed beneath her lips, hoping that was good enough to fix the lipstick. She hated the idea of Clay Blackwell seeing her at anything less than her best. He lived with the CEO's executive admin, Ruby Williams, and Jessica didn't have designs on him—she wasn't a home wrecker—but she admired Clay immensely and...well...a woman could have her fantasies in the middle of the night when no one else suspected.

All right, nothing could be done about her appearance now. She marched down the small walkway between the cubicles, and the sounds from the other side of the thin dividers grew exponentially louder with every step she took. Jessica's heart started to pound, and she thought about turning around and getting the hell out. Because really, what _was_ Clay Blackwell doing in his office? And just who was he with?

She might have run, too, if she hadn't heard distinct words in a female voice—"Clay's never fucked me like this"—punctuated by a man's low growl of pleasure.

Turning the corner by the end of a cubicle wall, Jessica could see straight into Clay's office. Her breath stopped in her chest.

Ruby Williams was facedown on the desk, skirt pushed up over her butt, dark hair flowing around her shoulders, eyes closed, her red lips parted on a moan of intense pleasure. Behind her, Bradley Palmer slammed into her, each thrust shoving her across the desk. Bradley was tall, his features strained, his stubbled jaw line rigid. The AP girls _oohed_ and _aahed_ over his resemblance to Brad Pitt. Jessica had never liked Brad Pitt. She didn't particularly like Bradley Palmer either.

And she hated Ruby for letting Bradley screw her right on Clay's desk. She and Clay had lived together for three years, since shortly before Jessica had started at West Coast Manufacturing. Even if they weren't married, Clay was Ruby's significant other in every sense of the word. And Ruby worked at West Coast, too, for God's sake. This was so totally wrong.

Jessica should have run away right then, but her feet were rooted to the carpet right outside the pool of light spilling from the open door. She couldn't move. She could only watch. And listen.

"Isn't it hot, baby? Tomorrow when you're meeting with him"—Ruby giggled—"you can think about what you were doing to me right here."

"Fuck yes." Bradley grunted. No, he wasn't handsome at all. He was a gnat compared to Clay. How could Ruby do this?

Yet Ruby shuddered and moaned. "You're so much better than Clay is, baby."

Ruby had never been good enough for Clay. She was vain and selfish. How could she humiliate him by having sex in his office? A slap in his face. Even worse, it was Bradley, a whiny wimp, who always complained that Clay didn't think his work was good enough. Well, it wasn't.

Other than sex, what the hell did Clay see in this horrible woman?

Jessica would never cheat on a man she loved. She would cherish Clay. She'd never let another man bend her over his desk and take her like a dog.

But she would let Clay do it. She would let Clay do anything. Everything. If he ever asked. For a moment—a very _long_ moment—she closed her eyes and felt Clay inside her. The way she'd imagined him in her fantasies.

Until Ruby made another noise, a cross between a gasp and a wail. Her eyelids squeezed shut, she bit down hard on her lip as her face contorted in climax.

Maybe Jessica had always been jealous of her, but even mussed up and facedown on Clay's desk, she was still beautiful, still perfect. At forty, five years older than Jessica, Ruby was sexier than Jessica had ever felt.

Then Ruby opened her eyes and pushed back on Bradley. "Don't come in me yet. I want you to come in my mouth."

He grimaced. "Fuck, baby."

"I want your come in my mouth," she insisted with a pretty pout on her lips.

He laughed. "All right. Suck me, baby." Pulling out, he tossed the condom in Clay's trash can, then flopped back in the big leather chair that Clay filled far better than he did.

The chair rolled until it hit the wall.

Good Lord. _That_ was the first impressive thing she'd ever seen about Bradley. He was big and thick, and Ruby went down on her knees, then took him in her mouth.

Jessica felt something inside. A shifting, a need. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and more than anything, she wanted to touch herself. She was inexplicably wet, part of her horrified. But a bigger piece saw Clay in that chair—and she was the woman on her knees in front of him. She could almost taste him.

Ruby moaned and groaned, her mouth sounding slick and slippery around him. Repelled yet fascinated, Jessica fisted her hands as she watched.

Then Ruby lifted her head. "I want your come on my cheeks when I have to go home to him. I want to smell you on me. To remind me how good this is."

His hand around his cock, Bradley stroked himself as Ruby sucked on his crown. He threw his head back against the chair and his hips thrust up, forcing his cock deeper into her mouth. Then, as his body began to jerk, Ruby backed off, and his come shot against her cheek, then it pulsed, dripping down onto his hand. Ruby leaned close to lick it clean. When that was done, she rubbed Bradley's come into her cheek, then sucked her fingers.

Then Ruby turned to the open door and laughed. "I know you're out there spying, Jessica."

# 2

Jessica's skin went clammy.

Ruby rose gracefully, not even trying to hide her neatly trimmed sex, then shimmied her short pencil skirt down over her thighs. Her cheek still glistened with come, yet her lipstick didn't bear a single smudge.

"Don't worry about this, Bradley," she cooed. "I'll take care of it." She smiled. "Just get rid of the condom."

Jessica didn't wait to find out how Ruby planned to take care of _it_. She dashed around the cubicles to her office, flipped on the lights, and grabbed her purse from her desk drawer.

When she straightened, Ruby blocked her doorway, her voice a soft, seductive timbre as she said, "I suppose you're dying to tell Clay all about this."

Jessica's throat went dry. It hurt to swallow. Ruby intimidated her. In her high heels, she towered over Jessica—and Jessica was five foot five, for God's sake. But it was more. Ruby was more of everything: more breast, more curves, more sex appeal. Jessica hadn't frosted her blonde hair in months—too busy since year-end—and next to Ruby, she was dowdy. Even if she wore the sexy stuff Ruby did, she wouldn't have looked the same in it. Ruby Williams could wear her grandmother's flannel nightgown and make it look sexy.

Jessica licked her lips, trying to stop the dry mouth. "I haven't thought that far ahead." She'd thought only about how much she despised Ruby, how sorry she felt for Clay, and how the hell she was going to get out of this building.

"What are you doing here so late anyway?" Ruby tossed a glance at the binders and folders spread out on Jessica's small conference table. "Trying to impress Clay with what a hard worker you are?"

"It's quarter-end. The board meeting is on Friday. Everything has to be ready."

Ruby snorted. "You're such a paragon."

Versus Ruby, who, as the CEO's executive assistant, was privy to all the inner workings of the company, present at board meetings, invited to board dinners, and hostess of all Clay's company parties, but she never worked late, never came in on Saturdays, never hunched over the monitor until her neck ached.

Bitch. "I didn't know fucking you was in Bradley's job description."

Ruby wagged a red-tipped finger at her. " _Tsk, tsk_ , Jessica. You sound jealous."

"Of Bradley?" Jessica grimaced. "Hardly."

Ruby smiled. "Of Clay and me."

This time Jessica couldn't swallow past the lump in her throat.

"I see all those _goo-goo_ eyes you send his way when you think no one's watching."

Nothing like the truth to steal the words right out of your mouth. She wanted another woman's man; in her own way, Jessica was as guilty as Ruby.

"Cat got your tongue?" Ruby taunted.

She couldn't say a thing. The cat definitely had her tongue.

"Here's the thing. Clay knows all about my fun and games." Ruby's eyes sparkled like topaz jewels. She was enjoying this. "And he loves it. After I've been on a date, he can't wait to get his hands on me. Why do you think I wanted Bradley to come on me?"

"No." Jessica's mind whirled. It wasn't true. Ruby was pulling some snow job on her.

Ruby merely nodded, answering her own question. "He loves smelling other men on me. It makes him hot." Then she lowered her voice to a pitch that made Jessica's skin crawl. "Then we have the absolute best sex ever."

She was going to throw up. Right on Ruby's high-heeled pumps.

"You can tell Clay what you saw"—Ruby arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow—"but you'll only be embarrassing yourself. Because I'm his little hotwife."

"But you aren't married," Jessica said, her voice pathetically feeble.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Don't you know anything? Look it up on the Internet. A hotwife doesn't have to be married; it's just a term that means her man loves having her fuck other men, after which she comes home to him with the scent of sex all over her." She let a smile grow on her pouty lips. "And he goes totally wild for her. He doesn't need other women. Just her." With that, she waggled her fingers and sashayed out the door.

Moments later, Jessica heard voices, a door closing, more whispers in the hall, then footsteps on the stairs. The lobby door opened and closed. Then silence. They were gone.

She thought about what Ruby had told her. But men weren't built that way. They were possessive, territorial. Clay was a strong, virile man. He'd never let another guy touch his woman, and certainly not Bradley Palmer.

But why would Ruby lie? She couldn't hope to get away with it if Jessica decided to tell Clay what she'd seen.

And yet...Vince sometimes liked to hear about Jessica's past sexual escapades; it got him going. But Vince wasn't her boyfriend. He was her friend with benefits. Okay, he was her booty call, the man she could simply drop in on when she was really horny, which was usually after she'd tortured herself with some hot fantasy about Clay. She'd even told Vince about those fantasies. It made him wild.

But _Clay_ couldn't possibly...

God, what if he did? What if that's what Clay saw in Ruby? She was sexy and could have her pick of any man. Maybe that's exactly what he wanted.

Ruby was right, Jessica couldn't say a word to him. It would be horrifying to have him admit it was true.

She couldn't say why she did it, but Jessica returned to the scene of the crime. They hadn't even locked Clay's door when they left. Turning on the light, she glanced at the desk. The pencil holder was back in place, the file folders straightened, everything neat and orderly the way Clay liked it.

Except for the scrap of purple by the filing cabinet. She picked it up between thumb and forefinger. A thong panty. For a long moment, she simply stared at the sheer material.

Then she opened the bottom desk drawer and tossed it in.

No, she wouldn't say a word to Clay.

She wouldn't have to.

Clay Blackwell was already hard when Ruby walked in the door. "Where'd you meet him?" he demanded.

"I found him in the hotel bar. He was in town for some convention."

Ruby loved it with strangers. Pick them up, go to their hotel room, do them fast and dirty, then do them long and hard. Businessmen were a relatively safe breed, up for a quickie while they were out of town, no strings attached. Ruby liked it best that way, and Ruby did everything the way she wanted it done. As she said, she was a big girl. For his part, he insisted she call him before, during, after, and on her way home so that he knew she was all right.

Now, he wanted every dirty detail. "Tell me," he ordered.

If occasionally she came home smelling of another man when he hadn't sanctioned a date, he was okay with that. He even liked the surprise. Occasionally. It was part of their game. As long as she followed the other basic rules they had between them. Tonight, though, she'd told him she was going out, and he'd been thinking about it all evening, then he'd been on her the moment she sauntered through the door. She was come-scented, and her sexual musk kicked his pulse rate into high gear.

"He fucked me on the balcony with the lights off. But I know the guy in the hotel room across the way could see us." Ruby loved being watched. She was gorgeous and watching her fuck was a sight to behold. Ruby was tall, five-nine even without the spiked heels. Her breasts were full and lush, her figure curvy in all the right places. Men loved her breasts, her long legs, even her auburn locks that caressed her shoulders.

He yanked her skirt up. She wasn't wearing panties. "You dirty bitch, where'd you leave your thong?"

She laughed. "He wanted a keepsake."

Clay could imagine the man sniffing them and jacking off to the memory. "Did he do you from behind?"

Ruby chuckled. "From behind, from the front, reverse cowgirl, with my legs up in the air, upside down and inside out."

She knew how to make him hot. He crushed her against the front door, buried his face in her soft hair, and breathed in the aroma of another man on her skin. "Did he lick you?"

"Oh yeah. I came twice."

He lifted her high, wrapped her legs around his waist, and mock-fucked her through his pants. He didn't know why he enjoyed the thought of another man taking his woman, but he did. Always had. It was a crazy need. And Ruby loved fulfilling it for him. He didn't love Ruby, but he appreciated that she was willing to give him his fantasy. If he sometimes felt that things between them were one step back from completely explosive, well, he told himself that what he got was better than most men ever expected. Maybe the problem was him; life had disabled that extra emotional gene that allowed for total connection.

"Did you suck him?"

"God, yes, Clay. He was so big. And he tasted so sweet. Like he'd been eating pineapple."

He yanked his zipper, pulled his cock out, and pressed himself to her wet pussy. She was hot and ready for him. He kissed her, tasted the sizzle of come on her lips. And he didn't wait a moment longer. He thrust deep, and she moaned, clutching at his shoulders with long fingernails he could feel marking him even through his shirt.

She was the best girlfriend someone like him could hope for, a woman who didn't expect undying devotion from a man who was no longer capable of it. He'd been through the long, slow deterioration of love and marriage and wasn't about to do it again, especially not for the sake of his sons. It had been five years since the divorce, and he wouldn't consider marriage for at least three more, when they were both out of high school. All that made him the best man for Ruby, too. She was free to play the field as she liked, yet he didn't require other women; Ruby need never be jealous. She would have hated it if he even looked at another woman. He was fine with exactly this, a hard fuck while she told him every filthy thing she'd done on her date. Later, in their bed, the sex would be slow and gentle, but first he needed fast and dirty. This was what their relationship was all about: good, hot sex.

"Tell me how good it was," he insisted.

"I couldn't get enough." She put her head back against the door as he took her hard. "And I kept coming, thinking about how you were going to throw me down on the carpet and fuck me silly as soon as I got home." No matter how many times she came with another man, she was never too tired for more. Ruby was insatiable. "Fuck me, Clay."

As he drove deep, her body tightened around him, clenching, working him. His balls were so tight, they ached. Then she cried out, and her climax pulled him under. He went oblivious to everything but the scent of another man all over her.

Dammit, she'd forgotten her panties. How stupid could she be? Seeing Jessica Murphy out in the hall had thrown Ruby for a loop. Not that she hadn't made a very nice recovery and shocked all the color out of the woman's face. There'd also been those long minutes while she knew Jessica was watching, when Ruby had been so hot, so crazy, and come so hard. Ruby loved being watched. It didn't matter that it was a woman. In fact, it was even better because Jessica had the hots for Clay. It was like icing on the cake. Little Miss Muffet—that's how she thought of Jessica—with her panties in a wad. The woman had such a stick up her backside. Ruby actually loved giving Jessica something to get herself worked up about. It pushed the evening's activities over the top, just the kind of kick she'd been looking for since things with Clay had started to feel a tad stale. Over time, she'd felt him becoming somewhat detached, too. That wasn't his fault. Or hers. They'd been together a long time. And Ruby had to admit she liked new and different. But tonight's scenario certainly hadn't been stale. Making Little Miss Muffet jealous and angry had been the cream on top.

Until Ruby had realized she'd forgotten her damn panties. She'd just have to go in to work early, tell Clay she had some stuff to get ready for the board meeting. They never drove together anyway; they lived in Palo Alto, only ten minutes from the plant. Yeah, she could make it in early, grab her panties, and everything would be fine.

Jessica would never tell what she'd seen. Whether she believed Clay knew about it or not, she'd be too mortified to bring it up. Clay and his silly rules: no sex at work or with anyone from work. Ruby thought it was sexier to have a few secrets, to push the envelope, to pretend she'd been out with a girlfriend and see if he could smell the come on her when she arrived home, to see if he noticed her scent all over his desk. Oh yes, that was sexy. She wasn't worried; he expected her to cheat. And he adored their sex. It was the hottest he'd ever had in his life, even better than with his wife. And when things got a little boring, Clay would naturally expect her to spice them up. Of course he would.

Ruby snuggled closer to Clay and fell asleep sated and content.

But when she searched his office the next morning, her purple thong was nowhere to be found.

# 3

"Are you all right, Jessica?" Clay Blackwell asked, one brow arched in question.

The mid-afternoon sun streamed across Jessica's work papers. They sat at Clay's conference table by the office window overlooking the parking lot. Thank God they weren't facing each other across his desk. She wouldn't have been able to utter a coherent word.

No, she wasn't all right. The board meeting was tomorrow, Friday, starting at nine in the morning. She was always a little on edge when they were reviewing her numbers. Today was worse. Every time she'd seen Ruby, the woman had smirked. The Accounting department was on the second floor of West Coast's corporate headquarters. Holt Montgomery, the company's chief executive officer, was on the first level, along with Marketing and Sales. Which meant Ruby, as the CEO's admin, was down there, too. Ruby had managed a couple of forays up the stairs, and a series of irritating smirks. Obviously, the thong in Clay's drawer hadn't had any effect.

It had all started to wear on Jessica's nerves by the time she arrived in Clay's office for the afternoon financial review with him. She felt sick with all the questions running through her head. Not to mention the image of Ruby on Clay's desk. "It's just this CIP account," she said, trying to get on track. "I can't figure it out."

West Coast Manufacturing was in the thin film coating business. Their coatings had various applications, anywhere from low-e window films to touch screens on computer panels. The production coaters were large and expensive and required an entire department of machine experts. Those technicians and engineers maintained and refurbished the company's four production machines. They were in the process of refurbishing C1, their first coater, which was now twenty years old. The refurbishment was a capital expenditure, but it consisted of labor hours, materials, and outside contractors, all of which required careful monitoring by their fixed asset accountant. Within the last month, the refurbishment had gone way over budget, and Jessica feared that some of the costs had been categorized incorrectly and should actually be expensed. And it was quarter-end, dammit.

Of course, that wasn't the real issue bothering her, but it was the only one she was willing to talk about right now.

"Make it Mike's priority," Clay said, referring to her fixed asset accountant. "I'll let the board know there's an issue and that the numbers might change before we finalize."

Clay made everything sound so logical and easy. He handled every situation with diplomacy, and he always had an answer. She admired a man who didn't get worked up. He was a man's man, six foot three and in great shape for forty-five years old—or any age, for that matter. He had a dash of gray in his dark hair, and hazel eyes that sometimes saw too much. She'd always liked older men, commanding, intelligent men.

Which made it that much harder to believe what Ruby said. Because Clay couldn't be the kind of wimpy guy who let his woman get away with fooling around on him.

Jessica hadn't been able to resist Ruby's taunt. Last night, when she arrived home at her condo, she'd booted up her computer and searched on _hot wife_. It came back with a ton of sites on a phenomenon called _hotwifing_. Good Lord. It was just as Ruby had said. There _were_ men who loved having their wives—or girlfriends—cheat on them, loved hearing about it, even loved watching it, participating by taking photos or actually holding their wives as another man...

She jerked back from the abyss. Clay was talking. She'd missed everything he said.

"It's not a big deal," Clay assured her, obviously seeing something on her face.

"I don't like not knowing exactly what's in an account."

"If you're controller, you have to step back from the detail, and let your people handle it. You have to trust them."

"I know." She'd worked her way through other companies from financial analyst to general ledger accountant to accounts payable supervisor, finally coming to West Coast Manufacturing three years ago as their Accounting manager. It was a good job and an excellent salary, which, after the housing market tanked, had enabled her to purchase a condo in a nice neighborhood, with a short commute to work. She was responsible for payroll, fixed assets, accounts payable and receivable, cash management, and all the balance sheet accounts. She was thirty-five, and the next step on her ladder was controller. Clay had been acting controller since her former boss had gone on medical leave. A couple of weeks ago, it became clear he wasn't returning. Jessica didn't like to step on a sick man's back, but she wanted that job. Both she and Greg Stevens, Finance and Budget manager—and Bradley's boss—had applied.

Maybe that was another reason she didn't want to rock the boat about Ruby, fear of jeopardizing the promotion.

"I'm set for the board meeting then." Clay closed the folder on the quarterly financials she'd given him. "Good job, Jessica."

"Thanks." She rose, gathering her binder and notepad.

His praise made her feel inordinately pleased, like a gold star from the teacher when she was a kid. He always complimented, always built up his employees, and he didn't treat her any differently from his other subordinates. Except Bradley. Clay didn't seem to have much respect for Bradley's work, but Bradley reported to Greg Stevens, and Greg thought he could eventually bring Bradley up to snuff.

"I'll get you the answers on those two questions you had before the end of the day." She'd taken notes during the meeting.

"Good." He was already moving behind his desk and reaching for the phone.

Jessica headed back to her office, wondering if Clay was calling Ruby. That's what bothered her, Ruby with Bradley. How Clay ran his relationship was his business. If he liked his girlfriend to screw other men on his desk, fine. But _Bradley_? A man like Clay wouldn't countenance his girlfriend's affair with an idiot; he'd want her to choose someone he respected. Then again, maybe Bradley made him feel like the bigger man. Except that Clay wouldn't need a weasel like Bradley to build up his ego.

But she could hear Ruby's voice: _You're so much better than Clay is_.

She turned the corner beside Bradley's cubicle, which was right outside Greg's office. His back was to her, but she could see her reflection in his blank computer monitor. As if he heard her, he tapped the keyboard and brought the monitor to life. How long had he been sitting there daydreaming? He'd probably been reliving last evening with Ruby.

What if Ruby _was_ lying? She was good at turning things around to suit herself, manipulating, getting people to do what she wanted by saying Holt Montgomery, _CEO_ , with emphasis, had asked for it. Maybe Ruby had scammed her.

If she had, what in the hell was Jessica going to do about it?

Clay rubbed the back of his neck, then rolled his head to get the kinks out. Christ, it had been a long board meeting. They usually continued past lunch, but today's meeting had gone on until four. Their computer system was outdated, and several board members were in favor of doing a public offering to finance an enterprise system and some other capital improvements, including upgrading the cleanroom. Both he and Holt had argued that a public offering in the current economic climate was suicide. They'd end up devaluing the stock. The markets were too volatile to predict.

"Did they have any questions on the financials?" Jessica stood in his door. She was good at her job, intelligent, with excellent problem-solving skills. He admired her dedication and work ethic. He was in favor of making her the next controller, but Holt was leaning toward Greg Stevens. Jessica, while having the expertise, was sometimes too involved in the details and had problems delegating. As controller, she'd have to let her people handle the specifics. Greg, on the other hand, had no problem offloading. While Clay valued Holt's opinion—they'd worked together at West Coast for ten years, plus another five at a previous company—he would do his own choosing.

"A couple of things," he said to Jessica. "Come on in. Close the door." She had a right to hear his reservations about the promotion.

She took the seat opposite, opening her folder with the financials in it, fiddling with the papers a moment. Jessica Murphy was a pretty woman, with intense blue eyes and blond hair that fell in curls past her shoulders. She lacked Ruby's curves and natural seduction, her skirts were longer, her blouses less form-fitting, her makeup understated, but there was something fresh about her, girl-next-door, that was in many ways just as appealing, if not more so.

His relationship with Ruby precluded other women. She played, he didn't. That's how he liked it: no jealousy on her part, no bitch fights, just hot sex, and his life on an even keel.

That didn't stop him from appreciating Jessica as an extremely attractive woman. He didn't, however, allow himself sexual thoughts about her. If they managed to steal beneath his defenses, he ruthlessly shut them down. She worked for him, and he'd never compromise one of his employees, nor would his assessment of her physical attributes affect his decision about the controllership.

Jessica sat ready, her pen poised.

"Henckel wants more on the antiglare reserve," he told her. They'd developed a film that eliminated monitor glare, but there'd been issues with scratches. Until that was resolved, they had a reserve against returns. The junior board member, Henckel, always wanted to know more. It made him feel important. "Email him the spreadsheet calculation."

"Sure." Jessica jotted a note. She made a few more tick marks on her pad as he ran down a couple of other to-dos. When she wasn't writing, she clicked her pen. She didn't meet his eye, and he could hear the soft tap of her heel on the carpet as she jiggled her knee.

Maybe the closed door made her nervous. She probably suspected he wanted to talk about the controller position.

"Is that it?" she asked, then pursed her lips as if she regretted the question.

"As far as the financials, yes."

She jumped to her feet before he had a chance to bring up his issues about the job. She paced two steps to the door, then turned abruptly and came back to the edge of the desk. He'd never seen her like this. She wasn't a jumpy person. Something had been bothering her yesterday; today it was worse.

"Jessica."

She puffed out a sharp breath. "I don't know exactly how to bring this up, so I'm just going to say it." She inhaled as if she needed the extra air. "I saw Ruby having sex with Bradley on your desk two nights ago."

He opened his mouth, shut it again. His chest was suddenly tight, and his only thought was that she must have been mistaken. "That's not possible."

Ruby liked to flirt with his rules, but there were two he was sure she would never break. First, she was never to date anyone from work, and second, no sex at the office. Those circumstances could be compromising, especially since they were both employed at West Coast. It was a small company, prone to gossip, and their sex life was private and separate. She would not have sex at the office, not in _his_ office, and certainly not with Bradley Palmer.

"Open the bottom drawer." Jessica pointed to the left-hand side of his desk.

He slid it open, saw nothing.

"Check at the back," she said.

He bent slightly to see. Something purple. Lacy. Miniscule. He pulled out the thong Ruby had worn on Wednesday. The thong she said she'd left behind in a hotel room as a memento. Knowing she was going on a date, he'd watched her dress that morning.

Maybe she'd put it there Thursday morning for him to find later, so they could do a little reliving. But then he remembered the photo of his sons. Thursday morning he'd found it knocked over, by the cleaning staff, he'd assumed. Now, there was another possibility. His blood pumped faster.

"She told me that you know about the things she does," Jessica went on as if he'd been silent way too long. "And that you're okay with it all. But I wasn't sure..." She trailed off uncertainly.

Goddammit. There was no doubt now, and he was pissed Ruby had put him in this position. "Sit down." He indicated the chair Jessica had just vacated.

She sat, perched primly on the edge, her knees jiggling again. "I know it's not my business, but if you don't know about it, I just couldn't stand by," she prattled on.

He held up the panties. "And these?"

She rolled her lips between her teeth and chewed on them a moment. "She left them behind, and I put them there as evidence."

Jesus. How could Ruby be so stupid as to flaunt their unconventional sex life?

How could she fuck Bradley Palmer? Her bad taste was the worst crime of all.

"I realize it must have been a shock," he said, obviously understating. "I'm sorry you were caught in the middle. But Ruby is right, I do know." He wasn't defending; he simply refused to lie about it.

Except that Ruby wasn't supposed to pull this kind of crap at work. She wasn't supposed to do it at home either. He didn't want one or both of his sons walking in. Sure, they were in high school—he had them two weekends every month—but they didn't need to know about anything he and Ruby did.

All Ruby had needed to do was show a little discretion.

"Oh," Jessica said. Emotions flitted across her face. Confusion, consternation, then condemnation.

He didn't know why he let that look bother him. He'd always known how other people would react to his kinky desires. He was divorced because of it. In heated moments, he and his ex-wife had occasionally fantasized about her being with other men, but when he finally said he'd like to do it for real, she'd frozen him out.

With that very look Jessica wore now.

Goddamn Ruby for doing this.

Jessica stood, hugging her folder to her chest. "I don't understand," she said, bewildered like a child faced with her first dead goldfish. "Don't you feel cheated?"

He couldn't say that love had never entered into it with Ruby; that was between Ruby and him. "I'm not wired like most men." Yet he knew it would explain nothing. Jessica couldn't understand. His ex-wife had never understood his needs. In the end, she left because of them.

Jessica seemed to gulp down air. "How can you let her do that to you?"

He rose to look down on her. Her gaze was stricken. He realized she'd allowed this to torment her for two days. On his behalf. "She didn't do it _to_ me. She didn't hurt me. It's the way I like it."

She dropped the folder to her side and stared at him as if he weren't the man she'd worked for—and hopefully admired—for the past three years. He actually felt diminished.

Jessica finally looked away. "She said it turns you on."

"It does," he admitted. He owed her the truth after what Ruby had put her through.

"She said"—she licked her lips—"that you love to have sex with her afterwards."

Her mouth glistened. Her eyes were a deep blue, the pupils wide. A blush colored her cheeks. She was breathing faster, a pulse fluttering at her throat. And beneath the blouse, her nipples were hard peaks.

Looking at her, he was inexplicably hard. It wasn't about Ruby; it was suddenly about Jessica, the intimate conversation, his earlier thoughts about her appeal. "I do."

"Did you have sex with her when she came home on Wednesday?" she asked softly.

The conversation was heated, the office walls closer, the desk between them barely any separation at all. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts. Like a wild dog, he scented her, too, the faint aroma of arousal and emotion.

"Was it good?" She spoke with barely a sound, but he read the words on her lips.

He could feel the sex from that night, and heat suddenly burned all the way to his gut. "Yes, it was."

But for a moment, the woman's face he saw in his mind, the feel of smooth female flesh beneath his fingers, the warmth engulfing him, was no longer Ruby.

It was Jessica.

# 4

"It won't happen again. Not here."

Clay's voice seemed to come from very far away, but it was the images in her mind that consumed Jessica. Clay with Ruby, reliving the things she'd just done with Bradley. Clay, naked, gorgeous, powerful.

"Ruby won't embarrass you this way again."

Embarrass her? It was what Ruby had done to Clay that Jessica hated. He said he knew all about it, but there'd been something in his face—his muscles tightening, lips flat-lined—that testified Ruby had done some things he hadn't known about. Like where and with whom. That same look was in his eye now as he apologized.

When you had to apologize for someone else, they'd obviously done something wrong.

"Thank you," she said. It felt like such an inane response. She didn't care if Ruby did it again; she only cared how Clay felt about it, whether it hurt him. She would never do anything like that to him.

Yet, God help her, she thought of sex, and Wednesday night. And Clay. The kinkiness of it made her wet, her nipples hard, her skin flushed, and she wanted to know so much more. Like _why_ he enjoyed letting Ruby make a fool of him. He didn't seem the type. Yet after the research she'd done on the Internet, there appeared to be men who didn't think of it like that. Maybe they didn't feel jealousy. Maybe they didn't love in the same way. Maybe Clay didn't really love Ruby.

All the questions burning to be asked drove her to the door. Before they spilled out. "I'll get the answers on these questions." Thank God she'd written them down because she didn't remember a thing that had occurred before she blurted out what she'd seen.

"Jessica."

_Please don't say anything else_. She didn't want to know any more.

"Why were you here so late on Wednesday?"

It wasn't what she'd been expecting at all. "The review for the board meeting. I had some things to finish up."

"I don't expect you to work until ten o'clock at night," he said.

But she would, for him, if he needed something. She realized how pathetic she sounded, even in her own mind. "It's only once a quarter." Actually, she did it every month, staying late or coming in on a Saturday to work uninterrupted.

"I appreciate the dedication."

But was she _too_ dedicated? Maybe he thought she didn't have a life outside of West Coast. Maybe he thought she paid too much attention to what Ruby did.

"Everything's all right now, Jessica. Don't worry about it."

He'd returned to Ruby. Everything wasn't all right. She'd fantasized about him before, but she'd had it in perspective. He was _only_ a sex fantasy. Now, she imagined herself as his rescuer, saving him from his horrible girlfriend.

She imagined taking Ruby's place.

Clay allowed his anger to simmer until he got home. The scent of Chinese food wafted out of the kitchen. Picking up takeout was the extent of Ruby's cooking skills. He didn't mind.

"Hey, baby, I'm in here," she called. Ruby had a smoky voice, always on the edge of seduction. She liked to conquer men, and he'd enjoyed it when she came home to him after a little conquering. At forty, she was in her prime, her muscles firm beneath a short skirt that hugged her bottom. The stylish suit jacket plunged low. Most women would have worn a blouse under it, but not Ruby. She dared men to look down the front. He'd always liked that sense of daring about her, the air of sexuality that brought men to their knees.

He stood in the kitchen doorway, watching from the other side of the center island as she unpacked the bag on the granite counter, pulled down a couple of plates from the new cabinets he'd had installed, and opened the cartons. More mouthwatering aromas filled the air.

He couldn't pinpoint why this time was different. True, she'd broken one of his steadfast rules, but he wasn't stupid enough to think it was the first time. She enjoyed surprising him. And he'd enjoyed the surprises.

Was it Jessica?

_How can you let her do that to you?_

The truth was that Ruby had fucked another man on his desk, leaving her mark on it in an almost blatant raising of the middle finger. Not to mention the man she'd chosen—though the word _man_ didn't describe Bradley Palmer. Clay didn't complain about his subordinates, but Ruby knew enough to understand that Bradley was less than adequate. If Greg Stevens hadn't gone to bat for the kid, Bradley would have been long gone. Clay, however, believed a manager had the right to make the decisions about his own employees.

There was a statement in Ruby's choice of place and partner. It wasn't in the same league as telling him she was seeing a girlfriend only to arrive home covered in come. Or perhaps it was a greater degree of the same problem. When he let her get away with one thing, she'd then needed to up the ante.

"What?" She was looking at him. He realized he'd been staring at her, not really seeing her. Or seeing her too clearly.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out her thong and dropped it on the kitchen's center island.

Ruby smiled, her lipstick still fresh and glistening. "You found my surprise. I was wondering when you would." She didn't miss a single beat.

"When'd you leave them for me?"

She winked. "The other morning." Then she dished out mu shu pork onto the thin pancakes.

"You're lucky I found them in the filing cabinet, instead of Angie." He didn't have a secretary, but one of the accounts payable girls did his filing for him.

Ruby licked the spoon she'd used, then laughed. "She only does that for you once a month. I figured you'd find them first."

Except they hadn't been in his filing cabinet. If Jessica hadn't told him what she'd done, though, he would have assumed Ruby left them to titillate him during the day.

"Don't lie to me, Ruby."

She stopped, a spoon of lemon chicken halfway between the carton and a plate. A large drop of yellow sauce plopped onto the counter. "I don't lie, baby. I just stretch the truth." The reply was typical Ruby.

"Why don't you unstretch it and tell me what you really did Wednesday night."

She pursed her lips. It wasn't a good look for Ruby, adding five years to her face. "I'm sure _she_ already told you everything."

"I want to hear it from you."

"The Chinese is getting cold," she complained, buying time.

"We can eat while you tell me."

She shrugged, finished dishing out the food, then carried the two plates to the table in the nook overlooking the darkened garden. Clay carried the cartons and set them in the center between them.

"I just wanted to see if it got you all worked up in the morning when you went to work." More likely, she'd wanted to see if he'd detect her scent all over the desk. He hadn't. "I thought it would be exceptionally hot," she added.

"We have a rule."

She _tsked_. "It was late. No one was there."

"Jessica Murphy was there."

She pressed her lips together. "How was I supposed to know she'd be sneaking around at ten o'clock? There weren't any lights on."

"Ruby, that's exactly why we don't do anything at work. Because you never know when someone's going to walk in."

She smiled slyly. "Oh, I remember how badly you wanted to do a few things at work, sweetheart."

When they were first dating—if fucking their brains out could be called _dating_ —he'd talked about wanting to fuck her on his desk. But he'd never broken that rule, as hot as it might have been. He wondered if she'd had Bradley Palmer do the same things they'd described to each other back then. Her carelessness and lack of regard pissed him off. Odd as it sounded, when she fucked other men, it was for the two of them. While she was out, he imagined what she was doing. And she was supposed to be thinking about him, about how he'd be on her the minute she was inside, wanting to hear everything while he fucked her. When she lied, the sex became about _her_ , not _them_. If she didn't know that already, he couldn't explain.

So he attacked on a level she could understand. "He's a risk, Ruby. He can spread gossip." Bradley would brag.

"Oh, honey, no one's going to believe him."

Actually, they would. Ruby didn't have the purest of reputations. After all, she'd worked at West Coast for almost a year before they began their affair, and she'd gotten around. "You don't fuck other men at work, Ruby. No ifs, ands, or buts."

"Spoilsport," she muttered.

He had to hand it to her. It didn't bother her that she'd been caught. But wasn't that why he'd made things more permanent with her, bringing her home? Because she was wild. Because she did all the things he'd dreamed of having a woman do for him. Because she'd fuck anyone, anywhere, anytime, and rush home to tell him about it. He'd gotten everything he'd wanted.

_Be careful what you ask for._

The problem was he couldn't control her. Because of that, he'd laid down three rules she was never to break: no sex with anyone from or at work, never bring the guy home, and tell your boyfriend every dirty detail about what you did.

She'd broken the first and the last rule. How long before she broke the second? Maybe she'd already had another man in their bed.

"Dump him."

She moued. "It was silly, Clay. I'm sorry. He came on to me, and you and I had already planned my date, and I was so horny, I just did it without thinking it through." Then she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "How can I make it up to you?"

He didn't believe her. This wasn't the first time. And he doubted who came on to whom.

"I don't know, Ruby." He didn't play games—not head games at any rate—but the truth was more complicated. Something had shifted in him when Jessica asked how he could let Ruby humiliate him.

She raised her brow, a sexy little come-on that usually got him going. "How about one of my special blow jobs?" Then she winked. "Out in the backyard so the neighbor kid can watch."

She loved exhibitionism. The so-called neighbor kid was actually twenty-five years old and worked in a pizza parlor because, as a college history major, he couldn't find a job.

She was the same woman she'd been on Wednesday. And on Tuesday. And yet something had changed. "No, Ruby."

"But honey." For the first time, worry crept into her voice. But Ruby was never down and out. She smiled, then rose sinuously from her chair, sauntered to his side, her hips swaying with each step, and put her hands behind her back. "I know what we can do," she said, her red lips curved in a sly smile. "How about a little role reversal?"

He didn't say anything.

Which forced her to go on. "You go on a date, then come back home and torture me with all the details."

That was new. Ruby loved having sex with other men, but she wasn't interested in sharing him with anyone. She claimed she wouldn't feel special anymore. Their needs were in perfect sync. He didn't want other women; he needed a woman who made him crazy with her salacious tales.

So why was she offering this now? He didn't have a clue what her real motive could be. The only way to find out was to take her up on the offer.

He let silence hang in the kitchen five beats longer than necessary, until her smile had drooped fractionally. "That's a very good idea. We'll put the shoe on the other foot."

She shifted her weight to the opposite heel. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He didn't admire it about himself, but he felt a note of triumph in calling her bluff. She hadn't been expecting him to agree. Perhaps she'd thought he'd turn it around and tell her she needed to go out on a date and do it right this time.

"You've grown cocky and complacent," he said, "thinking you can do anything." He let that sink in. "You need to be taught a lesson."

She swallowed, backed up. "And then you'll forgive me?"

There was nothing to forgive. She was the woman he'd invited to live in his home. She hadn't changed. He simply didn't like the lie.

Fuck it all, he didn't like the image of Bradley doing her on the boss's desk either. Bradley Palmer was the taint. A part of him couldn't stop feeling she'd chosen the guy for that very reason.

"After you've been punished for all your lies, then yes, you'll be forgiven." Perhaps this was what they needed: a fresh start with new rules, and more of them.

"When will you do it?" she asked, suddenly avoiding his gaze as she sat once again at the table.

"Tomorrow. I'll go to the gym." Saturday morning, the place would be packed. "I'm sure I'll find a suitable candidate there." The gym was a meat market, but he had no intention of going on a date or fucking another woman. He wanted only the illusion of it. He hadn't taken a firm enough hand with Ruby. She needed a lot more controlling. "And in future, I will attend your dates with you."

Her head shot up. "What do you mean?

He ate, forced a pleasant tone into his voice. "We'll go to a hotel bar, find a suitable candidate." He smiled, baring his teeth. "Then you'll call me up to the room when you're done. I'll have you the moment he's gone."

Her breath came faster. Yes, new rules would be very good for them. He should have thought of that before.

Yet later that night, even after the blow job Ruby insisted on giving him, he couldn't sleep.

He couldn't get Jessica Murphy's face out of his mind or her scent out of his head. He couldn't stop his body's reaction to his thoughts. Despite Ruby's blow job.

Before, Jessica had been an attractive woman. Now she was a sexual fantasy.

Something had definitely happened in his office.

He feared it wasn't good for any of them.

# 5

That man knew how to rock her world. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Have Clay help her pick out a man. Let him wait down in the bar while she went to a room. When she was done, she'd let him lick her, clean her up, then fuck her right into heaven. It was brilliant.

Saturday morning, Ruby sent Clay off to the gym with a condom in his pocket from her very own special stash she used for her dates. He wasn't going to do a darn thing. He just wanted to punish her by allowing her to think he would.

Things had been getting stale, same old, same old. That's why she'd noticed Bradley. He'd trailed in her wake like a puppy sniffing at her. He was just what the doctor ordered to spice things up, and it had worked even better than she'd imagined. What she hadn't realized was that Clay himself needed to be spiced up, too, and her flouting of his rules had given him an excuse to become domineering with her, something he obviously needed at this stage in their relationship. Her only mistake had been letting Jessica Murphy catch her.

Ruby smiled to herself in the mirror as she applied her makeup. What she needed now was something truly extraordinary to make Clay go completely out of his mind. His workout would take at least two hours, especially when he was teaching her a lesson, letting her imagine he was checking out all the gym bunnies. Gosh, he might even be gone three hours, just to push her buttons. It was more than enough time to execute her plan.

She strolled into the bedroom wearing only a pretty white lace thong and picked up her phone.

She typed out a quick text. _Get over here. Now._ She thought a moment, then typed again. _And park down the street._ Wouldn't do to have the neighbors start talking. That would piss Clay off rather than excite him.

But oh, she'd have such a nice surprise for him when he got home. The scent of come all over his bed. Who knew what kind of exhilarating ideas he'd come up with when she gave him the right incentive?

Ruby got so wet thinking about the possibilities that she had to touch herself before Bradley even rang the doorbell.

Friday night Jessica had gone to bed thinking about Clay and woken up to dreams of him on Saturday morning. She still couldn't stop imagining them together as she'd dressed in leggings and a long-sleeved T. After pulling her hair back in a ponytail, she headed out for a run before dropping by West Coast to work on those answers for Clay.

She made it as far as the parking lot of her condo complex. Standing beside her car, she made a booty call. "Are you busy?"

Vince's voice was a low drawl. "No, what do you have in mind?"

"I need relief."

"I'm at your disposal."

She'd had serious relationships—the last one ended before she came to West Coast—but she'd never found a man she wanted to marry. Now, she visited Vince when her hormones were raging. When she had to have relief or go mad.

That's how Clay made her feel. She needed something immense to work him out of her system. Vince would have to do.

She had a key, but she always called first. A few times during their three-year arrangement, they'd taken a break while he dated one girl or another. But he'd never asked for his key back.

She unlocked his door. The apartment was silent, but she smelled the shower and fresh soap as she passed the bathroom. When she entered his bedroom, he was on the bed, idly stroking his cock. Vince was forty-nine, but he had the body of a man ten years younger, and he worked to keep it that way. He reminded her of Clay: his looks, his age, his hot body. Her mouth watered.

"So how do you want it, sweetheart?" His voice was deep; his hair was gray; his cock was thick and long and tasted good. His features were easy on the eyes, too.

"I don't have much time. I have to go in to work."

"Hard and fast then."

She thought of Ruby on Clay's desk. Then she thought of Clay and his desk and what she'd have liked him to do to her yesterday afternoon while his door was closed.

"I want it from behind." She waggled a thumb over her shoulder. "In your office." Vince was a contract technical writer. He did most of his work out of his home office.

He smiled. She'd always liked that smile. They'd met at her previous company when he'd done some work for them. They fit perfectly as friends with benefits, but some of his habits would drive her crazy in a boyfriend. Like the way he just up and went on vacation for a month or two. And he didn't have a 401 (K) or an IRA.

He rose from the bed, sauntered past her through the open door, his cock at the ready. "Do you want to call me Mr. Blackwell while I do you from behind on my big desk?"

Usually his flippancy made her laugh. Vince was the only person in the world she'd ever told about her hots for her boss. He let her play out her fantasies. Today, though, she felt a little raw about it. "No," she said. "Just do me." She was already pushing her running pants over her hips.

Vince simply picked her up off her feet, kicked the chair out of the way, then set her down in front of the desk. She liked his height, his strength. Another reminder of Clay. Sometimes he pushed her high up the wall and fucked her like that. Now he shoved her facedown on the desk.

"I'm going to pull your panties down, Miss Murphy, and fuck the hell out of you." It was their signal, Miss Murphy and Mr. Blackwell, not that she was ever so formal with Clay. Vince was playing him despite what she'd said. With her leggings halfway down her thighs, he bent over her and put his hand between her legs. "You're wet, Miss Murphy. Were you thinking about this in the staff meeting?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes."

He played her clit. "I was thinking how I wanted to throw you down on that conference table and fuck the hell out of you, Miss Murphy."

She moaned. The fantasy consumed her. "Fuck me, Mr. Blackwell. Please."

"Don't rush me. I want to play with your pretty little pussy first."

She curled her fingers into fists as he went down on his haunches and licked her. "Oh God, Clay." She wanted this. She wanted him. Knowing his kinky desires, talking about sex with him, it amplified her desire.

"I'm going to fuck you so good, Miss Murphy."

"God, yes." She kept her eyes closed, holding onto the fantasy as he slid open the desk drawer. He kept a stash of condoms in every room, so he could be spontaneous.

He entered her with a hard thrust and no more preparation than that quick lick along her pussy. Jessica didn't need it. She jammed her hands down on the desk to push back against him.

"Fuck, you're hot today, baby. So wet and wild." It was no longer Vince, it was Clay, his deep tones, his hard cock taking her.

Generally, she needed to touch herself as well, but today, all it took was the incessant pounding of his cock, his deep male voice calling her Miss Murphy, telling her how badly he'd wanted her these last three years, that he couldn't wait. That she was his. The ripple of orgasm started at the bead of her clitoris, then streaked out like a flash fire through her veins, across her skin.

She gasped as she felt him pulse in her. "Don't come in me." She thought of what Ruby said, that Clay loved the scent of come on her. "Do it all over me."

He grunted, but did what she said, withdrawing, tossing out the condom, then she felt the hot spray of him over her ass. She reached back and rubbed it in. God, Clay would love that. Then she turned. "Let me suck you."

She went down on her knees to take him in her mouth, gathering the last of his come on her tongue, swallowing it.

She pretended she was tasting Clay.

Ruby had given him a goddamn condom when he left, smiling, shoving him out the door. She was so sure of herself, so sure of him. She wasn't in the least repentant.

What would she do if he actually used it?

Clay did his usual forty-five minutes on the treadmill. He wasn't interested in the gym bunnies. If he followed his Saturday morning routine, he'd have done weights, then followed up with the stair climber. Yet he left after his run on the treadmill, Ruby's condom burning a hole in his pocket.

She had always amused him, yet her antics of the last few days no longer seemed so entertaining. They needed to have a serious discussion.

His Palo Alto home had high ceilings and an open floor plan. Sound traveled. The kitchen, family room, and his office were off to the left. The front hallway opened onto a formal dining room and the living room, with its sixties-style fireplace and flume in the center. When he'd had the place remodeled, he'd preserved the vintage-era feel. The bedrooms—one each for his sons, another he used as an office, and the master—lay to the right.

Sounds filtered down from the bedroom wing.

He wasn't angry. In fact, he was emotionless. Ruby had done no less than he expected. The hall was carpeted, his footsteps effectively dampened. He wondered idly what position he would find her in.

The king-size bed sat beneath the window, facing the door. Ruby was in the process of executing a reverse cowgirl, legs spread, a cock buried deep in her lush pussy. Clay had to admit, the sight was impressive. The size of Bradley's cock certainly didn't match the smallness of his mind. Ruby leaned back, supporting herself with one hand on Bradley's chest, her vibrator on her clit. Her thighs were taut with effort, Bradley doing all the work, his hands at her waist, his hips pumping.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut with pleasure, she moaned. "Oh baby. Yes, yes."

He was hard. How could he not be as he watched a gorgeous woman getting fucked, the sensual musk of her sex perfuming the air? Yet he was also detached. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

"He can't do you like this. He's too old. He probably needs Viagra." Bradley. Asswipe.

Clay had taught her the delights of that position, especially with the vibrator. She came hard when she rode him like that.

"No, never like this," she agreed, then gasped. "Oh God, you can't imagine how much better this is than anything he ever does to me."

Watching, Clay merely breathed deeply.

"I love fucking you in his bed." Bradley punctuated with a grunt. "You're going to think about me while he's fucking you."

Ruby moaned. Her legs began to quiver, a sure sign of impending orgasm, and sensing it, Bradley pumped harder, pile-driving inside her.

Clay pondered whether to let them finish. In the end, he decided it was a cheap shot to cut them off right at the best part.

Ruby cried out, wailed, in fact—she'd probably hate knowing she wailed when she came—and humped him. From his vantage point, Clay could see the pulse of Bradley's orgasm through his cock. Thank God she'd made him wear a condom at least.

"Oh fuck," Bradley said on a moan, his arms flopping against the mattress, his body going slack, even as Ruby continued to quiver on top of him.

And Clay began to clap.

# 6

Ruby shrieked, and Bradley practically threw her off. Rolling from the bed, he grabbed his jeans and stuffed himself into them without even removing the condom.

"Don't rush away on my account," Clay drawled. "Didn't Ruby tell you I like to watch? Especially since you're so much better at it than I am, me being so old, of course."

The asshole yelped, his dick caught in the zipper.

"Clay, you scared me." Ruby put her hand to her chest, her skin still flushed. She didn't jump for her clothes. All she did was lean back on an elbow, her legs still spread, the vibrator between them. "Why didn't you work out for your usual two hours?"

"I wanted to come home and catch you in the act."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I wanted you to come home after it was all over and smell the come on the bed."

Meanwhile, Bradley had unzipped his cock, zipped back up properly, and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He looked around madly, his chest heaving and his eyes wide when he realized the only way out was through the doorway in which Clay stood.

Bradley looked to Ruby for rescue. "I really should go," he said.

Clay grinned at him. "Yes, you really should."

Then he stepped aside, and Bradley ran out as if Clay had lit a fire beneath his ass. He'd certainly never shown that much urgency over his work.

The front door slammed. Clay didn't say a word in the echo of it.

Ruby pouted. "You spoiled my surprise."

He didn't know whether she was pretending that she'd intended to tell him what she'd been doing in their bed, or if she'd truly planned to surprise him with come-scented sheets.

He looked at her, trying to see right into her head. "What part of _not in the house_ and _no one at work_ don't you understand?"

She flapped her hand at him. "Oh, honey, you know we needed some spicing up." She wrinkled her nose, then smiled. He'd never met a woman who could have such down-and-dirty sex and never mess up her lipstick. "I wanted to drive you wild when you got home from the gym all sweaty and sexy."

She'd broken his rules, fucked on his desk, fucked in his bed, and all with a man he had absolutely no respect for. He understood the real message she was sending. She'd lost all respect for him, too. He'd given her freedom; it hadn't been enough. Or it had been too much.

"Is that what you do with all your dates, tell them I don't cut it in bed so you have to find someone better?"

She frowned. "Oh, sweetie." Then she sinuously rolled to her knees. "It's not like that. But sometimes those other men need a little building up."

She didn't understand at all. The other man was just a vehicle to make sex hotter for _them_ , an outside force that brought _them_ satisfaction. Instead, she disrespected him in order to build them up.

He wondered if his ex-wife had been right all along, that what he wanted was impossible.

"Oh come on, honey baby," Ruby cajoled. "Come and do me. I sucked his cock. You can smell him all over me." She ran her hands up her abdomen, plumped her breasts. Then she looked at his crotch. "I can see you want it."

He was still hard, but his cock and his brain were two different entities. "I'm going to finish my workout." Or perhaps he'd go to work for a while, read a few financial reports and get himself straightened out.

She tipped her head. "You're not really mad, are you?"

" _Mad_ isn't the right word." He simply had his head screwed on backwards, and he needed some time away from her to figure out what was wrong. Because on the face of it, she was only doing what he'd told her to, adding spice to his life.

He just wasn't sure what kind of spice he wanted anymore.

Going home to shower and change would have meant a drive in the opposite direction. Since she'd put on fresh running clothes this morning, Jessica decided to forget it. Besides, it was Saturday, and West Coast would be empty.

When she arrived, though the front parking lot was empty, the alarm had been turned off. She cocked her head, but didn't hear anything. Maybe the cleaners had forgotten to arm it. That was a big no-no.

She climbed the stairs, turned the corner to her office, and smacked right into a big, hard male body.

Her blood began to hum. Clay. He smelled like fresh workout sweat, not bad, but sexy, and very male. Jessica swallowed. Her fantasies. Vince. God, she hadn't even showered. She could still smell his come on her, and his taste lingered on her tongue.

Then she looked up, up, up, meeting Clay's stare. He held a coffee cup aloft. Presumably he'd almost spilled it when she ran into him. Steam and a rich aroma rose from it. His eyes were darker than their usual hazel, and his nostrils flared as if he was sniffing her.

"What are you doing here, Jessica?" His voice was deep, edgy, like she'd committed a crime.

He hadn't backed off much from the initial bump into her, and his proximity made her head feel muzzy. She searched for an adequate answer. "Those questions you had. I wanted to check on them."

"That can wait till Monday," he said in a low growl that didn't match his words.

"I wasn't doing anything else today." Except screwing Vince. It suddenly became hard to swallow, difficult even to think. He smelled so good. Her skin was flushed from sex, her body wet. And ready.

"You should have better things to do on a Saturday."

She resisted the urge to lick her lips. There was something different in his gaze, not his usual impersonal expression. "Nothing better," she said, feeling like she was saying something else, that he was, too.

Then suddenly he stepped aside. "I'll let you get to it. There's fresh coffee."

"Okay. Thanks." She had her office key out, but didn't move. He skirted round her and headed to his office.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she let out a long breath. The way he'd looked at her...as if he could eat her. As if he was suddenly, inexplicably feeling all the things for her that she'd felt about him for years. Her hands were shaking; she needed coffee. Back in her office, she set the mug on the desk, but after only a few moments, her feet moved, heading out again. She couldn't resist, couldn't stop herself.

She was an idiot.

He stood on the other side of the conference table, his back to the window overlooking the parking lot. With not a flicker of movement about him, he stared at his desk as if he could see Ruby on it. Jessica tried not to think about that. If she did, she'd remember what she'd made Vince do to her this morning. "About the CIP..." She trailed off. "Where's your car? I didn't see it out there."

"I parked out back," he said without glancing in her direction.

She'd been parked out back the other night. Perhaps that's why Ruby hadn't known she was there either.

"You should leave," he said. "I've got work to do."

His words were so blunt, they stung. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll get to work on this stuff."

Finally, he turned to her. "No. I mean you should go home and finish it on Monday."

"But..."

He rounded the conference table. "You work too much. All this overtime isn't necessary. Here so late on Wednesday, now today."

He was referring to Ruby. If she hadn't been working late, she'd never have seen Ruby, then she wouldn't have told him, and he'd have had no need to exchange intimacies about his private life.

"You're right," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." He was within a few steps of her.

"I'm—" She stopped because another apology was about to come out. "This is about Ruby, isn't it?"

He said nothing.

"I know it wasn't my business," she started to explain.

"It's not about Ruby. It's about you."

She stopped, swallowed. "What?"

He was between her and the door now, so close she could feel the heat of his body scorching hers.

"This is about you," he said again, then dropped his voice to a mere whisper. "And what you were doing this morning before you got here."

She'd been having sex. Suddenly she couldn't breathe.

His features were harsh and unyielding. "You either need to get the fuck out of here right now"—yet his tone was low and seductive—"or tell me what you were doing."

She thought of the things he liked. Another man's scent on his woman. Another man's taste on her lips.

He'd told her to go; she still had a chance. She could pretend she hadn't been doing anything this morning, lie and say she'd gone for her run. She could even pretend she didn't know what he was asking for. Or she could simply walk out.

She did none of those things. She gave him the truth. "I was fucking."

Something blazed in his eyes.

She told him the rest. "And I imagined he was you."

She was the fire in his belly. Fuck, he knew it was wrong, but he didn't care. He wanted to hear every dirty detail of what she'd done while thinking of him.

"Who is he?"

She didn't smile, didn't pretend coy. She was without all Ruby's wiles. "My fuck buddy," she said.

His cock surged in his jeans. "How often do you see him?"

Her eyes were a crystalline blue, her gaze never wavering. "Whenever I've been thinking about sex with you and need some relief."

It wasn't ego. It wasn't merely sex either. It was that she made the sex about him, about them, with nothing more than words. And it was the surge of emotion—maybe jealousy, he couldn't be sure—that she had a fuck buddy, a man she turned to just for sex, a man she used to get _him_ out of her system. It made everything all that much hotter. "What did he do to you?"

"I made him take me into his office and bend me over the desk."

His head whirled with the images her story evoked. And with her scent. Her sexual perfume had begun to fog his mind the moment he'd bumped into her in the hallway. He smelled the sex on her, not just her musk, but the man's as well, the salty odor of come on her lips, rising off her body.

He'd tried to tell her to go. He knew he was in danger of losing it. Ruby with Bradley the asswipe, Jessica's scent, the way she'd become completely sexualized in his mind yesterday afternoon when she'd told him what Ruby had done on his desk. He'd been close to losing control out there in the hall. She should never have followed him to his office. He wasn't sure he'd let her go even if she tried to leave.

"Tell me," he begged. It wasn't like this with Ruby. It was visceral, uncontrollable.

Then Jessica gave him what he craved. "He pulled my pants down and put his hand between my legs." Her breath came faster, her breasts rising and falling beneath the tight jogging T-shirt. "I was already wet because I'd been dreaming about you all night."

The moisture the man touched belonged to him. It was _for_ him.

"He went down on his knees and licked me."

Jesus, he could almost taste it, smell it, and he wanted, needed. He told himself he wouldn't touch her, that he only wanted the story, while another part of his mind laughed at his naïveté. _You're such a fucking liar._ "How did it feel?"

She closed her eyes, tipped her head back. "God, it was so good."

The office door was open. Anyone could drop by to catch up on a little work. And he was about to break his own rules. No sex in the office, no sex with a coworker, especially not someone who worked for him. It was wrong. It was stupid.

He didn't give a damn.

"Then I begged him to fuck me," she went on, capturing him completely. "He lets me pretend that he's you. I call him Mr. Blackwell and he calls me Miss Murphy, like in the old black-and-white movies. It's sexy."

She made it fucking sexy for him, too. Could she possibly know what she did to him?

"He did me like that, bent over the desk, fucking me so hard and good, I could have cried." Her skin was flushed pink with arousal, her pupils wide, her nipples tight against her sport bra.

He wanted to touch her. He fucking _ached_ to touch her.

He didn't know who made the move, her, him, but her breasts brushed him as she whispered, "He came on me. I rubbed it in and sucked him clean." Then she delivered the coup de grâce. "Do you want to taste him on me?"

"Fuck, yes." His voice sounded choked.

She stepped around him, closed the door, then leaned against it. "He's tall like you, and he loves to fuck me up against a door or a wall."

Clay couldn't wait another moment to put his hands on her. He hauled her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. His hard cock rode her warm, wet center.

Then he tasted her the way he'd been dying to.

# 7

He feasted on her as if she were a delicacy he couldn't get enough of. His taste was better than she could have imagined, coffee and mint and male. Between her legs, his cock pressed hard, insistent. His hands were all over her, holding her ass, sliding up her torso, pinching her nipple.

She backed off to whisper against his lips, "Can you taste him?"

"Christ yes." Then he tasted some more.

She tightened her arms around his neck and rocked against him. But she couldn't stop talking. He needed the talk. She didn't want him to think about Ruby. "I ask, 'Mr. Blackwell, do you want to fuck me?' And he says, 'God, Miss Murphy, I need you to suck my cock.'"

He groaned. "Fuck." He squeezed her ass and pushed her hard against the door, sliding against her through the thin fabric of her jogging pants.

"I want you to pull off my clothes and lick me. I want you to taste him. He came on me. I want you down there."

He yanked her away from the door and, her legs still wrapped around him, he carried her to the conference table. "I want you."

He didn't say he wanted to taste another man on her, but that he wanted _her_. Her heart began to beat harder in her chest.

Pushing her to her back on the table, he made faster work of the leggings than Vince had, but he didn't remove her panties. Leaning over her, eyes locked, he slid his fingers over the damp crotch. They were plain cotton; he didn't seem to mind.

"You're still wet from him."

"I'm wet from _you_ ," she said.

His eyes deepened to the color of a dark untamed forest as he stroked the lips of her sex through the material. "Did he touch you this way?"

"Yes."

He bent down to give her nipple a gentle bite, then pushed up her shirt to the edge of her sports bra. "Your skin is so smooth." He kissed her abdomen, headed lower. He licked along the elastic waist of her panties. Her skin quivered beneath his touch.

Then he trailed his nose over her mound to her center. "Oh yeah, you're wet." He breathed deeply. "You smell like come. And warm, wet woman."

He spread her legs, her knees hanging over the edge of the table, and traced his finger along the cleft of her pussy. On the way back up, he flicked over her clitoris. "Did he play with you like this?"

"No, he just took off my panties and started licking me." Though he'd licked her only once before she'd begged him to fuck her. She wanted Clay to linger, to taste, to learn all her ins and out.

Rolling a chair close with his foot, he sat down between her legs. Then he put his hands under her, cupped her butt, and pulled her to the edge of the table. Jessica went up on her elbows to watch him.

"Do you like it when he licks you?"

She could feel his breath on her. "I like it best when I pretend it's you." Ruby had gone on and on about how much better Bradley was. She wanted Clay to know there was no one better.

He nuzzled her, licked her through the panties. She needed more.

"Take them off. Please." She began shoving her panties down herself.

He helped pull them the rest of the way, down her legs, then he put the cotton to his face, his eyes closed as if he were in bliss. He was drinking her in, feasting on her scents. It was the most incredibly sensual thing a man had ever done.

"I'm going to keep them," he said, and shoved her panties into his back pocket. He parted her thighs once more, gazed at her. "You're so pretty," he whispered.

Her heart went to her throat.

Then he leaned down to rub his face against her, smelling her, marking her. And finally his lips, oh God, nibbling, his tongue, licking, then everything, sucking her, driving her mad.

"He doesn't do it like this." She cried out for him. "No one does it like you."

The peak came on her so fast she clamped her legs together around his head. "Yes, yes, yes. He's all over me. You can taste him, smell him." And she came hard for him.

Before the climax was even over, he rolled her to her stomach, her feet planted on the carpet. Then he put his fingers inside her and kissed her ass where Vince had come on her.

This time she actually screamed when she came.

God, what he wouldn't give to be deep inside her, but he stopped short of taking her. There was wrong, and then there was totally fucked up. He'd lost complete control and broken too many of his own rules as it was.

Instead he absorbed the pulse of her climax, the intoxicating scent of her arousal mingled with her fuck buddy's come. He could taste them both on his lips. She was sweet, the come salty, a perfect blend.

He reveled in the connection, their bodies fused together, two minds whirling with the same needs and desires. _This_ was what he wanted from sex. Other men found it with one woman; he laid claim to it after giving his woman away for an evening, knowing she couldn't wait to get back to him and make him crazy with all the details.

He could never explain it to his ex-wife. He couldn't explain why he'd never felt this so keenly with Ruby. He didn't _know_ why. It defied logic. It simply was.

Yet he didn't have a right to take it with Jessica.

Her heat seeped into him through his clothing as he lay curled over her prone body on the table. He absorbed, he savored, he reveled. But when her breathing slowed and he could no longer feel her heart racing beneath him, he knew it was time to let go.

He rose, chilled without her warmth filling him.

"Don't you want to—" She stopped when she saw he'd retrieved her jogging pants.

"You gave me more than I hoped for." He wanted to relish what they'd done.

"Oh. But I could—" Her face flushed as she cut herself off. They both knew what she was going to offer, but the moment was lost.

"What we had was perfect, Jessica." Christ, he needed much more, but it was wrong on so many levels.

She didn't argue, but simply took the pants from him and stepped into them awkwardly. The ends got stuck on her tennis shoes. Her hair had escaped from her pony tail, locks of it springing out in gentle curls.

"Yes, well..." She waved her hands, then clenched her fingers into fists. "I better get you those answers you wanted." She sidled past him toward the door, her cheeks an embarrassed flaming red.

He couldn't say what had just occurred was meaningless, but nor could he tell her it meant everything. He couldn't admit Ruby had never given him the same sense of connection. He'd found something with Ruby, yes, but with Jessica, it was somehow more, better, beyond. The fact that he didn't know why was actually terrifying.

No, he couldn't say all that. "Thank you" was all he could give her.

"I should thank you, sure..." Her hands fluttered again, then she grabbed the doorknob. She didn't run to her office, but turned in the opposite direction, and moments later the door to the ladies' room closed.

He was a schmuck. But he wasn't sorry for touching her. He could only regret the circumstances. He'd been angry with Ruby. And he had that goddamn condom in his pocket. He could feel it there now, along with Jessica's panties. He'd wanted to use it, wanted to stick it to Ruby, wanted his revenge.

That last thought was the thing that had stopped him. He couldn't use Jessica to get at Ruby. She was better than revenge sex with a condom his girlfriend had given him.

In a mere three days, so much had changed. He stared at the desk where Ruby had fucked her lover. He could feel her there, hear her moans, that husky wail she made when she came. The sounds from three days ago echoed in his office.

Only Jessica had drowned them out. When he'd touched her, Ruby didn't exist. If that condom in his pocket hadn't come from Ruby's stash, he would have fucked Jessica. Yet its presence reminded him of who he was. Jessica's boss. A man breaking his own rules.

The restroom door hadn't opened again. She was waiting for him to leave. He wished there was something he could have said to change that, but there wasn't a damn thing.

After one last look at the desk where Ruby had cuckolded him, then to the table where he'd taken Jessica with everything but his cock, he backed out of the office and locked the door.

He didn't like how he'd felt or what he'd done, how important it had been.

He didn't like the man he could potentially become if he didn't stop.

This was pathetic, sitting on the toilet lid with the stall door locked as if he might follow her into the ladies' room.

She was the one who'd gone to his office. He'd told her to get out, but she just kept talking. Then she'd thrown herself at him.

Jessica buried the embarrassing heat of her face in her hands. She'd confessed her fantasies. God. She'd sounded like a besotted teenage girl instead of a thirty-five-year-old woman.

She sucked in a breath. He'd never make her controller now. Not after he knew how she'd been salivating over him for years. Her career at West Coast had just gone up in smoke.

And she'd lit the match. Idiot.

When she rose, her legs felt wobbly, and she was reminded again of how perfect his touch was. Ruby had been lying to Bradley. No one could compare to Clay.

She peeked out the door. His office door was closed, the building silent. She didn't have to check the lock to know he was gone. After washing her hands, she patted cold water on her face. Her cheeks were still flushed with color, her lips just-kissed plump. At that moment, she didn't need makeup. All she needed was sex with Clay.

_Just_ sex? She could have an affair with her boss. She could even do an excellent job as controller while she was screwing him on the side. She could separate sex and work.

But she couldn't separate how she felt about Clay. Sex wasn't the same as it was with Vince. Clay made her heart swell with need. She wanted to burrow inside him, sleep in his arms, wake up beside him, come home to him.

On Wednesday morning, she could have lived without it. She hadn't known his intimate desires, his touch, his taste, or how his skin felt beneath her fingers. She hadn't known how good he could make her feel in so many more ways than _just_ sex.

Wednesday was a lifetime ago.

Now, she hated that he was going home to Ruby, a woman who didn't deserve him.

# 8

Ruby admitted that she'd royally fucked up. But it wasn't _all_ her fault. She would explain to Clay how she didn't understand what he wanted because he gave off mixed signals.

She'd waited all morning and all afternoon for him to return, and by four o'clock, she was going a little insane.

Bradley had called. She'd sent him to voicemail. He had to figure his own way out of the mess.

Her nerves getting to her, she'd resorted to eating cheese and salsa because there was nothing else in the house. Cheese would make her thighs lumpy, but salsa was good for you, all those tomatoes.

The front door opened, and her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. Seated on the couch, she could see Clay through the open fireplace. She set aside the cheese plate. The clink of ceramic on the coffee table got his attention. His face was so serious. Not a smile, not a glimmer of hope. He stepped down into the living room, stopped beside the fire pit, then eased down on the wide stone ledge surrounding it.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"I had a beer." He'd been gone so long, he could have had a six-pack, but he didn't appear drunk.

"Can I explain?" she asked, sounding suitably plaintive.

"You don't have to explain." His voice was flat. The sound of it made her nerves jump even more.

"But I need to."

He didn't say anything, not to tell her to shut up, nor to go on.

But she could explain it. "I don't understand what you want. Like, if I tell you I'm going out with a girlfriend when really I'm going to meet a man, you're all hot and bothered when I get home, sniffing to see if I smell like come, and if I do, you get wild. But it's still breaking your rule about not telling you I'm going on a date."

"You're right," he said expressionlessly. "That's a rule I don't mind if you break."

"But it's not okay to break the rule about sex with a coworker or sex at the house." She spread her hands. "How am I supposed to know which rules I can't break?"

"I don't have an answer," he said.

She gaped, starting to feel put out. He'd made her into the bad guy for no good reason. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Do you always tell them I'm not a good lover?"

She almost sagged with relief. So that's what it was about, his ego. "It depends on the man. Sometimes they need building up."

"So you tear me down to do it." His voice was like the flat edge of a knife: It didn't hurt, but all he had to do was turn it and it would slice right through her.

"It's not about you," she said. "It's about them."

"I realize that."

She felt the knife edge turning on her and wasn't sure how to stop it. "You've always liked what we've done."

"Why Bradley? Why my office?"

She thought better of shrugging. "I don't know. It just happened."

She realized her mistake when his features sharpened and his jaw tensed. She'd needed something Clay wasn't giving her anymore. She couldn't say that, of course, but she should turn it around on him. "I thought you were bored with me."

"Then you should have told me you wanted to play a different game."

"I'm sorry. I will next time."

"The rules were about safety."

"Uh, yes." But she hadn't been unsafe.

"You tell me about a date so that I know where you are and if something goes wrong, I can come to you."

She wanted to roll her eyes. He was so cautious. "That's true, but—"

"We don't jeopardize our jobs."

"It was stupid, I know."

"And we don't do it in the house because the boys could come over."

Jesus. They were at their mother's. They came to Clay every other weekend. The older one had just gotten his license, but it wasn't like _Dad's_ house for a surprise visit would be his first destination. Clay worried about everything. And for nothing.

But Ruby wasn't going to point out the fallacies in his argument. "I would have heard them come in."

"Did you hear me?"

"Of course." Not really. She wasn't sure how he'd managed to be so quiet. It didn't matter, though, she'd wanted him to know eventually. When he got into bed and smelled sex on the sheets.

"So you knew I was watching."

"It made me hot." It had when he clapped. The orgasm would have gone on and on if Bradley hadn't freaked. What a twerp. He was definitely a mistake.

Clay stood, and she realized she'd once again said something wrong.

"We need a break, Ruby."

There was a sudden roaring in her ears, as if she'd fallen under the wheels of a freight train. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he stated flatly, "that I'm going to a hotel for a few nights so we can both think about the situation."

She jumped up, knocking her shin on the coffee table. "I'm sorry, Clay. I understand now. I won't do it again. I didn't realize how much the rules meant to you." It was true. She didn't think he'd care. He let her fuck anyone she wanted. He gave her all the freedom she asked for. She hadn't understood that he would actually draw a line she wasn't supposed to cross.

He reached into his back pocket, then tossed something onto the coffee table. The condom she'd given him this morning. "I almost used this today."

"But you didn't." If he had, she would have lived with it, but she was glad he hadn't.

"You don't get it."

"I said you could. To pay me back."

He looked at her for so long, her skin started to itch. Then finally, he said, "I don't want to pay you back. I don't want us to be about tit for tat."

"Then what do you want? Because I really don't know." It was the first honest thing she'd said. She might not be honest with anyone else, but at least she was with herself. Lies weren't such a bad thing. Sometimes they were necessary.

He closed his eyes for five seconds, an interminable amount of time in which she saw her pretty little world crumbling. "I don't know, Ruby. If I did, we wouldn't be where we are now."

Then he went into their bedroom and packed a bag.

Ten minutes later, after the echo of the front door closing and his car engine had faded into the sounds of lawn mowers and children shouting, she slumped down on the couch. The cheese and salsa she'd consumed threatened to rise up again. If he kicked her out, she had nowhere to go.

"Everything will be all right," she whispered. "The boys are coming next weekend. He'll have to come back home then."

"Did you hear? Bradley quit."

The Monday morning rumors were rampant in the West Coast hallways. Being a manager, Jessica didn't listen to gossip—it was unprofessional—and discouraged it in her employees. But she couldn't ignore this tidbit. She gleaned every fact from every source. And there were a _lot_ of sources.

"He didn't even give notice."

"Just packed up his stuff and left."

"He said this place sucked."

"Are you sure he didn't actually get fired?"

That's what Jessica wanted to know. Funny thing, Ruby had called in sick today. Did Clay have anything to do with all this?

In the end, Jessica couldn't help herself. She went straight to the horse's mouth, Bradley's manager, popping into his office next door. "Is it true?"

Greg Stevens lifted his head out of his hands and stared at her morosely. With short blond hair, pale blue eyes, and cherubic cheeks, he was very Scandinavian. His characteristic smile was absent this morning.

"I'm going to kill him," he muttered. His desk was a clutter of folders and binders that had begun to migrate to the round meeting table in the corner by the window. The computer keyboard was buried somewhere beneath the mess, his inbox stacked twelve inches high, and three of the file drawers on his credenza were open as if he'd recently torn through them.

"Guess it's true then," she sympathized. Finance and Budget was a two-man department. Greg had lost fifty percent of his workforce. "What happened?" It had to have been Clay.

"I swear that kid must have been in at the crack of dawn." Greg shook his head. "He cleaned out his cubicle and shoved a resignation letter under my door."

Jessica wanted to be controller. She felt she was more qualified. Greg was intimate with the workings of every department, but he didn't have the equity background, fixed asset knowledge, or payroll expertise that she did. Still, having his only employee quit on him was a raw deal.

"Did he say why?"

Greg laughed without the least bit of humor in it. "He wrote that he was quitting due to a hostile work environment." He slapped both hands to his chest and jutted his head at her. "Do I look hostile?"

"Not in the least." In fact, Greg had bent over backward making excuses for Bradley's crappy work product. That was another strike against him as controller. Employees needed to have expectations put on them, and there had to be consequences if they didn't perform.

Greg simply continued shaking his head. "I called him, but his phone went to voicemail. I hope he's all right."

Trust Greg to worry about the guy. _He's a complete asshole, and most likely he quit because he was afraid Clay was going to fire him._ But she commiserated. "I'm sure he's fine. Did you fill out a requisition for a new financial analyst?"

He nodded. "Thank God he didn't do this in the middle of the budget process." Greg had probably done the majority of the work anyway.

"If you need any help on the quarter-end analysis, let me know."

He waved his thanks.

She stood for a moment outside her office door. It was chicken not to check in with Clay as well. She'd done nothing else but think about what happened between them on Saturday. What did it mean? How would it change things? Her worst thought was that he'd pretend it hadn't happened.

But facing him? Well, that was going to take a bit of courage, too. If she didn't want to clean out her desk, leave her resignation under his door, and slither away like Bradley had done, she was going to have to suck it up.

# 9

Leaning back in his chair, Clay was reading a sheaf of papers. Jessica's heart rolled over in her chest. She'd always found him attractive, but now it made her ache to look at him. It was good, it was bad. She almost wished she'd never seen Ruby, never begged Clay to touch her. Fantasy was so much easier.

She knocked on the doorjamb. He laid down the papers. "Jessica, come in."

She managed a few steps inside without tripping or otherwise looking like a lovesick idiot. "I heard about Bradley, and I've told Greg I can help out on any of the quarter-end analysis."

"I'm sure Greg appreciated that. Close the door and have a seat."

She could feel her blood pulsing in her fingertips. "Sure." She took the chair opposite, then wondered why the hell she was being reticent. "Did you fire him?"

He snorted, shook his head. "He left on his own." Then he laughed. "At least I don't have to call him out in a duel for my girlfriend's honor."

Ruby didn't have any honor. "He was scared you would, so he made a preemptive strike to avoid putting on his resume that he got fired." Not that anyone actually admitted they got fired. You claimed a difference of opinion, disparity in management style, downsizing.

"I want to apologize for Saturday," he said.

She swallowed. On Saturday, she'd come in fresh from sex with another man, the scent of come all over her, exactly what pushed Clay's buttons. What happened hadn't been about _her_ , but about the timing. It was inevitable that he'd regret it, but it hurt anyway.

She wasn't, however, going to show any weakness. "You don't need to apologize."

"I do. First Ruby put you through the wringer, then I messed with you. It wasn't fair."

She didn't like the sound of that. _Messed with you._ The euphemism belittled what had happened between them.

His features were handsome yet expressionless as he went on. "I hope we can continue our working relationship without letting this get in the way. You're excellent at your job."

"Of course. Not to worry." She stood abruptly. If he said one more thing, she'd have to scream. "I better get out there and see how I can help Greg."

Rushing to the door, she was half afraid he'd call her back so he could grind her down a little more. Thank God he didn't. In the restroom, she checked her face, her eyes. Her makeup was fine, and she didn't appear devastated. No one would know Clay had just crushed her. Her blazer was crisp, her blouse buttoned to the neck, her skirt circumspect.

Ruby Williams would never wear such staid business attire. Her tops were tight and low-cut, her skirts short and formfitting. Damn Ruby. Jessica knew she had to stop comparing herself to Ruby, stop wanting what Ruby had, whether the woman deserved it or not.

And she had to stop hiding in the ladies' room, dammit.

"You're down another worker bee, Clay. Where are we on the new controller?" Holt Montgomery was seated at the head of the board room conference table, the Monday afternoon executive staff meeting in full swing. In his early fifties, Holt had a pair of gray eyes that penetrated through even the thickest cloud of smoke anyone blew at him. Though the companies had changed, Clay had worked with him for almost twenty years, and there was a healthy mutual respect between them.

They'd had reports from David Farris, Manufacturing, Ward Restin, R&D, and Neal Thomas from Business Development, then had come Clay's finance report, to be followed by Spencer Benedict in Marketing and Sales. For his part, Clay had already covered the cash forecast and the Q2 budget. Now they were down to the trivia.

"I'm staying on plan," he said, "interviewing outside candidates and making the final decision by the start of next week." Standard operating procedure, you always interviewed outside as well as inside.

Holt shook his head. "In the meantime, you're spending too much time managing the whole Accounting group."

"Jessica Murphy is doing a good job keeping everything in line."

Holt raised one eyebrow. "Then promote her. Our management flowchart is top heavy in male versus female headcount anyway."

Holt had been in favor of Greg Stevens until today, but Clay didn't call him on it, especially when Holt had a point. He wouldn't have called himself wishy-washy, but he was definitely being indecisive about Jessica, though she was the best choice.

Or she would have been before Saturday.

The April sun was shining through the open blinds, and Clay felt like he was sitting in the hot seat. The coffee, which had been made before lunch, smelled acrid. Ruby was out today. No fresh coffee for the meeting.

"Why'd Bradley quit anyway?" David Farris wanted to know. As VP of Manufacturing, he'd worked extensively with Bradley and Greg on the five-year forecast, an amazing feat considering the man's wife had been dying of cancer at the time. She'd passed on just before Christmas. At least his two kids had been home from college when it happened. Farris had been a military man, serving in the Middle East, and despite the fact that he'd been out of the service for over fifteen years, he still had that military bearing. He hadn't displayed an ounce of emotion, yet fresh streaks of gray had appeared in his sandy hair, and his eyes were bleak.

"He was fine last week during our meeting," David went on. "Are we in for a lawsuit?"

Farris was referring to the hostile work environment. Clay quickly dispelled any worries about that. "No. I've got Human Resources reviewing the details. Palmer never reported a problem. The only incidents recorded in his file regarded his tardiness." In addition to the fact that the accusation was crap, Palmer probably wouldn't push the issue for fear of his after-hours activity on company property coming to light.

"Fine," Holt said, sounding bored. "Take care of the controller business. Let's move on." He pointed to Spence. "Marketing report."

The remainder of the meeting was somewhat repetitive no matter how Holt moved it along. Clay already knew the salient points. His mind didn't wander so much as focus on two things at once.

It had all gotten fucked up. He'd had sex with a subordinate, then he'd walked out on Ruby. He'd have forgiven Ruby for bringing Bradley into his home. She was correct. He'd let her change the rules. He hadn't cared. He'd been sending her mixed messages. But what he'd done with Jessica in his office had been momentous. It had changed how he felt about Ruby. He'd suddenly recognized that his relationship with her wasn't enough. Yet he wasn't the type to simply throw in the towel on three years without a by-your-leave. He needed time to think, evaluate, regroup.

Then there was Jessica. What he'd done was unconscionable and against all his principles. Yet it didn't change the fact that he desired her. She was no longer just his employee. She was a woman he wanted badly. As her boss, he wouldn't sabotage her career at West Coast because he couldn't stop thinking about her. Which was why he'd apologized to her this morning. What they'd done couldn't happen again. He'd compromised her, his ethics, and company policy.

Yet he was still caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Because he couldn't turn off what she'd turned on. The mix was like a match to a powder keg, ready to explode.

At this very moment, her panties were in his jacket pocket. On Saturday, they'd been in his back pocket right along with Ruby's condom. He'd felt the soft cotton against his hand just before he'd tossed the condom on the coffee table. He'd thought of Jessica almost every moment since. He couldn't stop.

"Got a minute?" The meeting was over. Holt stood at his elbow as the others filed out.

"Sure." Exiting the conference room, Clay walked slower than the rest, letting the distance grow so they wouldn't be overheard. They passed Human Resources.

"Is Ruby all right?" Holt wanted to know. "She never calls in sick."

True. Ruby was as healthy as a horse. He'd often wondered if it had to do with a good sex life. "I'm sure she's fine."

Holt raised one brow. "Don't you know?"

They'd stepped inside the annex to Holt's office. This was Ruby's domain, a neat area that included two comfortable chairs with a side table between them for magazines. It was where Ruby stood sentry behind her desk, sequestering Holt when he needed it, fielding his calls, vetting his visitors, getting them coffee if it was desired. She was the showpiece, but she was also a damn good executive admin.

Holt eyed him when he didn't answer. "Trouble in paradise?"

He wasn't merely Clay's boss, but also his friend. They'd gone on numerous business trips and talked over drinks. Holt knew why Clay's wife had divorced him. He knew the kind of games he played with Ruby and that their relationship was based primarily on sex. And Clay knew Holt—who'd married young, divorced young, and had one daughter—liked to play with dominance and submission. They didn't, however, get into girlfriend bashing or overly deep personal discussions.

But Clay had to tell him something. "I'm staying at the Marriott for the time being." The statement held a wealth of information.

Holt nodded, getting the subliminal message without pressing for details. "Sorry to hear that."

"You've got my cell number if you need to get hold of me." He paused. "And Ruby and I have agreed never to bring our personal problems into the workplace."

"I trust you both." Holt clapped him on the shoulder. "Ruby was long overdue for a day off."

Two women would have taken hours to say what needed to be said. Men weren't like that. He'd take a few nights for thought and strategy, determine what needed to be done.

Then he'd do it.

Clay had left Ruby.

Jessica stood at the copy machine in HR, her ears roaring, heart pounding. She'd been on her way to pick up some payroll paperwork. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop, barely stopping outside the door to Holt Montgomery's office suite. But she'd heard. Ruby was sick today, and Clay was staying at the Marriott.

Yet he said he wanted to keep his professional relationship with Jessica intact. Which meant no fooling around with her.

A fist closed around her chest, making it hard to breathe. What did it mean? That he didn't want Ruby anymore, but he didn't need Jessica either?

# 10

Ruby wore her fuzzy pink slippers and her baggy sweats. Comfort clothes.

On Sunday, she'd been sure Clay would come back. She hadn't done anything _that_ bad. But he didn't come home. He didn't phone. Monday morning she'd called in sick. She figured Clay needed a sign of her contrition, like she'd been so upset this weekend that she couldn't even make it into work on Monday. Of course, she _was_ upset, totally. It would have been very difficult to go through the motions while Clay was at work upstairs in his office. The perfect solution, a sick day.

He still hadn't called by Monday afternoon. She dished out a bowl of ice cream. Some comfort food was in order.

The doorbell rang, and her heart leapt with joy. It would be just like him to ring the bell.

It wasn't Clay. "What on earth are you doing here?" she snapped.

Bradley stood right where Clay should have been standing, his face hangdog and apologetic. Of course, he did look good in faded jeans that outlined his lovely package. "We've got to talk, Ruby."

"No, we don't," she said, starting to close the door. All she needed was for Clay to show up and find Bradley here. She was _not_ making that mistake again.

But Bradley put his foot in the door. "I quit my job."

She gaped. "Why the hell would you do that?" This wasn't the economy to walk out on your job.

"So he doesn't have anything to hold over me."

"Clay wouldn't hold anything over you." Clay wasn't like that. Then again, she hadn't expected him to walk out either.

"He'd have made our lives miserable." He gave her such an earnest look, with caramel brown eyes like a worshipful pet.

But really, he wasn't making sense. "Why would he do _that_?"

"When you leave him for me."

It wasn't a good look for her, she knew, but Ruby let her jaw drop. "Are you insane?"

"It's the only way, now that he knows about us." He smiled, making his stubbled chin more prominent.

She remembered that she didn't really like the scratchiness of his overgrown beard between her thighs, and her face always felt a little tender after she'd kissed him for too long. "I would _never_ leave Clay for you."

His features seemed to droop like a sad puppy. "But—"

She cut him off. "We had sex. That's all. And now you don't even have a job."

"I'll get another one," he said, his gaze hopeful.

"Right," she snapped. "You'd be better off begging Greg to take you back."

He put out a hand, then dropped it as if he'd thought better of touching her in this mood. "Please, Ruby," he pleaded. "It can all work out and be perfect for us."

"What I had _was_ perfect." Bradley had screwed it up. What if Clay threw her out? She couldn't afford anything in this quality of neighborhood on her salary. Then she took advantage of the fact that Bradley had removed his foot from the jamb and slammed the door in his face. She threw the deadbolt for good measure.

Pulling aside the lace curtain that covered the narrow side window, she looked out across the expanse of lawn. Bradley climbed into his car and sat. And _sat_. As if he figured that eventually she'd have pity on him. What had she seen in the boy, other than the fact that he'd caught her at a needy time when she'd found a new wrinkle forming at the corner of her eye? She loved the way she looked, she was proud of her trim body, but even Ruby was sometimes taken off guard. It was a weak moment.

She should have listened to Clay. There was a very good reason for not having sex with anyone she worked with. And for not letting him into her own bed. Because when the guy got absolutely hysterical with love for her, he knew where she worked and he knew where she lived.

If Bradley didn't leave, she might have to call the police.

The next morning, Ruby kept a low profile—something she was _not_ used to doing—did her work and was exceptionally polite with anyone who tried to get in to see Holt. Her smaller office fronted Holt's more spacious one, but at least she had a window.

Since she'd been cooped up yesterday, the sun streaming through the open blinds felt good on her arms as she did Holt's filing. She had a perfect system and could put her fingers on anything at a moment's notice. She would _not_ let one of the AP girls file for her the way Clay did. They'd screw up her system and make her look inefficient.

She didn't consider going up to see Clay. He was in his man-cave, that thing men did when they had to think. It was best to let him do it. He'd get over it. He'd hate it if she whined.

Her intercom buzzed. Holt wasn't the kind who drove a girl crazy with constant demands. Oh yeah, she'd had bosses like that.

She pushed the button. "Yes, Holt?"

"You got a minute?"

"Sure." She clicked off.

Holt's office was multi-functioning. Two monitors occupied his large desk, so he could switch between tasks. Holt was a marvel, always doing more than one thing at once. A six-person conference table in the corner was for hands-on meetings, and by the big bank of windows, he had a sofa-and-chair grouping for more informal discussions with customers, investors, and industry professionals. All the filing was done out in Ruby's annex.

Holt was seated behind his desk. Ruby daintily took the chair next to it, which was used for informal one-on-one discussions. She didn't bother to pull her skirt down over her knees. Not that it would reach anyway.

"Are you okay, Ruby?" His brow knitted in concern.

"I'm fine." Dammit, what had Clay told him?

"You were sick yesterday. I was worried."

She dipped her chin slightly, looking up at him. "Worried?"

Holt Montgomery was a good boss, a fair man, intelligent, witty, and drop-dead gorgeous. He was a fit fifty-two, with sexy gray hair and a strong face that had far fewer lines than a man his age deserved. He'd married very young, and his only daughter was thirty-three years old. He never forgot her birthday, never made Ruby run out to buy a present for her. She'd never been the mothering type, but there was something about a man who doted on his daughter. It was the same way she felt about Clay and his boys. How could you not admire a man who was an exceptionally good father?

He was looking at her, as if he wanted something more from her. She thought she knew what it was. "Clay left—"

He held up his hand. "Not my business. What is my business is whether you're up to working today."

_Whether you're up to working?_ He sounded concerned about her feelings. But that didn't make sense. She was his secretary. Why would he care? He was a good boss, not some touchy-feely kind of guy.

"I'm here," she said, which should have told him everything.

But Holt kept insisting. "I know. But I'll also understand if you need another day."

She stared at him. His face didn't give away anything. Being a CEO—or a gambler—he had to have complete control over his features. She couldn't tell whether he was disapproving, or if he even knew why Clay had walked out.

She wasn't about to give him any more information. "I can work just fine."

Clay had probably painted her in the worst light. She'd cheated, no caveat, no mention of the fact that he actually sent her out to screw other men.

Then she smiled, to take the bite out of her tone. After all, Holt was a man and her boss, and she'd learned at an early age that it was always best to keep the men in your life happy. "But I really appreciate your concern. Is there anything else?"

He gazed at her a moment longer, his eyes irritatingly unreadable. "No, Ruby. Nothing right now."

"I'll get back to the filing." She gave him one more smile before she headed out the door. Once she was back at her own desk, the smile faded from her lips.

Not only had Clay left, worse, he'd talked to Holt about it. That meant things were far more serious than she'd imagined.

The problem was that Ruby—who had a plan for everything when a man was involved—didn't have a clue what to do.

After his initial apology on Monday, Clay hadn't said a personal word to her in two days. He was all business all the time. Jessica had waited. Nothing happened. He hadn't even looked at her like he'd ever touched her. Licked her. Made her come.

How was she supposed to make him notice her?

By Wednesday morning, she'd been ready to scream in frustration. Until she'd gotten an idea. A brilliant idea. Right after lunch, she had a meeting with Clay about the construction-in-progress account.

And during lunch, she made a little excursion.

"That was fucking hot." Vince. He always knew the right thing to say.

Jessica licked her fingers, then rubbed his semen into her chest, around her nipples, trailed it down her abdomen.

They were in her bed; his place was too far away.

Jessica checked her watch. She had twenty minutes, plenty of time to dress and make it back to work.

"We should do this more often," Vince said, relaxing against the pillows, arm over his head, eyes closed, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Lunchtime quickies are great for reenergizing the afternoon."

"I usually don't have time." Jessica normally showered after a booty call, but she'd seen the benefits of wearing the scent of sex as if it were perfume.

She didn't want to think about how she was blurring the lines between work and personal, that she was actually coming on to her boss, that it could only end in—

"Hey," Vince said, thankfully cutting into her thoughts. "I got a line on a controller position for you."

Her heart jumped all the way to her throat. There was only West Coast, only Clay. Jessica swallowed, ratcheted back. "Oh?" Good, she sounded mildly interested.

"Jack is turning in his resignation on Friday." Vince had gotten his current contracting job through his buddy Jack, who happened to be controller.

Jessica nodded for him to go on, but her belly was crimping. She couldn't leave West Coast, couldn't leave Clay. Things had gotten all messed up.

Vince scrubbed a hand through his gray hair, then smiled. "Give me your resume, and I'll have him put in a good word for you."

She rolled out of bed, reaching for her clothes on the vanity chair. "I have a good shot at making controller at West Coast."

Vince snorted. "Look how long you've been waiting. They like their good-old-boy network. Women don't get a chance there."

Silicon Valley was a small world, especially when you were a contract tech writer who got around. This wasn't the first time Vince had said the like.

"They aren't sexist," she insisted, zipping up her skirt. "It has to be the perfect fit."

Vince shot her with a finger. "Bingo. _You're_ the perfect fit. They should have given you the job already."

He was killing her buzz with a dose of reality. But Clay wasn't like that. He hired the best person, regardless of gender.

A niggling voice crept into her head. So why was Clay interviewing outsiders this week?

"He's going to give me the job," she said emphatically. Clay wouldn't pass her over.

At least she'd been sure of that until Wednesday night, when her whole world had tilted on its axis.

Vince rolled, then crawled across the bed like a sleek jungle cat, leaning down to grab his jeans. He looked at her. "Did you ever think that if you worked at another company, you could have your darling Mr. Blackwell anytime you wanted?"

"I don't expect to make these fantasies reality." But a telltale flush crept across her face. She was _not_ going to tell Vince what she'd done with _Mr. Blackwell_ , or why she'd wanted a lunchtime quickie.

"You're living in Lalaland, sweetheart," Vince said, but his voice held its usual good-natured chuckle.

"I'll email you my resume." She agreed so he'd stop nagging her.

She finished dressing, freshened her lipstick, fluffed her hair. By the time she was on her way back to the office, she'd convinced herself he was wrong. Everything would be fine. As she walked upstairs to her office, everything else ceased to matter but what would happen in the next few minutes behind Clay's closed door.

The scent of sex was all over her.

Clay would go wild once he got a whiff of it.

# 11

He'd completed the entire goddamn meeting with the door closed, Jessica's no-nonsense voice in his ear, and the heat of her thigh only an inch from his. The top three buttons on her blouse were undone beneath her blazer. Clay could smell the sex on her. The only outward effect above the table? His hands shook.

Below decks, his cock was like iron.

Goddammit. She'd been out fucking. A lunch-hour booty call. Hadn't she learned he was attuned to whatever she did, that he was the male lion sniffing out every move she made, that he was insane with the thought of another man touching her, fucking her, making her come?

She was talking, her sexy voice getting under his skin. "Yes," he said. He'd say _yes_ to anything at this point. He wasn't listening to a word she said. Instead he was thinking how that prim, professional skirt would look shoved up around her waist.

"Good," she said. "Then that's how we'll handle the CIP account."

What had he agreed to? Who the hell cared? All he wanted to do was bury his face between her breasts, taste her skin, lick her clean.

It was out of the question.

She gathered the spreadsheets, closed the folder, pushed back from the conference table.

And he scented on her like a hound dog. Sex. Come. Woman. Her small pendant swung on a thin gold chain. Her cleavage beckoned.

"Are you all right, Clay?"

Her words came from far away. There was only lust, desire, her skin, her sexual aroma, and how badly he needed to touch her. He didn't even feel himself move, yet his hands were on the arms of her chair, rolling her closer, until her knees were between his spread legs.

"No, I'm not fucking all right," he growled. Then he did what he'd been thinking about for the last half hour, shoved his hands up her skirt, high on her thighs. "Fuck," he said through clenched teeth. She wasn't wearing panties.

"Clay, what are you doing? Anyone could walk in." But she didn't push him away. Instead, she shifted so that his thumb slipped into her heat.

"I don't care," he said, the words guttural. He leaned over her, put his mouth to the creamy skin above her breasts. He tasted salt, he smelled come. He licked her.

Jessica moaned and held him to her. Clay wanted everything at once, his cock in her, filling her where another man had just been, her nipples in his mouth, his hands everywhere the other had touched.

Cupping her ass, he hauled her out of the chair and onto his lap. The skirt riding up, she spread her legs over him.

"We can't," she whispered even as he licked her skin, bit her nipple, teased.

He came up for air. "Oh yes we fucking can." He was no longer her boss. He was simply a man. Holding her tight against him, he rocked his cock along her center. She'd leave marks on his clothes, a brand. He didn't give a damn. "He fucked you."

"Yes."

He shoved a hand between her legs. "You're so damn wet." She soaked his fingers as he played her clit. Her body moved, she groaned, clutched him tighter. "Did you call him Mr. Blackwell?" He had to know.

"Yes." She rode his fingers, gasping. "I begged him to fuck me." She put her lips to his ear. "Fuck me, Mr. Blackwell, please fuck me. I need it so bad." Then her hands were on his belt, working, tugging, unzipping, touching.

He'd thought he'd die when her fist wrapped around his flesh.

He caressed her; she stroked him. He entered her with two fingers. She repaid him by reaching down to cup his balls, squeezing, turning him mindless. Mutual satisfaction.

Then her shudders rippled through him. He didn't know if it was a full orgasm or simply a series of foreshocks. "How many times did he make you come?"

" _You_ ," she stressed, "made me come three times." Then she clamped her teeth on his earlobe. "Make me come now, make me come hard."

He went deep inside, his thumb on her clit, his fingers on her G-spot. Her body rode him as much as he fucked her sweet pussy, his cock in her relentless grip all the while. Madness. He felt her contraction around his fingers. God, how it would feel if that were his cock. The orgasm went on and on, shimmying through her body, her scent rising, clouding, intoxicating. He smelled the other man, too.

He wanted in badly. He should already _be_ inside her, yet with his last micron of sensibility, he remembered protection. He had none. That's when he clamped his big hand around hers, and with only two more strokes, he covered her sex with his essence.

Nothing had ever felt so intimate. Clay rubbed his semen into her mound, her abdomen, concentrating. Jessica pulled his hand up and licked his fingers. Only then did he meet her gaze. There was something in his, a dark thing that called to her, made her want to get crazy all over again.

"Wear it all afternoon," he whispered. "Don't wash it off."

"I won't," she said with equal softness.

She'd come in here wanting him to touch her. She'd had sex with Vince to entice Clay. Yet he hadn't made a move, not the entire half-hour meeting. Until the last moment.

"You need to go." His breathing was still harsh.

"Yes." She didn't move. She never wanted to get off his lap.

"Anyone can open that door. I don't want them talking about you."

In the beginning, she'd been the one who'd mentioned discovery. He hadn't cared. "No one will know," she said. Yet her skirt was still pushed up, her pussy exposed, his cock right there, so very tempting.

"You can't come in here covered in come again."

Her chest tightened. Why couldn't he just enjoy? "I have a right to have sex at lunch if I want. You should keep your hands to yourself."

He grabbed her chin, forced her head up. "You did it on purpose. That's why you weren't wearing panties."

She held his gaze steadily for five heartbeats. "I never wear panties."

His pupils dilated until there was almost nothing of his irises left.

"I like being naked under my business suits when no one else has a clue." She was lying, but it was worth that flare of his nostrils.

"For Christ's sake, Jessica, we're at work."

She climbed gracefully from his lap—thank God she didn't scramble—pulled her skirt down, straightened her jacket and the open neck of her blouse. She'd planned it down to the last detail, the open buttons, the lack of underwear, Vince's semen, her sexual sweat.

Damn him, Clay had wanted it all.

But now he was all zipped up, morphing right before her eyes back into Clay, CFO, her boss. She wanted to smack him.

"Didn't you ever do Ruby at work?" she snapped.

"Let's not go there."

Jessica clenched her teeth. "You're right." She didn't want to know anything about Ruby. He'd _left_ Ruby, but he clearly wasn't looking for a replacement. He'd put her in her place, but it was no more than she deserved. What had she been thinking, trying to seduce her boss in his office in the middle of the day?

She grabbed her file folder off the table, held it up. "I'll take care of this." Then she was off to the door.

"Jessica," he said.

She didn't stop. There wasn't nothing left to say.

Yet back in her office, she could feel the warmth of his come on her, smell him, taste him.

And she knew she was hopelessly hooked on Clay Blackwell.

Jessica wasn't going to let the end to Wednesday's afternoon tête-à-tête get to her. And she wouldn't let it get to her that Clay was his usual professional self over the course of the next two days. He could turn it on and off so easily. Which meant she needed more extreme measures. She certainly wouldn't give up—though probably she should—but here was the thing: Clay had said they couldn't do it at work, not that they couldn't do it somewhere else.

So, Friday night, after forty-eight hours of _Yes, I should_ versus _No, I can't_ , Jessica stood in front of her mirrored closet door in panties and bra. What to wear? She'd left work at five, not a minute later, rushing home to her small condo in Mountain View. She'd showered, done her hair, her makeup, then rummaged through her lingerie drawer to find her sexiest panties and bra. Sure, she'd told Clay she didn't wear panties at work, but she didn't have the courage to follow through.

The laced-edged bra pushed her breasts into an actual cleavage. The black, high-cut panties rode the curve of her butt, not quite panties, not quite thong. She thought they called the style _cheekies_ or some such thing.

She rolled open the closet door. Think sexy. Most of her clothes wouldn't do, but there was one possibility. Linda had given her the outfit. Linda used to do her nails before she became a real estate agent. They'd become great friends over Jessica's nails, until eventually Linda began scheduling Jessica as her last appointment, then they went out for drinks and dinner. Linda knew all about Vince. When she'd gotten her real estate license, Linda had gone through her closet, changing her style for her new career. The ensemble Jessica chose was elegant yet sexy, a black silk blouse with sheer sleeves and a slim skirt that outlined her figure.

She left the blouse unbuttoned to the center clasp of the bra and fastened an onyx tear-drop necklace that hung down into her cleavage. She completed the look with black high heels and black stockings. She rarely wore them, but they were a staple for any woman's closet.

She stood back once more to assess herself. Sexy in all black, Jessica smiled. With her blond waves, she looked absolutely fuckable.

Now, all she needed was the special perfume that would drive Clay mad. At the hollow of her throat. On her lips. Between her breasts. She had one stop to make. It wouldn't take long. Vince was so easy. All she had to say was that she had an unquenchable desire for a blow job. She'd steep herself in the scent of sex.

Clay wouldn't be able to resist her.

# 12

Jessica felt a momentary panic when she entered the Marriott's lobby forty-five minutes later. It was a riot of travelers, dragging roller cases, queuing to check in for a weekend conference or getaway, or lining up at the restaurant's entrance. The hotel bar was on the other side of a waist-high row of planter boxes filled with ferns and philodendrons.

The panic hit when she saw Clay through the profusion of greenery, seated in a booth opposite Holt Montgomery. Dammit. They were conducting a business meeting in the bar. Couldn't they have finished that at work? She growled under her breath. The good thing, though, she'd at least picked the right Marriott.

She flashed on another idea. Originally she'd planned a full frontal assault on his senses along the lines of what she'd done on Wednesday. But what if she made him think she'd found a man right here? Even better.

With an exaggerated sway of her hips, she entered the bar without looking in their direction. The booths and most of the tables were filled, yet it wasn't particularly noisy despite the number of people. The flickering candles were reflected in the glossy black tile floor as she headed straight for the bar and an empty seat on the end. Propping herself on the barstool, she set her large purse—filled with all the necessities a girl needed to totally _wow_ her man—on the floor beside her. Then she smiled at the bartender. Clay's booth was visible in the mirror. He was looking her way. Perfect.

"What can I get you?" In his twenties, the bartender was tall, lean, and cute. He'd come to her ahead of the two gentlemen already signaling him.

"A chardonnay, please."

"Any particular vintage?" He listed off an impressive quantity.

The house wine, she wanted to say because she was thrifty by nature, but the occasion called for something special. "What would you recommend?"

"The Wente is a good bet. They're a local winery over in Livermore."

"I'll try that one."

"Great." He gave her a smile as he left to fill her order.

Her gaze drifted to the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Clay nursed a tall mug of beer. Without his suit jacket, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, his tie missing, and his dress shirt undone a couple of buttons. She drank in the sight of him in his casual repose. Never had there been a sexier CFO.

Holt talked at him animatedly, his hands cutting through the air. In his early fifties, the CEO was an exceptionally good-looking man, with thick wiry gray hair and gray eyes that saw right through you if you were trying to feed him a load of bull. Though not as tall as Clay, he cut a commanding figure in a boardroom, and she had a lot of respect for him. But she was ready for him to take his leave.

"Here you go." The bartender waited for her to try the wine. After she sipped, he tipped his head at her. "Good?"

"Great." She wasn't a connoisseur, but it was smooth and mellow.

He gave her a thumbs-up, then backed off as one of the guys he'd been ignoring snapped his fingers.

Twenty-something, or a man like Clay, who was seasoned, successful, and handsome as the devil? Definitely Clay. Or someone like Holt Montgomery. Older men were so much sexier. Why Ruby had given Bradley the time of day was a mystery to her.

Not that it mattered. Ruby had offered Jessica a chance she'd never dreamed of. She wasn't a home wrecker, but Ruby had wrecked her own home. Jessica intended to pick up the pieces.

"Is this seat taken?"

She started, holding the stem of the wineglass too tightly and sloshing a few drops over the rim. "No," she answered the man after recovering.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

She'd been concentrating on Clay and hadn't realized anyone was near until the man had spoken. "You didn't," she said, smiling. "In fact, I've been saving that chair for you." He was exactly her type.

He raised a brow.

Okay, maybe that was going too far. She didn't know how to flirt, especially with an attractive man in his midforties who wore a business suit as if it were a second skin. Add to it the short dark hair with a smattering of gray just like Clay's, well, in a word, he was exactly what she was looking for.

And she'd blown it by being too forward. "Sorry," she said. "That just popped out. I wasn't saving it, so feel free."

He settled onto the barstool. "My lucky day then."

Okay, that was a bit flirty. Maybe she hadn't blown it after all. She glanced in the mirror. Holt was still talking, but Clay was watching her.

Warmth spread through her belly. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Linda."

He shook with a firm grip, warm skin, dry palms, no wedding ring. "Mitch Redmond."

The name sounded real. She didn't know why she'd given him her friend's name. "Here on business?"

"Conference. What about you?"

_Trying to pick up a man so I can excite my boss out of his mind._ "Purely pleasure." She smiled. Then she thought of another game. "Actually business _and_ pleasure."

He raised a brow again. "That deserves explanation."

"Well..." She glanced around, making sure no one was listening, then turned her gaze back to Clay in the mirror. He was throwing a few bills on the table. Holt pushed them back and threw down a few of his own, then rose from the booth.

Clay was leaving, dammit. Then Holt gave a mock salute and exited. Clay stayed right where he was. And looked at her. Had he figured out she could see him in the mirror?

"Well," she went on, lowering her voice. "I'm a working girl."

"What kind of work?" Mitch asked solemnly, as if he'd never heard the term.

"Wor- _king_ ," she enunciated clearly, then noticed the sparkle in his blue eyes.

"Ah," he said, then signaled the bartender. "I think I need a drink for this discussion."

The young man was there in an instant. Because of her, she wondered? "Yes, sir?"

"House scotch on the rocks."

Ooh, she liked him. Frugal. Jessica sipped her wine.

"All right, tell me more," Mitch said after the bartender left to make his drink.

"What would you like to know?"

"Do you come here often?"

"I make the rounds." She crossed her legs. He watched the movement.

"How many people are you with in one night?"

"Depends."

They paused as the bartender set his scotch on the counter. The young man eyed her speculatively before heading to the other end of the bar, where a waitress was waving at him.

"Cheers." Mitch tipped his glass to her. "Okay, depends on what?"

"On how much time a man wants to spend." So far she hadn't had anywhere near enough time with Clay. She wanted hours, and she wanted them tonight.

Mitch jiggled the ice in his glass. "Do you do _anything_?"

"Well, yeah. I guess. Like what?"

"Another woman?"

She laughed. "Not _that_ anything."

His mouth quirked in a half smile. "How about two men at once?"

She almost gaped, wondering if he was egging her on. "Not _at_ the same time, if you know what I mean. But together in the same bed." She thought of Clay. And Vince. One doing this, the other doing that. Her skin flushed with the heat of her imagination.

Seeing it, Mitch's eyes glittered like jewels in the flicker of a nearby candle. "And what particular acts do you do?"

"Um, well." She sat up straight. "No animals or vegetables."

He laughed out loud, catching the attention of the bartender, a couple of men at the bar. And Clay. She was sure he'd drained more than half the beer he'd been merely nursing earlier.

"That certainly limits things," Mitch said, then sipped his scotch. "No animals, vegetables, or DP?"

"DP?" she asked.

He leaned in close. "Dual penetration."

" _Ohh_ ," she said, elongating the word.

"You really should learn the appropriate terminology for your trade."

"I'm very new at it."

"Lost your regular job?" He crunched an ice cube.

"Lost my sugar daddy." See, she did know some terminology. "But I've found someone who's helping me out."

"Helping you?" He had a nice smile, and he was certainly enjoying this, though she didn't believe for a minute that he was buying anything she said.

"Yes. He's my protection. He sits in the bar, watches to make sure I'm okay, has the room all ready, then I give him the money when I come back down." Oh, Clay would love that role.

Mitch pulled back. "All of it?"

"He takes twenty-five percent and gives me the rest."

"Wow. Like an agent."

"Exactly."

"Where is he now?"

"The guy in that booth over there." She pointed in the mirror.

Mitch turned and looked directly at Clay. "He seems like an ordinary business man."

She looked at Clay, too, meeting his penetrating gaze for the first time. "I'd call him the CFO, since he helps me take care of the money aspect."

"Ah," Mitch said again, then drained his drink. "Well, this has been extremely interesting. I'm meeting a client for dinner." He raised that cocky brow of his again. "Perhaps you'll be here later."

She smiled, tipped her head coquettishly. "You never know."

Then Mitch wended through a few tables and hit the lobby floor, heading back toward the bank of elevators.

That was easy. There hadn't even been an awkward moment where she'd had to get rid of him. Lucky girl. After a last sip of wine, Jessica picked up her purse, winked at the bartender, then went straight to Clay's table, sliding in beside him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

She sighed. "I'm picking up a man."

"Liar," he said mildly.

"I am not. But here's the problem. He's staying at some dumpy motel down the street, and I don't want to go there. So I need a room."

"Jessica," he started.

She leaned in close. It was a bold gambit, but this felt like her one-and-only chance, and she was willing to do anything. "Isn't this what you like your women to do? Be with other men. Then come back to you." She waited a beat, let it sink in, until his nostrils flared, and she knew she had him. "Give me your key. I want to use your room."

He swallowed. She'd rendered him speechless. But then he pulled a card key from his shirt pocket. She took it and slid him Holt's drink napkin. "Write the room number on here. I'll call you when I'm done." She leaned close, her lips almost touching his cheek. "Then you can come up and fuck me." She licked the shell of his ear. "If I've got enough energy left over for you." She bit his lobe, climbed out of the booth with both the key and the napkin and sashayed across the bar.

When she glanced back at him from the entrance, she was sure the man was shell-shocked.

She'd been so close, Clay could smell her arousal on her. Jessica never sashayed. His heart did a slow roll in his chest simply watching. It had taken nothing more than that and her husky voice to enslave him.

He'd been going nuts the last forty-eight hours, wanting her, yet telling himself it was crazy. Her scent clung to his clothes, lingered in his office, drove him absolutely mad.

It had never been like this with Ruby. Sexy, hot, exceptionally fun, yes, but not frantic, not raging lust. His pulse raced. He could actually feel his heart beating against his chest. His balls ached. His cock throbbed. He needed, wanted, could think of nothing else. It had been good with Ruby, but this was completely explosive.

As he waited, he'd almost finished the second beer he'd ordered. He wasn't drunk on alcohol. He was drunk on her. How did she know where he was staying? He'd told no one but Holt.

What the fuck did it matter? She was here. Upstairs. With the guy she'd picked up right there at the bar. He honestly couldn't believe it of Jessica.

But then he'd never have figured her for having a fuck buddy either.

So much for the professional distance he'd wanted to maintain. He couldn't have walked away even if he knew this was the biggest mistake of his life, which it very well could be. Everything was wrong. It didn't matter one goddamn bit that this was what Ruby had told him to do. Have a fling. Pay her back. A little revenge sex.

He'd seen Jessica the moment she entered the bar. The lady in black. He'd had to do a double take; it was a good thing Holt hadn't noticed.

Christ, he'd gotten hard right then. He'd watched her flirt with the bartender, his heart pounding in his chest, his blood thick in his veins. There was a potent mix of desire, jealousy, and need. It was never just one thing, wanting her to fuck another man. It was about all the other emotions that were rolled into it, hoping she wouldn't do it, praying she would, needing to bury his face between her legs. All this crazy stuff that drove him absolutely mad until all he could think about was taking her, claiming her. It was elemental, like stags fighting, yet it was humbling as he was forced to wait. The insane concoction of emotions exploded in desire and need and unbelievable sex.

He'd enjoyed sex with Ruby. But Christ, he _needed_ it with Jessica. He couldn't live without it. Not through this night, not through this moment.

Then his phone rang.

He knew it was her without even looking.

# 13

Clay had gotten a second room card. The door slid open silently. There was only the ratta-tat-tat of his heart against his chest. Light spilled out of the bathroom door, illuminating the hallway and her high heels on the carpet, along with lacy black panties, as if the guy had started on her right there without even making it into the bedroom proper. Steam from a recent shower still fogged the bathroom mirror, a towel tossed aside in the corner.

A combination of soap and sex scented the air. His head felt as clouded as the mirror. His fingers itched to touch her. Need was an ache in his balls.

Ahead lay the room, the curtains still open, lights glimmering through the window. The fluffy white robe that had hung on the bathroom hook now lay across the desk chair. Only one bedside lamp was on.

Her legs slightly splayed, one knee crooked, Jessica was the picture of a woman who had just been thoroughly taken. She wore thigh-high stockings, the only bit of clothing remaining. Her cell phone lay beside her. Her eyes were closed, her tousled blond hair spread out across the thick pillow. More pillows were scattered around her, tossed every which way, the rumpled comforter pushed to the bottom of the bed. Foil wrappers, lubricant, her vibrator, and an open box of condoms littered the side table. Another foil packet lay on the floor, unopened, next to her pile of clothing, which had been dropped right where he must have stripped her down. A bra hung over the lampshade on the far side of the bed.

Cataloguing each item, Clay trembled with desire even as his belly roiled with envy. The man had tasted her, sucked her, fucked her. He'd used two condoms to debauch her, showered, and left, all in exactly one hour. In her prone position, she was sated, relaxed. Asleep? She hadn't moved, hadn't said a word.

He didn't fall on her like a wild beast. He simply savored her scent, her beauty, the creaminess of her skin. She'd hidden so much perfection beneath her daily work suits and blouses. Her breasts were small yet her rosy nipples were succulent, still beaded and begging for his mouth. Her legs, sheathed in the black silk stockings, were strong and firm. The dew of her orgasms pearled on her pubic curls, which were trimmed but fuller than Ruby's.

Orgasms, yes, she would have had more than one.

His gut actually twisted knowing the other man had fucked her before Clay had even been inside her, yet his cock throbbed with the images. Christ, he should have begged to watch.

She stretched then, raising her arms over her head, swishing her legs on the mattress, a sweet little _mmm_ of pleasure escaping her. Then she opened her eyes. They were dark, almost a slate blue. "Weeell," she said, stretching out the word and punctuating with a sigh. "I just don't know if I can take care of you, too." She made another of those sexy hums, then rolled in the bed, pulling up one knee and tucking a pillow along her stomach, hugging it like it was a man. "He wore me out." She snuggled deeper into the pillow.

The smooth lines of her flank made him crazy. He wanted to lick her, kiss her, bite her, spank her. But her teasing put him over the edge.

He climbed onto the bed. "Bitch," he muttered just before he fell on her.

She wriggled beneath him. "Get off."

He rolled her, pinned her, held her arms over her head. "Tell me what he did to you."

Her gaze was blazing. She couldn't have known, even _he_ didn't know how badly he wanted a battle, but the fight sizzled between them, firing all his neurons, turning him concrete hard.

He pushed her legs apart, rode her center. "Tell me everything."

Her tight nipples brushed his chest. "Why? Is that the only way you can get it up?"

"Oh, I'm up, sweetheart." He thrust hard against her.

She gasped, but managed to hold back the moan he knew hovered on her lips, dying to break free. "He was superb," she whispered, closing her eyes, tipping her head back, arching into him. "I can't count the number of times he made me come."

He swelled, wanting to crush all thoughts of the other man out of her mind, but needing the words, too. The clash of contrasting emotions made him tremble with need as he braced himself above her.

"He was on you the moment you unlocked the door, wasn't he?"

"Yes. No kissing, no preliminaries. Just his hands up my skirt like he was dying for me." She tossed her head, as if the memory made her wild all over again.

"And you loved it like a bitch in heat."

She parted her lips, sucked in a breath. "God, yes."

"With all that teasing in the bar, I'm surprised you didn't let him put his hand up your skirt then."

She opened her eyes, glared at him. "Somebody needed to, because you certainly haven't taken care of me."

He rocked and rolled against her, feeling her heat through his slacks, her sexual musk intoxicating him. "I made you come so hard you wouldn't have been able to stand up if I wasn't holding you."

She smirked. "Right. But you didn't finish it either time, and you gave me that crap about maintaining our professional relationship." She suddenly clawed down his arms with her nails, leaving her mark on him without breaking skin.

The pain was so fucking good, he groaned with it. She was putting him through the wringer, and he deserved it. He'd hurt her. She'd confessed her fantasies, but when he finally touched her, he'd ended it before fucking her and cited all the reasons they shouldn't have done it in the first place. But he _had_ touched her, twice, and he'd wanted her, and fuck if he could continue to breathe if he didn't have it all now.

"Screw professional," she muttered, then latched onto him with her fingers as if they were talons. "Take me now. Or I'll call him back"—she smiled maliciously—"and have him finish what you can't."

"Fuck if you will." He reached down between them, found her damp center. "You need this, you need me. He was just an appetizer, but he wasn't man enough to take you the way you need it."

She moaned and writhed beneath him. Her body was slick, hot, delicious. He had to taste her. Trapping her chin in his hands, he took her lips. She was so fucking sweet. Their mouths melded, their tongues caressed, and she shivered with his touch still deep between her legs.

"He couldn't kiss you like that," he murmured against her mouth. "He couldn't kiss you like he'd dreamed of doing it for three fucking years."

She laughed at him. "You didn't dream about it. You didn't even really see me."

He trailed kisses across her cheeks, until his lips were at her ear. "Oh, I dreamed. I wanted. I just couldn't have. Did he kiss you like this?" He swiped his tongue along her ear and felt her body's tremble deep inside his own.

"He didn't kiss me." She tangled her fingers in his hair, held him close against her neck for a long moment, then she fisted her hand and yanked him away, snarling at him like a lioness he was trying to subdue.

Again, the sharp pain ratcheted his desire higher. He wasn't a masochist, but he loved the battle.

"But he licked me," she said, "and sucked me until I screamed."

She was goading him. He slid down her body, trailing his lips along her skin. Then he tasted it, the salty sweetness of come on her chest. "He came on you." Jesus, she would make him nuts. He sucked her nipples, licked them clean.

"I made him." She lifted his head by the hair. "So you'd know how much of a man he is. All that come."

"I'll make you come until you scream." And louder than her previous lover.

"Ho hum," she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "Been there, done that tonight already."

A challenge. He crawled down her delectable body, her skin quivering beneath each kiss he laid upon her. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he pushed her legs wider.

"My God, you're beautiful." He'd touched her, he'd even licked her to an orgasm, but he hadn't taken enough time to appreciate her sweet scent, her plump folds, or the tight button of her clit swollen with need.

"Don't be silly." She was on her elbows, watching him as she had that first time. Christ, that need of hers to see made him crazy.

"He didn't tell you what a gorgeous pussy you have, did he?"

She blushed, then rolled her lips between her teeth to hide the smile so he wouldn't know how much she liked the compliment.

"You are beautiful," he affirmed. He'd never allowed himself the fantasies, but they'd been waiting for him just below the surface, first with that quick punch to the gut when he saw her, wanted her, followed by the inevitable tick of guilt.

But tonight he'd have everything. "I need to taste you or go completely insane." He touched his tongue to her, worried the bead of her clitoris.

She gasped sharply, then held her breath as she watched him. As he licked, teased, and suckled, he watched her, eyes slate blue, teeth biting into her lower lip, breasts plump and beckoning, the slight flutter of her heart visible beneath her flushed, rosy skin.

Her taste burst on his tongue, and he relished each droplet of moisture. She was so wet, so sweet. Her body undulated against him. He grabbed her butt cheeks in his palms and took her with fervor.

She whispered only one word. "Yes." Then her breath sighed out with a moan of pleasure. She put her hand on his head, fingers playing lightly in his hair as if she had to touch him while he pleasured her.

He slid a finger into her pussy as he played her clit with his thumb. She rocked. He grazed her G-spot. She was small and tight around him. He imagined the feel of her around his cock.

Each time he felt her body on the edge of release, he pulled back, slowed down, then pushed her higher on the precipice. Over and over, until finally, she cried out his name.

"Please, oh God, please, Clay."

Then, with two fingers inside her, his tongue and lips driving her, he pushed her over the edge.

She screamed. Then she begged. "Clay, please. I need you. Now. Inside me." As he moved over her, her hands clutched him close, her arms smothered him. He took her lips, letting her taste herself, taste him. Locking her legs around his hips, she mimicked sex, rocking with him. "Please, please, please," she chanted on a mere breath.

Her needs fueled his. Her cries dragged him under with her. He had to be inside her, and with the last working brain cell, he reached to the side table for her box of condoms.

Pulling back on his haunches between her legs, he unzipped and pulled his cock out. "Help me put it on."

"Look at you," she whispered. She licked her lips, then she looked up at him. And smiled. "Oh, Mr. Blackwell, I've decided we shouldn't rush this."

She wrapped her hand around him, and he knew she was going to kill him with pleasure before she was done with him.

# 14

He was big, beautiful, thick, and rock hard. Filling her hand, he pulsed against her palm.

"You're killing me here, Miss Murphy."

He was playing into her fantasy. She loved it. Her body was still wet and trembling from that orgasm, better even than the ones he'd given her in his office. Certainly better than the few she'd warmed herself up with before he got to the room.

"I'm not going to waste this, Mr. Blackwell." Without letting him go, she twisted her legs beneath her, and leaned down to the slit of his cock.

He jerked at the small swipe of her tongue over him. "God." Then he sucked in a breath as she engulfed the head of his cock. "Fuck."

She glanced up to see his head drop back. How often had she dreamed of this? Reality was so much better. The drop of come was salty-sweet. She wanted more. She didn't want this night to end.

Holding him tight, she slid slowly down until her lips met her fist, then a long glide all the way back up again. His legs shook. She backed off, working him gently with her hand. "I never could have guessed, Mr. Blackwell, that you were hiding _that_ under all those expensive suits," she mimicked him. On Wednesday, she'd taken him in her hands, but she'd been too wrapped up in what he'd been doing to her to take full stock of him.

"I wasn't hiding it, Miss Murphy. You just never asked to see it up close and personal."

She stroked him, feeling a prominent vein throb in his cock. "I was a silly girl, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were." He pushed his hand through her hair, tugging her head back to look at him. "Better than the other cock you had tonight?"

She fluttered her eyelashes. "You can't imagine how much better." Then she took him deep again, loving the taste, the feel, his thick, hard flesh all hers.

She wasn't sure if he realized she'd had him on about Mitch. Already scented with come from her visit to Vince earlier, she'd set the stage, then used the vibrator to exhaust herself. Or at least to make it look like she was completely sated.

What had he called that? The appetizer.

_This_ was the main course. Working him with both her mouth and hand, she let his need rise, but kept the pace slow. She wanted to tease him the way he'd teased her: getting her a hairsbreadth from orgasm, then backing off, until she'd needed it so badly she'd actually felt tears.

"Jesus." He shot a harsh breath through his nostrils as she circled the sensitive ridge beneath his crown. Then she sucked the tip, stroking him with two fingers right below. He shuddered, and she knew she'd hit the perfect spot.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said between quick breaths. "Miss Murphy, do not make me come in your mouth."

She trailed off, licking another drop of sweet come from the slit of his cock. "Oh, Mr. Blackwell, my earlier friend came twice, why can't you?"

"Bitch," he whispered without emphasis.

She didn't know where the ornery imp came from. Maybe it was all the years of wanting him. Maybe it was that speech in the office, about professional relationships. Payback, revenge. She wanted to tease him, and make it fun. He supposedly liked it when his woman was with another man. Ah, but would he like it if the other man was better? Perhaps that's why Ruby made all those comparisons to Bradley.

But hell, she didn't want to think about Ruby now.

Looking up at him, the taste of his big, beautiful cock still in her mouth, the flesh right there, hers, all hers, she didn't want to play Ruby's style of game.

"I needed _you_ , tonight, Mr. Blackwell. I wanted _you_. I thought about _you_ kissing me, touching me, licking me, and fucking me, Mr. Blackwell." His eyes smoked, the lines of his face tensed, and she picked up the condom package from the sheet where he'd dropped it. "I can't wait another minute for you, Mr. Blackwell. Take off your clothes. I want your skin on mine."

Their gazes locked as he unbuttoned his white shirt.

"You never wear a T-shirt underneath," she said, reaching out to touch a round nipple. "Sometimes I can see them beneath the material. It's so sexy, I get all distracted with whatever we're discussing."

As he threw the shirt aside, she leaned close and laved a nipple, his skin salty, delicious. "Oh, Mr. Blackwell, how often I've dreamed of this."

He grabbed her arms, hauled her up against his body, and took her mouth hard, fast. "Miss Murphy, I can safely say no woman has ever driven me to distraction the way you do."

"Yes, well, you're taking too long to get your clothes off."

He jumped from the bed in one second flat. His pants were already unzipped, but he unbuckled and shoved everything down, pushing off his shoes at the same time.

He was magnificent. She'd been worried about being naked when he came in, exposed and vulnerable. It was why she'd feigned sleep. Now she wished she'd kept her eyes open so that she could see his reaction to her body, hoping it was the same as her reaction to his.

"Mr. Blackwell," she said, a trace of awe sweeping through her voice, "I seriously think we should have all our meetings with you in the nude."

He laughed, a sound deep from his belly. "We would never get any work done, Miss Murphy.

She gave him a steady gaze. "He was nothing like you, the man down in the bar."

"How many times did he make you come?"

She counted the number of orgasms she'd given herself to get ready for him. "Five." Coming was easy with a vibrator, but it was never the same as a man.

"How many ways?"

He needed this, the telling. Right now, she didn't care. "One with his fingers, two with his mouth, and three while he was fucking me."

"That's six."

Oops. "I meant two while he was fucking me."

He put his knee on the bed. "Mine will be so much better."

It certainly would. "Come here." She tore the foil packet, positioned the condom, rolled it down.

"You've had practice."

She tipped her head and smiled. "Do you want to know how many men I've had?"

His eyes smoked again. "Yes."

She could count them on two hands. "It's hard to say. Fifty, I think."

He raised one brow. "Fifty?"

She cupped his balls. "I love men. I love fucking. I love tasting a new cock." Then she squeezed until he groaned. "And I want _this_ cock inside me. I've waited long enough, Mr. Blackwell."

She rolled to her back and held her hands out to him.

He fell into her arms.

She took him deep, and it was like coming home. He'd had hot, down-and-dirty sex with Ruby after her nights out. This was somehow beyond the mere physical, stripping him of all control, all rationality. No, it was more than that, in a way he couldn't explain even to himself, except to say that Jessica fit him so perfectly, he could have sworn she was made for him, her body tight, her scent sweet, her skin hot along his.

He held still a long moment. "Let me savor this," he whispered. He loved that she'd taken another before him, and yet he was still what she needed most. Pulling back, he bracketed her face with his hands. She was so delicate beneath him. "I never do it missionary," he murmured.

"I like your weight on me," she said, rising up to touch her nose to his, then her lips to his mouth. "I want a real man on top of me." Then she said the words without sound, "Now take me."

He moved slowly at first, her body accommodating his girth but still tight. "You feel like heaven."

"Yes." She stroked the hair at the back of his neck as he thrust harder, deeper.

"Christ, you're so tight." He kissed her until he couldn't breathe, then took her in earnest, plunging deep. Her skin grew moist, accentuating the sensual haze of come, and he dipped his head to lick her chest.

"Christ." The push-pull of desire and jealousy, need and fear plummeted him into another realm. She was his; he could never keep her. She had to have him; tomorrow it could be another.

"Oh God, Clay." She dragged him to the stars with his name on her lips. _His_ name. _His_ cock. Her body contracted around him, and he poured himself into her, pumping, pounding, taking, needing.

When he came down off the high, he was crushing her. When he tried to move, she held on.

"No, don't go yet," she whispered.

So he remained, though he slid to the side slightly to avoid smashing her.

She petted his face. "You were so much better," she whispered.

"It doesn't matter." In that moment, he'd wanted those warring emotions. Now he simply wanted the feel of her. Her skin was damp, her hair a sexy mess, her makeup nonexistent. They lay like that until he started to feel the air conditioning and reached for the sheet.

"I better go." She disentangled.

He'd assumed she would stay the night in his bed. But there was Ruby. He had no right to ask Jessica to stay. He'd had no right to what he'd taken tonight. But he wouldn't regret it.

He pulled out of her, ignoring the ache. "I'll walk you down." He climbed off the bed, padding to the bathroom where he disposed of the condom.

He'd wanted her to sleep in his arms. As if there weren't so many things standing between them. He'd lost his head—no, he couldn't say that—he'd _chosen_. But he should have waited.

When he returned, she already had her skirt on and was buttoning her blouse. He grabbed his briefs from the pile on the floor at the end of the bed. He thought of all the things he should say as he donned his clothes, then sat on the end of the bed to tie his shoes.

But he couldn't say anything while Ruby was between them.

"You really don't need to walk me down," she said.

"Yes, I do," he insisted.

"Fine." She fumbled at the side table, grabbing only the vibrator and leaving the rest.

He hadn't used it on her. Christ, he would have loved that.

"Jessica."

"I'm really tired." She didn't look at him.

Fuck. Everything had gone to shit. In the heat of the moment, it was perfect, then bam, it was all downhill from there.

The card key was in his pocket as he closed the door behind them. She pushed the elevator button. They were silent as they waited, and silent as they rode it down.

The lobby was loud and full of business people. He glanced at his watch, surprised to find that it wasn't even nine yet. She hurried. He didn't let her get away.

Dammit, he couldn't let her leave this way. They needed to talk. He needed to tell her about Ruby. He had to—

A man stepped into their path. The guy from the bar, the one she'd taken upstairs. "Hey, sweetheart. I told you I'd be back after I had dinner." He smiled at Jessica. "And I'm all ready for you." Then he winked at Clay. "Unless you've got another customer."

"You've already had her," Clay growled. He was no longer in the mood for this. "Once per night is enough." He moved to shove the guy out of the way.

"Not yet, I haven't. I've never done this, and I find the idea intriguing." He patted his back pocket, then lowered his voice. "But we haven't discussed price yet. Since you're her pimp, do I negotiate with you?"

# 15

_O h shit_. Jessica stood frozen. Dammit, she'd forgotten all about Mitch. Not that she'd figured he'd still be hanging around. His dinner engagement had sounded like an excuse to get away from her.

Finally, Clay said, "Her pimp." His gaze flashed from her to Mitch and back to her once more. "I've never been referred to in quite that way before, but I suppose it fits."

"So how much?" Mitch asked, and if Jessica wasn't mistaken, there was a glint his eye.

"For an hour? Or the whole night?" Clay asked dryly.

"Why don't you give me a quote for both?" Mitch answered.

Holy hell, could anyone hear them? She glanced around to find they were just another gathering of business professionals no one else cared about.

Clay considered it all seriously. "One thousand for an hour. But I'll give you a deal on the whole night at only three thousand."

Jessica felt her jaw drop.

"That's a lot of money," Mitch mused, passing his gaze over her from head to foot.

"She's worth it," Clay answered simply.

When she'd said it was time to go, he hadn't asked her to spend the night with him, yet now she was worth three thousand dollars. She didn't know whether to be offended or giddy.

Mitch put up two hands in surrender. "I don't have that much cash on me."

"We take credit cards." Clay's expression remained flat.

This time Mitch actually laughed. "I don't have that much credit either."

Jessica couldn't stand it anymore. "Oh come on, you both know this is a joke. I'm sorry, Mitch, but I made up all that stuff about being a working girl."

She liked his smile as he said, "I realized that, but I couldn't help myself. Just had to join in your fun. That's some role-play you two have going."

"Yes," Clay agreed dryly. "It seems she's very good at making up stories."

"I'm really going to have to try that one sometime."

"Right," Clay said with a snap on the ending consonant. "Now we must be going." With an unrelenting grip on her arm, he propelled her toward the lobby entrance, leaving Mitch chuckling.

For something that could have been extremely embarrassing, that wasn't so bad.

"Where's your car?" Clay's tone was too sharp, since they'd left Mitch behind.

"Over there." She pointed down an aisle. "You're dragging me," she added, when he didn't drop her arm.

Clay didn't seem to care.

"What's wrong?" Had Mitch somehow pissed him off?

He stopped by the trunk of her car, letting her go at last. "You lied," he accused.

She was surprised by the heat of anger in his eyes. She could understand him being miffed, but this was far more. "Because I told him I was a hooker? It was a lark." All right, she knew that wasn't his issue.

"He didn't fuck you. Nobody did. Why the hell did you set up the room?"

"Because I thought you'd like it." She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "But I didn't want to screw some man I didn't know just to get your interest."

"You _had_ my interest. You didn't need to lie."

This was by far the strangest argument she'd ever had with a man. He was actually angry because she hadn't fucked another guy. "You liked what we did. I don't understand what's wrong." Except that she'd come here to seduce him. He hadn't invited her. He hadn't even expected her. She'd enticed him. He'd taken the bait. But once it was over, he didn't ask her to spend the night. He wanted her only when he thought she'd been with someone else. The three times he'd touched her, it had always been with the scent of another man's come on her.

_What's wrong with this picture, Jessica?_

She was a fool.

"What about the come? You tasted like come," he snapped, ending each word harshly.

She suddenly saw how bad it looked. She'd wanted him, set out to seduce him, and used Vince to trick him. "My friend," she admitted, feeling sick that she'd been so conniving. "I went to him before I came here."

"And he fucked you?" The parking lot lights gleamed behind him and left his face in shadow.

"No. I sucked him, and he came on me."

"He didn't even give you an orgasm?"

"That wasn't the point. I wanted you to smell him the way you did in your office." Because it had made him wild. "You liked it. What's the difference now?" Though she understood the difference.

He was silent, as if the lengths she'd gone to in an attempt to seduce him had left him speechless. So she told him everything, because what the hell, she was already humiliated. "I overheard you telling Holt where you were staying, and I wanted you to see that I could be better for you than Ruby. She doesn't deserve you."

"So you lied," he said softly. "Just like she does."

She couldn't deny it. She hadn't played the game the way she was supposed to, and she'd disappointed him. She'd blown his expectations. He wanted what he wanted the way he wanted it. He'd never hidden that, and she didn't measure up. She wasn't sure she ever could.

Jessica couldn't even look at him.

She could only listen to the sound of his footsteps as he walked away.

Ruby hid in an alcove until Clay had crossed the lobby and punched the elevator button.

What the hell?

She'd arrived just before nine. She was going to talk to him, and he was damn well going to hear her out. She could explain about Bradley.

But there he was, getting off the elevator with little Miss Perfect Jessica Muffet. They'd been upstairs. With that sexy black skirt and blouse—not to mention the fuck-me heels—they certainly hadn't been discussing the quarterly financials. Clay was in shirt sleeves and slacks. Where was his tie, his jacket?

Ruby felt steam blowing out her ears.

He disappeared into the elevator, flanked by a couple and another businessman. She could follow him. He'd called her with the hotel and room number, so she knew where he was if she absolutely needed him. _Absolutely_. His word. Like she'd better have a damn good reason.

Damn him. She was not going up to his room to beg. No, the situation called for more planning before she acted.

All right, so she'd told him to give her a little payback, fine and dandy. She hadn't expected him to do it, but _if_ he did, it certainly was _not_ supposed to be with Jessica Murphy. She couldn't do Bradley because he worked for Clay, but _he_ was allowed to do Jessica? The woman was smart, good at her job, a veritable paragon in Clay's eyes. How could he choose _her_?

Maybe that was the whole point. He'd picked the worst possible candidate for his revenge fling. The one woman that would hurt Ruby the most.

Ruby wanted to cry. She wanted to scream.

She wanted to pay Little Miss Muffet back tenfold.

Clay stared at the mess in his room. The bedclothes were torn apart. Condom wrappers, lube, towels in the bathroom. And the scent of sex filling the air. Her sex, his sex. Theirs. Together.

She'd gone to a lot of trouble. She'd set the scene down to the last detail, thought of everything, even visited her fuck buddy first to cover herself in come. She'd staged the pickup, pulled it off flawlessly, and he'd believed.

It had been perfect. He'd never had a woman put so much thought into providing the scenario she thought he wanted.

But the lie stuck in his craw. She could have come to him straight from her fuck buddy. If she lied about this, she could lie about anything. Like Ruby.

He grabbed the waste basket and began tossing the detritus of their session. He hung the robe back on its hook. She'd even run the shower to make it look like her lover had used it before leaving. Such a painstaking plan, but it was an elaborate lie.

Yet could he really say she was like Ruby?

Ruby's lies were about herself, about what she wanted. A justification to fuck who she wanted when she wanted and where, including his desk. She had done it to humiliate him or one-up him.

Jessica had done everything to please him. He'd started it all in his office. He'd touched her, wanted her. And tacitly granted permission to try more. She'd straddled the fence, giving him what he wanted without compromising herself by screwing someone she didn't know. She'd told him she'd had close to fifty men—far from the truth, he realized now. But as with everything else she'd done, she'd attempted to give him exactly what he wanted. Anticipating his needs, she'd said and done all the things she thought would make it best for him.

It was simple for Ruby; she'd picked up countless men. And lies were just as easy for her.

Jessica was in a completely different class. Her solution to the dilemma was better than anything he could have expected. He would never have known it wasn't real if the guy hadn't approached them afterward.

Yet it could never work for so many reasons. She couldn't keep on playing to his needs when it wasn't in her nature. He couldn't ask that of her. She was also his subordinate. It was a compromise they couldn't make.

Then there was Ruby. No matter what else she'd done, she'd given him three good years, and he felt like the total fuck-up in the situation. He'd done things with Jessica he never should have while Ruby still lived in his house.

There was only one choice to be made. He'd known it since the day he'd found Ruby and Bradley in his bed.

Actually the truth was he'd felt it in his gut the moment he first allowed himself to think of Jessica in a sexual light.

"What do you mean you're taking the boys to Santa Cruz for the weekend?" Ruby's eyes started to ache. She'd waited all week for Clay to come home, and when he did, he was leaving again. "We need to talk about this," she insisted.

Clay stood in the front hall, his features resolute. "There's nothing to discuss, Ruby. You knew how I felt last weekend."

She didn't know what to say, what to do. Men didn't leave; she left. They didn't decide when it was over; she did.

"But I'm sorry about Bradley." Did she actually sound whiny? "How many times do I have to apologize?"

"None," he said implacably. "I don't own you. You're free to leave whenever you don't like the constraints I put on you."

She put her hand on his arm. Thank God he didn't throw her off. A million things to say and do ran through her mind. She could beg. She could tell him she loved him. She could accuse him of wanting Little Miss Muffet. But Ruby didn't beg any man, Clay wouldn't believe that she loved him, and he'd accuse her of spying if she said she'd seen him with Jessica. Mentioning her would be a huge tactical error.

But, oh God, was he leaving her for that insipid woman? It couldn't be. It was his house. Ruby had nowhere to go, and she liked her life the way it was, where she paid for her own personal expenses, contributed to the household costs, bought him generous gifts as a thank-you for everything he did. Give all that up?

She shut down all that emotionalism, all the jealousy. What was needed was raw truth. "Clay, I'd like another chance. What we have is good. I understand how much the rules mean to you, which I didn't before, and I won't make the same mistakes again."

Something flickered in his eyes. She was horrified to think it was pity.

"It was good," he said. "But it's over now."

Panic rose up, clutched her chest, squeezed the breath out of her. "It doesn't have to be." God, even her voice quivered pathetically.

"It already is."

She couldn't mistake the finality in those words. Ruby wanted to scream. _It's her, isn't it?_ But Clay would only walk out. "Maybe we should take a break for a while."

"No, Ruby." If there had been pity in his gaze, it was gone now.

The thing she'd always admired about Clay was his ability to make a decision and stick to it. She'd never been able to wrap him around her little finger. If she had, well, she'd probably have been long gone. But it worked against her now.

"I'll have the boys in Santa Cruz for the weekend. If you need more time to make alternative arrangements, that's fine. Or I can put you up at a hotel."

Put her up at a hotel? _Well, thank you very fucking much_. Yet Ruby was too stunned to say a word. He'd closed the door behind him before she could react. When she heard his car start, she grabbed the closest thing and threw it. The vase—something she'd found at a wine festival two years ago—shattered against the door, splinters flying out, stinging her cheeks.

Then she stormed back to the bedroom, grabbed her largest roller case out of the closet, threw it on the bed, and began cramming clothes inside.

If it was the last thing she ever did, she'd make that bitch pay for stealing Clay.

# 16

Jessica didn't know how she was going to face Clay today, yet another Monday after a momentous event between them.

She would never learn to play the game correctly. Clay wanted her only if she gave pieces of herself to other men. It wasn't about the sex, because of course she could do that. It was about feeling that she was good enough only if she did this for him. It was too much pressure.

This was why you never did your boss. You screwed up your love life _and_ your job.

But dammit, she couldn't hide in her office forever. She had things to do and decided to tackle accounts payable first. She poked her head into the first cubicle. "Hey Yuan, did you get all the paperwork you needed to put the Wrainger invoices on the check run?"

"Yes, ma'am." Yuan spoke fluent English, but her heavy accent made phone calls difficult. She was excellent at handling issues through email, but the accounts receivable girl at Wrainger was terrible at responding to anything other than a phone call. Jessica sometimes had to step in to help.

"Great." Okay, that wasn't so bad. She could do her work despite what had happened Friday night. She moved on, offering a comment, a little praise, answering a question. She didn't micromanage, but employees needed to feel appreciated, that you were available, and they could come to you with anything. Otherwise little problems became big issues.

She couldn't say when she became aware of the whispering. It was like the previous Monday, when the halls buzzed with news of Bradley's resignation, but today's was at a lower level. As if everyone wanted to hear, but no one wanted to be accused of spreading this particular gossip. Then she started to get the gist of it through snatches of conversation.

"You're kidding. They had sex?"

"Right there in the office."

She started to feel sick.

"Holy moly, he can't get it up anymore?"

"He actually pays people to screw her."

"Who told you that?"

"I don't believe it."

"I swear."

"What a sicko."

"That's total crap."

Buzz, buzz, buzz. How did gossip travel so fast? It was all over the office. Until she realized it wasn't about what Clay had done to her. It was about Ruby and Bradley, and that Clay was impotent so he paid other men to take care of Ruby. And he liked to watch.

Oh. My. God.

There seemed to be equal distribution between those who believed and those who thought it was bullshit. The problem was that half of what was being bandied about was true.

Huddled around the coffee machine, no one heard her enter the break room. Roger from engineering—what was he doing over here in Accounting?—her G/L accountant Willard, Grace who did the payroll, Lisa from Customer Service, and good Lord, Rochelle from the warehouse.

"What is going on here?" Despite the sickness in the pit of her stomach, she glared at them. "Don't you have jobs to do? Gossip is totally unacceptable, especially malicious, unsubstantiated stuff."

Everyone scuttled past her until she was blessedly alone. Her ears were roaring. She couldn't think.

All she could wonder was how it would affect Clay. Did he know about it? And really, who'd started all this?

"Jesus Christ," Clay growled. "Who the hell would spread _that_ around?"

"Your girlfriend?" Holt asked dryly. He leaned back in a chair, hands behind his head, ankles crossed, his heels propped on Clay's conference table.

"Ruby's not that stupid." Clay paced in front of his desk. Christ, he was pissed. "It's that asshole Palmer. He's been talking to someone here."

"The good thing is," Holt said, "it's so out there that no one's going to believe it."

"Except that it's true." For the most part.

"No one's going to believe you're impotent," Holt snorted.

Clay laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Or," Holt went on, "that you'd actually have to pay someone to do Ruby." Ruby didn't make it a secret that she loved sex. Or that she was very, very good at it. "I do have to admit she's pretty damn bold for having sex right on your desk." He ended with a raised brow.

When Clay had gotten wind of the rumors, there was no way he couldn't let Holt in on the situation. Now Holt understood why he was staying at a hotel. The only thing he hadn't mentioned was Jessica's role. He wouldn't bring her name into it. It wouldn't be fair to her. This was about Ruby and him. And that asswipe Bradley Palmer.

"By tomorrow," Holt said, "it'll have blown over."

"You're pretty damn nonchalant about it. I don't like this kind of disruption to the work flow."

Holt put his feet down, slapped his hands on his knees, and leaned forward. "Face facts, Clay. Gossip exists. You can't shut it down. If you tried, you'd feel the hostility building. I accept that it's just another outlet. As long as shipments are on time, invoices go out, we get paid, and the stock price keeps going up even in a down market, I'm not going to mess with things."

"This is worse." Not because it was about him, but because Bradley had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth since he'd walked out. Now the asswipe was trying to bring Clay down, but he was damaging West Coast in the process.

"I'll take care of it," he told Holt. He would not let his personal life mess with the company.

That's why you _never_ screwed a coworker. Or a subordinate. His actions could very well have an effect on Jessica, too. Christ, he should have listened to himself. Ruby was not the only screw-up here.

"Well, if it isn't Little Miss Muffet," Ruby drawled.

Jessica stood her ground. Clay's office door had been closed when she trotted by. Behind Ruby, she could see that Holt's office was empty.

Maybe Holt was upstairs telling Clay about the gossip. Maybe Holt was firing Clay.

This couldn't be happening.

She concentrated on Ruby. The other woman didn't bat an eyelash. She looked unconcerned, as if she hadn't heard what people were saying. She looked...malicious.

She looked as if she were the one who'd started it all.

"You did this, didn't you," Jessica accused, soft and low, so that her words didn't float down the hall to Human Resources or out into the front lobby where the receptionist could overhear.

"What are you talking about?" Ruby's lip curled in a slight snarl. She wore a short cream blazer that exposed too much cleavage. Why did Holt let his secretary get away with dressing like a slut?

"The gossip," Jessica stated flatly. She didn't know why Ruby would have done it, but it had her grubby fingerprints all over it. She was angry Clay had walked out, and this was payback.

"What gossip?" Ruby asked mildly.

"You know every dirty bit of gossip anyone ever dredges up."

"For your information, I sit at my desk, mind my own business, and do my boss's bidding." Ruby flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Is that what you do, Jessica? Your boss's bidding?" She stood. Her skirt was halfway up her thighs. Snatching a file from her desk, she yanked open the cabinet, and stuffed the folder inside. Then she stood with her hip cocked, her arm resting along the drawer. "How far would you go to be controller, Jessica?"

"I do my job well, that's how far I'd go."

"Right." Ruby stared her down. "And that's why you were at the Marriott on Friday. Just doing your job?"

Jessica stepped back as if Ruby had slapped her.

Ruby rounded the end of her desk, stalking Jessica. "Oh yeah," she went on, "Clay told me all about your little visit there when he came home to me on Saturday morning."

"Home to you?" she echoed.

"Yeah. _Home_. _To me_. I told him to have a fling to pay me back for what I did with Bradley on his desk." She smiled. It never reached her eyes. "Now we're even, and things will go back to the way they were."

Jessica's heart hammered, her hands felt clammy, and her eyes ached. She blinked. She would _not_ cry in front of Ruby.

"I should thank you." Ruby went on turning the knife. "He was so worked up, he couldn't wait to get his hands on me."

_It's not true. It couldn't be._

"Then why did you tell everyone about Bradley?" Jessica whispered. "Why did you tell them Clay was impotent and he paid men to have sex with you because he can't get it up?"

Wide-eyed, Ruby stared at her if she'd gone completely mad. "What are you talking about?"

"The gossip. What everyone's saying in the halls."

Ruby's jaw dropped. Jessica would have laughed if the whole thing wasn't so horrible—from the malicious gossip to Clay screwing her to pay back Ruby, then returning to Ruby the next morning.

" _Who_ is saying that?" Ruby finally managed.

"Everyone."

Something began to smolder in the depths of Ruby's irises, then she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips until tiny lines spread out from her lip liner like whiskers. "That bastard. I should have known he'd screw everything up."

Of course. Jessica should have known, too. The rumors didn't have Ruby's panache. The payback currently making the rounds of West Coast Manufacturing was Bradley's.

# 17

Clay hated personal business at work. It wasn't the place. But Holt had gone over to Manufacturing, and Ruby was alone. The problem needed immediate attention.

Seated at her desk, Ruby had chewed off her lipstick, a very unRubylike thing to do. When you stood back and looked at her, from a purely male perspective, she was an extraordinarily attractive woman. Hitting forty hadn't diminished her sex appeal. She'd come into her own, from her dark hair to her gorgeous breasts to her gym-trim figure. Not to mention that she was pretty in a classic Lana Turner sort of way. You didn't get much better than Lana Turner in _The Postman Always Rings Twice_. Yeah, that was Ruby, gorgeous on the outside, rotten on the inside, though as yet she hadn't exhibited murderous tendencies.

She was full of secrets and smoldering sensuality. Jessica was the girl next door dying to be naughty for the bad boy down the street.

"What's wrong with you?" Ruby said.

"What could possibly be wrong, my dear?"

"You were just standing there, staring at me. It's unnerving."

He reached back and closed the door to her annex outside Holt's office. "So I hear it's being bandied about that I'm impotent and I pay men to fuck you."

She shot out a breath. "That's not my fault."

He raised one brow at her, then folded himself into a chair at the side of her desk. "So you have no clue how it all started."

She pursed her lips. "Maybe Jessica Murphy wants revenge on me."

He stared at her until she dropped her gaze.

"All right, it wasn't her. It was Bradley." She looked at him once more, her pretty brown eyes turning poignant and apologetic. "You were right. I was an idiot. I messed everything up. I'm sorry, Clay."

"It was foolish." He shrugged and decided not to ride her into the ground. "But he went overboard. Do you have his address or do I need to get it from Human Resources?"

She pushed back from the desk, her lips working a moment before she said, " _You're_ going to see him?"

"He needs to hear from the heavy." He'd squash the guy like a bug.

She held up her hands, her manicure perfect. "That will make it worse. We need him to start another rumor about how he made it all up because—" She stopped.

"And why would he say he made it all up? Because he's pissed at me? That's another bad rumor, Ruby. It _all_ has to stop."

"Clay, please," she begged, and he realized she was actually in earnest. "I need to talk to him. I can't have you do it. I screwed this up, and I need to fix it."

She was right, she needed to fix her own fuckups. Then she wouldn't do it again. "Fine." He held her gaze pointedly. "But if it doesn't stop, then I'm going to deal with him."

"I'll take care of it." She laid her hands flat on the desk. "Then everything can get back to normal."

"Ruby," he said, "we can't go back."

"Oh, oh, I don't mean that. I know things have to change." She tapped her chest. " _I_ have to change."

It was too late. He'd already done the changing for both of them, and there was no going back. "Ruby—"

She held up her hand. "Just let me fix this. Then we'll talk. Please, Clay?"

He sighed, rose from the chair. "All right. Fix it."

But there would be no talk. He was done.

Jessica stared at her email inbox. The human resource rep at the company Vince was contracting for had scheduled an interview with her right after work. Jessica had sent Vince her resume last Thursday, and he'd passed it on to his buddy: now this. What had she done? She'd climbed the corporate ladder, made her choices all about furthering her career. That came first. Until she'd seen Ruby in Clay's office. Then she'd completely lost control of everything.

Her phone rang, and Jessica jumped. The readout came up with Clay's extension. Oh God. She picked it up, her hand shaking. "Yes?"

"Got a minute? We need to talk."

His voice actually created a physical ache inside her. "Sure," she said. "I'll be right there." In her crimping belly, she knew whatever it was had to be bad.

He was seated at his conference table, binders and folders strewn out before him, one foot propped on the opposite knee where a pad of paper rested as he made notes. "Shut the door."

Yep, it was bad.

With the door closed, she could smell his aftershave, a subtle aroma that was spicy rather than sweet. The scent had been on her Friday night as she tried to fall asleep. When she closed her eyes, she could still smell it, whether he was there or not.

"I'm sorry I lied on Friday. I didn't think of it as a lie at the time, just a fantasy." She didn't mention that she'd stalked him. Essentially that's what she'd done by showing up at his hotel.

He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the pad on his lap. "I overreacted. You're not like Ruby."

That didn't make her feel better. It was a preamble. She could hear the _but_ , and more than anything, she didn't want him to say it. So she gave him her own speech. "I've been mixed up over the last week, and I did some things I wouldn't do under normal circumstances." She cleared her throat, then allowed herself a deep breath. "Especially since I work for you." Her eyes ached and her chest hurt, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

He was still tapping his eraser on his notepad, his expression unreadable. "So you want to forget what we did."

She would _never_ forget what they'd done. "The situation looks bad." She was his direct report. It was the appearance of impropriety. The controller and the CFO both have signature authority. They could approve each other's wire transfers and commit a host of other collusive activities. Not that they would, but...

"That's correct." He paused long enough to give her hand a slight tremor. "Unless the candidate we choose as controller is Greg Stevens or someone from outside."

Her heart lurched. "Is that what you're going to do?"

"No." He paused, holding her gaze. "I'm giving the job to you."

A week ago she would have uttered a trite, polite phrase. _Thank you for the opportunity. You won't be disappointed, blah, blah, blah_. Then she'd have run back to her office, closed the door, and done a happy dance. Now, she ached. He didn't want her. She didn't play the game the way he wanted so he'd gone back to Ruby. Making her controller was the consolation prize. It was crazy, she'd wanted the job badly, worked hard for it. Yet all it meant was that he didn't want her.

He gazed at her, his scrutiny intense. "Don't you want it?"

She couldn't see him day in and day out, remembering what they'd done together. Knowing that she wanted it to happen again and again. She didn't want him to go back to Ruby. She wanted everything Ruby had.

But he hadn't offered her Ruby's position. He'd offered only the controllership.

"Holt's already approved it," he said.

That was probably why he'd called her up to his office. It had nothing to do with Friday. He'd already forgotten it. She'd embarrassed herself for nothing.

He made a note on his legal pad, God only knew why. "Maybe you want to know what the salary is first."

She didn't care. "Yes. Of course."

He named a number that was reasonable but not extravagant.

"You said I was worth three thousand dollars a night." She didn't know where it came from, because she hadn't thought about the price he'd given Mitch until this moment.

The room began to heat. His eyes darkened. "That's a different job."

God, she wanted to touch him, to taste his mouth. To climb onto his lap, take out his cock, suck him.

Jessica swallowed. "As it happens, you're too late. I've applied at another company. In fact"—she flipped her wrist to look at her watch—"I've got an interview after work."

For the first time, emotion crossed his face, a sudden tension along his jaw. "You're leaving?"

"It's impossible to stay after what we've done."

He shook his head. "It's not impossible."

She wanted to smack him for being so obtuse. "We had sex. Now you decide that we have to stop. _You_ decide that I should be controller instead. You didn't even ask what I wanted."

"But you've always wanted to be controller," he said, mystified.

She leaned close, breathed him in, wanted to cry. "That was before. You never asked if I'd changed my mind."

"Did you?" he murmured softly.

Goddamn him. She didn't want to beg. She was afraid he was going to make her. Then he was going back to Ruby anyway. "What I did was make up my mind that I'm not getting anywhere at West Coast. So I'm looking elsewhere."

She marched to the door, yanked it open, and left him.

Back in her office, before she could talk herself out of it, she dashed off a reply to the earlier email, accepting the job interview.

Five minutes later, Clay finally laid his notepad on the table. He'd done a lot of thinking since Friday night. About the reasons that he found himself so much more wrapped up in Jessica over the span of two weeks than he'd been with Ruby in three years. He'd found answers. Yet Jessica had stunned him with her announcement that she was job hunting.

Of course, it was inevitable. She'd left him in every way she could, professionally, sexually, emotionally.

It would never be possible to wipe his mind of everything that had happened between them. He wanted her too much. He couldn't sit at the damn conference table without remembering what he'd done to her on it. He'd had to hold the legal pad on his lap so she wouldn't see his erection.

She was worth far more than three thousand dollars. Right now, he'd pay anything for one more night with her.

But he had no choice. He couldn't deny her the job when she'd worked so hard and was the most qualified. That lacked all semblance of fair play. But if he gave her the controllership, every other relationship between them was over. He couldn't ask her to quit so he could have her. He couldn't walk out on Holt and West Coast because he wanted her.

Yet she'd just put him on notice that she was going no matter what he offered her. And while she'd been pissed, accusing him of making all the decisions—which he had—she'd opened the door to other possibilities.

He intended to walk right through it.

# 18

This was all Bradley's fault. No, Little Miss Muffet was to blame. Damn that woman. If she hadn't opened her big mouth to Clay, none of this would have happened, which made it so satisfying to accuse her of spreading all the horrible rumors. Not that she expected Clay to buy it. It just felt good in the moment.

Okay, dammit, Ruby knew she'd made the first wrong move. But how could Clay run to Little Miss Muffet? Ruby shuddered behind the wheel of her blue BMW as she drove to Bradley's apartment. She was going to murder that boy.

Saturday, after Clay kicked her out, she'd gotten a hotel room—a very nice one at the very same Marriott he was staying at and he could pay the damn bill—then she'd gone to cry on Bradley's shoulder. She must say she'd done a very good poor-poor-pitiful-me; Bradley had been willing to do anything for her.

But he'd screwed it all up. He wasn't supposed to start a rumor about Clay and _her_. His job was to trash Little Miss Muffet. She should have taken care of the rumor-mongering herself.

So she had to fix his mess, which was why she was rushing off to his apartment right now.

Holt was great. He didn't get all worked up about business being only business. If a girl had to take off a couple of hours to whack some sense into a nimrod male brain, he was fine. He wasn't some soulless workaholic executive type. He realized people had lives.

Still, she'd let things get out of hand. How foolish she'd been. Because of that nasty little rumor, she hadn't gotten any satisfaction out of telling Jessica Clay had come home to her Saturday morning. Of course, she hadn't mentioned that he'd dumped her.

Bradley had stolen her thunder, put her in the one-down position, so that she had to apologize to Clay, instead of the other way round.

Oh God, she could lose him. She really could. Ruby didn't cry—well, not for real—but the memory of Clay booting her out brought her the closest to tears she'd been since high school. He'd been so calm, so unfeeling. She knew the truth in the very pit of her stomach, no matter how much she didn't want to admit it; she'd already lost him, no _could_ , _might_ or _maybe_ about it.

Bradley had better be home. She grimaced when she remembered the expression on Clay's face as he'd asked if she knew Bradley's address. She'd been there twice. Or maybe it was three times. And dammit, Clay had enjoyed the fruits of her labor each and every time.

Bradley's apartment complex was rundown, the paint faded on the siding, weeds growing out of the cracks in the parking lot pavement. The pathways were uneven where tree roots had pushed up the concrete, and she got a splinter in her finger when she put her hand on the railing as she climbed the stairs.

She hadn't cared before. But her relationship with Bradley was like his apartment, on the seamier side of things. His doorbell no longer worked, so she knocked.

He opened almost immediately, wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt and Tommy Hilfiger jeans. She didn't mind that his designers didn't match. That's where Bradley's money went, into his clothes, his Corvette, and his toys. The 65-inch HDTV with surround sound was tuned to the Bloomberg network. Sadly, the market was down. Again.

"Oh baby, I'm so glad to see you."

He closed the door behind her. Fast food wrappers littered his coffee table, and he was already one beer down for the day.

"Don't _baby_ me." She spread her hands. "What were you thinking?"

"What?" He attempted to look innocent, but he couldn't maintain eye contact long enough to carry it off.

"You know what I'm talking about. All those lies about Clay."

"I didn't lie. I was just talking to the guys. And you told me you wanted to make him pay."

She glared at him. She was very proud of her glare. It made most men cower. Not Clay, of course. Or Holt. But Bradley was definitely cowering, if the hand wringing meant anything. Really, what had she seen in him?

"You weren't _talking_. You were _lying_."

"No, no," he pleaded, pacing the small room, which was completely dominated by the oversize TV. "I was so upset and I had to get it off my chest."

"You said Clay was impotent and he paid you to have sex with me."

He gasped, wide-eyed, and mouthed, "Noooo," his lips rounded in that _O_ for a very long time.

"Close your mouth. You look like a fish." She jammed her hands on her hips. He was taller, but she was so much mightier. "Now, who did you tell?"

He shrugged. "Just the softball team. We went out for a few beers after the practice yesterday."

" _What?_ " She slapped her hand to her forehead. West Coast sponsored a community team, and several employees played. From the warehouse, Manufacturing, Machine Maintenance, Customer Service. "Oh. My. God." He'd told _everyone_. "I have never been so angry in all my life. Why on earth would you do that?"

He screwed the toe of his shoe into the carpet. Like a little boy. "I wanted to humiliate him so you'd realize I was the better choice."

She breathed deeply to keep from screeching at him. "You are twenty-nine, not ten. You've messed up your job, you've messed up any chance of getting a decent recommendation"—she pointed a finger right in his face—"and you've screwed any chance of _ever_ getting back in my panties."

"But Ruby." There was a distinct whine in his voice.

God, yes, she had been a complete idiot. She'd had such a good thing with Clay, and for the sake of a little boredom and the need to shake things up a bit, she was totally screwed.

"If you don't retract this," she said, "I will tell everyone that you have a teeny tiny penis, and you're a premature ejaculator."

He hung his head. "Will you give me another chance if I do?"

"Do not try to bargain with me. Just fix it."

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

He looked so forlorn that for some inexplicable reason, she took pity on him. "Bradley, you have some very good qualities that I'm sure some lovely girl your own age is going to completely appreciate. But I'm far too old for you."

"What about Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore?"

"Newsflash: They're divorced! For God's sake, grow up. You don't love me. I don't love you. We had sex. It was pleasant, but we're both moving on."

He sighed. "I might have been rash in quitting my job."

"Yes, you were." She patted his cheek. "But you know you can't come back now."

"I was thinking about moving back home. My dad's a CPA. He always wanted me to come into the business. I just wanted to make my fortune in California."

Right. Like there were a whole lot of fortunes still to be made. Bradley was no Mark Zuckerberg. "When's the next softball practice?"

"After work today."

Boy, they practiced a lot, though probably they were more into the beer afterward than the practice itself. "I want you to tell them you made it all up."

"They're not going to believe me now."

"They will if you tell them you wanted to see how gullible they were. The joke's on them."

He pulled his head back. "But then they'll be pissed at me."

"That's the price you pay, sweetie."

She walked out his door and sighed. Men were jerks. No, some men were boys and they acted like jerks. She was certainly old enough to have learned the difference.

So why had she been such an idiot?

Clay knew where Jessica lived, from a cocktail party she'd held for the department a couple of Christmases ago. Funny that he'd never forgotten his way to her.

Having given her an extra two hours to get through her interview, he now stood on her doorstep. Her condo was in a small tree-lined complex. Pots of early spring flowers bloomed on her stoop. He hadn't thought of her as a flowerpot kind of woman—too career-oriented—but he'd come to learn so much more about her in the past week. Some details were intimate, some were momentous, some were small, like the fact that she loved flowers.

By the time she opened the front door, his palms were damp with nerves. A woman had never made his palms sweat before. But he'd never waited three years to figure out how badly he wanted her.

She was nothing like his ex-wife, who would never in a million years consider having a fuck buddy. She was the opposite of Ruby, too, who had too many friends-with-benefits. Jessica was gorgeous in faded sweats and a tight T-shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" The only trace of her emotions was the tightening of her fingers on the front door.

He enumerated his mistakes. "I asked Ruby to move out on Saturday. I should have told you. I decided that I couldn't ask you to quit your job so that we could be together. I should have asked how you felt, told you what I felt. We should have made any decisions together."

Her eyes darkened. It could have been an edge of moisture pooling in them or a storm building. "It wasn't like you owed me anything. All we did was have sex."

He wanted her to invite him inside, yet he'd given up the right to ask. He'd allowed her to believe what they'd shared was merely physical. "It was so much more. I should have told you that, too."

She breathed deeply, said nothing.

His next words came from the hollow pit of his stomach. "Please don't leave."

She expelled her breath in a sharp puff. "I can't be your controller. Not after everything."

Christ, he wanted to touch her so badly, his hands shook, but he was still on the outside looking in. "I'm not talking about West Coast. I'm talking about me. Please don't leave _me_."

She was silent and unmoving so long, he thought she might end up slamming the door in his face. Until finally she stepped back. "It would probably be better if you came inside so we can talk."

_Please don't leave me_.

Her heart was pounding so hard she was terrified she'd misheard him. But Clay stepped inside her home. He dwarfed her small living room. It was a one-woman place, with only a loveseat instead of sofa, a small coffee table, one extra chair. Even the table in the dining area was made for one, unless she pulled it apart to put a leaf in it.

Jessica didn't want to be just _one_ anymore. But she had to know exactly what _he_ wanted. _Don't leave me_. She was terrified to think it meant _everything_ only to find out he merely wanted the same kind of relationship he'd had with Ruby. Transitory. Until she broke his rules. She couldn't stand it if he threw her aside.

Yet she wanted to throw herself into his arms, take whatever she could get for as long as he offered it.

"I never loved Ruby," he said.

She swallowed, tried to hide her emotions when inside she was screaming for him to say those words to her. "Then I guess it didn't hurt you when I told you what she was doing with Bradley."

He held her gaze. "It didn't hurt. It only pissed me off. If it had been you doing what she did, then it would have crushed me."

"Why?" she whispered. Honestly, she didn't know. He'd touched her for the first time only ten days ago. Before that, she'd been his employee.

"Sometimes you want someone but put it out of your mind because you know you can never have her. Until suddenly you realize that maybe you can have everything you want. That's how I felt, and now I can't stop wanting you, thinking about you, needing you. It was there all along, only now I know what it is."

"What is it?" She couldn't tell whether she'd said it aloud or merely mouthed the words.

"Lust, love, need, desire, admiration, respect." He held her gaze for long moments. "Everything."

_Love_. She couldn't believe it, had to keep questioning. "What about other men? Like what you had with Ruby?"

"I still love that. I wanted it with my ex-wife, I liked it with Ruby. With you, it makes me crazy."

"I know," she said. Some men were wired differently, and having another man want what they had made their desire even greater. Yeah, she'd read that in all the blogs she'd pored over on the Internet. That wasn't enough; why did _Clay_ want it with _her_? God, she could have everything if she would just shut up. But she couldn't; eventually it would come back to bite her ass. "It still makes me feel like you don't really want me, just me, only me."

He stepped so close she could feel the heat of his body, smell that indefinable male _something_ that was so him. He touched her hair without actually touching her. "I'd never really defined it for myself."

She smiled at him slightly, feeling something melt inside her as if she'd been in deep freeze, and finally, someone had found a way to thaw her out. "Yeah, that whole thing about men not wanting to analyze their emotions."

He laughed softly. "We don't even like to admit we have them. But I knew you'd have to understand it." This time he cupped her cheek, held her more tenderly with that small touch than when he'd been buried deep inside her. "Let me tell you."

"All right," she said, leaning into his palm.

"It's something we share. I'm thinking of you, you're thinking of me. The other man is just a vehicle that makes it hotter, better, mind-blowing. He's an outside force that brings us together explosively. And when you come back to me, it's like you're saying all over again that you're mine. That you've tasted and touched and had, but you still _have_ to come back to me. You _need_ me. I wanted that with my wife, but she hated me for it. I tried to have it with Ruby, but I didn't feel enough for her to achieve the connection I was looking for." He leaned close to touch his lips to her forehead. "But with you, it short-circuited me. It turned everything upside down. I wanted you, but one of us would have to leave. I couldn't ask you to do that. And I couldn't do that to Holt or West Coast. So I decided we had to stop." He folded her into his arms. "Only I can't stop. I'll leave West Coast if that's what it takes to have you. And I'll keep wanting you to drive me crazy with other men, but I also realize that the fantasy you made up with that guy in the hotel was just as fucking powerful as the real thing."

For the first time, she allowed herself to hold him as closely as he held her. He loved her. He really did. "I've had the interview. I'll get the job. And I'll do just as well there as I've done at West Coast."

He pulled back. "I can't force you to make the sacrifice."

"I've already made it, Clay. I don't want to be controller at West Coast with someone else at the helm. This is the better way."

"Jessica—"

She put her fingers to his lips. "Shut up and make love to me." _Love._ She'd said it. It had been dormant in her for three years, but now she felt it bursting free inside her.

"Fuck yes," he whispered.

She pushed him down onto the carpet next to the coffee table.

"What about the bed?" he asked, already pushing up her T-shirt.

"Too far away." She unbuckled his belt, then leaned down for a quick kiss. "I need you inside me now."

"I've got a condom in my wallet." He shoved her T-shirt up over her breasts.

She laughed. It felt real, good, honest. "You were sure of yourself."

"No. I simply had no intention of letting you go no matter what I had to do." Then he pulled the cup of her bra down and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

"Oh God," she murmured, savoring the warm, wet feel of his mouth. "I love sex with you." He groaned his agreement against her nipple. "Take my pants off," she demanded. It felt glorious to ask for everything she wanted.

"Yes, ma'am." He shoved her sweats down, taking her panties with them. They rolled around inelegantly on the carpet, getting naked, laughing, tasting, teasing, finding the condom, putting it on.

"Oh yes." Straddling his hips, she held him in her hand. "Did I tell you what a magnificent cock you have?"

Clay chuckled. "Yes. But feel free to say it again."

She squeezed until he groaned. "It's the biggest, fattest, juiciest, hottest."

He growled. "Take me, baby, I'm yours."

Then her cell phone rang. It sat on the coffee table right beside them. Jessica froze when she read the caller ID.

"It's him, isn't it," Clay said.

Jessica licked her lips. Talk about bad timing. But she nodded.

One hand on her hip, his other hand on his cock, stroking her with it between the legs, he said, "Answer it."

Very slowly, she reached out, picked up the phone, pushed the button.

"Got time for a booty call?" Vince asked.

Clay held her steady, his cock at her entrance. His gaze was just as steady on her.

"How about some phone sex?" she countered.

Vince laughed. "Sounds hot."

"Let me put you on speakerphone so I can be hands free."

"Yeah, baby," Vince said even as Clay's eyes lit up and his cock nudged her, harder, throbbing.

She laid the phone down and put both hands on Clay's chest. "Fuck me, Mr. Blackwell, please, I need it."

On the phone, Vince grunted. "My pleasure, Miss Murphy."

With those words, gaze hot on her, Clay impaled her.

Jessica cried out. "Oh God, Mr. Blackwell, you're so big, you're so good."

"And you're so tight, Miss Murphy." Vince said the words, but it was Clay's hands on her body, his cock inside her.

"Fuck me hard, please," she begged Clay. Silently, he held her hips, controlled her motions, went deep, lifted her, then thrust hard again.

Vince's words, Clay's body. It was wild, completely crazy. Jessica felt herself go mindless with need, words spilling out of her mouth, nonsense words, sex words, love words, Vince saying them all back to her, but it was Clay taking her. There had never been anything like it, never with Vince, certainly not on the phone, never when he was inside her either. Yet with Clay it was wilder, crazier, more intimate. Even with another voice in the midst of their lovemaking. _Especially_ with another voice.

Her body trembled on the brink, then with a hand at her nape, Clay pulled her down, took her mouth.

And she lost herself in him forever.

"Fuck, that was hot, baby." A voice. From the phone on the coffee table.

Clay throbbed inside her. Her legs still clasped him tight at the hips, her breasts flush to his chest, her nipples hard, her pussy wet and warm. Christ. It had never been like this. As he lost every last drop of his essence to her, the voice, her body, his body, it had all become one. _They_ were one.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, her body prone on his.

"Jessica?" The voice again.

She turned her head on Clay's shoulder. "I'm here. That was hot. Thanks a lot. I gotta go." She reached out to end the call, cutting the guy off in mid-laugh.

"You were right," she said, her lips against his shoulder. "That was the hottest."

"It can work any way you want it." He would take her any way he could have her. He'd quit West Coast. He'd never ask her to do another man, not even her fuck buddy. Yeah, any way she wanted it.

"I'm thinking"—she kissed his neck—"that there are all sorts of possibilities I never considered." She licked the shell of his ear, her body moving sinuously against his. Inside her, his cock flexed, grew. "For instance, what would it be like if I called you while he was inside me?" she mused.

"Unbelievable," he answered, trying to sound mild, yet his pulse roared in his ears. He wanted anything she'd give him. Christ. She'd drive him crazy with nothing more than words.

"Or"—she nipped his earlobe—"what if I had you both together?"

Suddenly, he was hot and hard inside her again, his body arching, thrusting.

Jessica moaned. "So many possibilities."

He grabbed her hips, pushed her down on his cock, then short-stroked inside her.

"Maybe there are ways it can work." She teased him within an inch of his life. "We should talk about the rules..." Her voice trailed off in a groan.

Her pussy contracted, squeezed him, drove him to the very brink. "You tell me the rules, baby, and I'll follow every one."

"We should make them up together," she said, her voice soft, faraway, giving him everything he'd always wanted.

And then so much more.

> Thank you so much for reading Jessica and Clay's sexy **_Naughty After Hours _**romance. Please consider leaving a review to help others learn about the book.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Now let's talk about Ruby. She really, _really_ needs little comeuppance, don't you think? Turn the page for a sample of what's in store for our very bad girl in an excerpt of **_Submitting to the Boss_**...

# Excerpt from Submitting to the Boss

## Naughty After Hours, Book 2

© Jasmine Haynes

* * *

"Ruby, in my office, now," Holt Montgomery barked over the intercom.

Ruby Williams pressed her lips together, staring at the offending device. It was just before five on Thursday, and Ruby always left at five. Still, she pushed the Talk button obediently. "Yes, Holt."

She hadn't found a decent apartment and had been living in a hotel for over a week, since the day Clay kicked her out of his house. All the rumors being bandied about last week had been squashed, and the demise of her three-year relationship with the CFO hadn't yet made it to West Coast Manufacturing's gossip mill, but her boss, Holt Montgomery, knew all about it. She couldn't be sure if Clay had told him the specific reasons why, but they'd been friends and coworkers for twenty years in Silicon Valley, the last ten at West Coast where Clay was chief financial officer to Holt's chief executive officer. It stood to reason that Clay had told Holt.

And Holt had been treating her...differently. There was a new harshness in his tone when he spoke to her. Like now. Before, Holt would have _asked_ if she had a minute, and he wouldn't have used the intercom; he'd simply have called out. These were subtle differences, true, but there were other signs. He hadn't joked with her. He'd rarely smiled at her. Holt had always been an easygoing boss from the day she'd started as his executive admin a little over four years ago. Now it seemed that not only had she screwed up her living arrangements, she'd screwed over her job as well.

There was nothing to do but pick up her pad and pencil and enter the proverbial lion's den the way he demanded.

Behind his big mahogany desk, surrounded by report folders and his two computer monitors with which he effectively multitasked, Holt Montgomery looked like a captain at the helm of his battle ship. At fifty-two, with a head of thick steel-gray hair and the fit, muscular body of a man fifteen years younger, his bearing inspired respect, awe, and even fear.

Ruby had always felt the respect and awe, but today there was also a smidgen of fear.

"Close the door," he ordered, his voice deep and hard-edged.

Ruby jumped to do his bidding. Her smaller office was an annex to his much larger one. In many respects, she was his guard dog, vetting all his calls and his visitors. She had to admit she liked the power in that, but with the door closed and the scowl on Holt's face, she wasn't feeling particularly powerful.

She'd lost so much more than she could have imagined when Clay kicked her out.

"Sit." Holt pointed at the chair dead center before his desk.

It was one of the conference chairs, and that wasn't its normal place. His office was spacious with a six-man conference table, coffee-service trolley, and a sofa grouping by the large window, all this in addition to his massive mahogany desk. He conducted meetings, entertained customers, and signed multimillion-dollar deals in this domain.

That chair was out of place, and Ruby's tension ratcheted higher. Clay was paying for her hotel, but he wouldn't do that forever. She had to find a new place, and she needed a job in order to sign a lease.

Holt wouldn't fire her because of what happened with Clay.

Would he?

She sat, wishing she'd worn something more circumspect. But Ruby owned very little that could be called circumspect. Her skirts were short, and her tops had plunging necklines. Holt had never complained.

He stared at her silently. He didn't even blink, just regarded her with piercing eyes so dark they were almost black. Holt was the only man in the world who made Ruby's palms sweat. She could wrap most men around her little finger, though not Clay. And never Holt. That's what made them exciting. She'd always felt subordinate to Holt, and funnily enough—probably because of her respect for him—it had never been an unpleasant feeling. Until now.

"What can I do for you, Holt?" Her voice seemed to crack, and her mouth was dry.

Finally, he spoke. "You've been a very bad girl."

Ruby swallowed; it hurt going down. "You mean about Clay?" She wasn't going to admit anything until she knew exactly what Clay had told him.

"Yes," he said. "You fucked around behind his back."

Okay, she could explain. She _had_ to explain. "It wasn't behind his back. He knew. In fact—"

Holt held up his hand, and she didn't dare go on. That was another thing about Holt: he was the only man Ruby would shut up for. "Don't prevaricate. I know about your arrangement with Clay."

Her face flushed. Ruby wasn't the type to get embarrassed, yet there was something about knowing Clay had—potentially—revealed all her faults to Holt that made her jumpy. But she wouldn't cave by asking how much he knew. She'd wait him out.

It didn't take Holt long to come back at her. "You had sex with a coworker in Clay's office."

All right, yes, she'd done that. She hoped that was the _only_ thing Clay had divulged. "Clay and I had a special relationship where he enjoyed my being with other men." She allowed herself a slight smirk. "And he loved to hear all about it."

Holt gave her the silent treatment. Maybe the smirk was ill-advised.

Then Ruby just couldn't shut up despite herself. "That's what he wanted from the beginning. That was always our relationship. I love sex, and he liked to hear about it. The more the better. It's what got him off. He..." Her voice died into the echo of her own words. A car drove by on the road visible outside Holt's window, a big, rumbling diesel engine that set her nerves jangling.

"You didn't mention the little matter of rules," he said. His handsome face was granite hard.

She couldn't believe Clay had told him _everything_. Clay wouldn't be so vindictive as to want to ruin her job as well. Her only course of action was to tell the truth. "He liked it when I broke certain rules, so I didn't think he'd mind if I broke others."

"But Bradley Palmer?" For the first time, Holt made a face, one of distaste.

She'd been a total idiot. She fully admitted that. "Having sex with him on Clay's desk was a mistake." Bradley was young, twenty-nine. His desire had stroked her ego. Not that she didn't have a healthy ego. At forty, she was hot, and she wasn't ashamed to say that, but _every_ woman sometimes had a little niggling of doubt, and Bradley caught her at a weak moment. Still, she hadn't thought Clay would get all riled up. She'd truly thought he'd get off on it.

"And what about the other places you fucked him, Ruby? Not to mention the rumors."

She felt herself blanch. God. Clay really had told him _all_. "I didn't start those rumors, and I made sure they were laid to rest."

"Damage done, Ruby."

She almost snorted but thought better of it. "No one ever believed any of that." Because she'd taken things in hand. And really, by the following week, it was all just a blip on the rumor mill's timeline. They'd weathered the whole debacle, and Bradley was gone from West Coast's horizon.

Holt merely stared. It was completely unnerving.

And again, she couldn't shut up. "Why are you doing this? When I moved in with Clay, you told us business was business and personal was personal."

"It is. But you brought it here. And against Clay's wishes."

She pursed her lips and puffed out a breath. If she wanted to keep her job, she was going to have to grovel. She wasn't good at it, but she simply couldn't afford to be fired. Besides, she liked working for Holt. He was fair-minded. Usually. "I made a mistake, and I'm very sorry. I told Clay it would never happen again, and I'm telling you it won't."

If he was silent after that, she'd have to scream.

"There's only one solution," he said softly. Holt could be dangerous when he spoke that quietly. She'd heard that deadly tone in meetings. And seen the results.

"What?" she asked, her heart racing.

"You need to be punished." He waited a beat. "Severely."

Then he rose, strode to the door. And locked it.

Ruby's pulse began to beat against her eardrums.

Never in his four-year history with Ruby Williams had Holt witnessed that deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes. It wasn't Ruby's style. If you looked up _self-assured woman_ in the dictionary, there'd be a picture of Ruby right beside it.

More gorgeous than a forty-year-old woman had a right to be, with dark hair falling past her shoulders, deep brown, very knowing eyes, and long legs that made a man dream of running his hands up them to the hem of her short skirt, Ruby had no doubt of her sex appeal. She was efficient yet never cowed, sexy in her choice of clothing—some might even say halfway to being slutty—but always professional in her dealings with him and any visitors to his office, be they subordinates, vendors, auditors, or customers. She was his gateway.

After four years, she was about to become more.

Holt folded his arms over his chest and regarded her with a steady gaze. "Stand up," he ordered.

She was elegantly tall, and he especially enjoyed her spiked heels, which put her on eye level with him as she rose from the chair. A creamy vee of cleavage was bared above the jacket of her less-than-staid suit. Her full breasts were a mouthwatering sight, and her lips were painted a ruby red to match her name. At the moment, however, they were minus their usual seductive smile.

"What's this all about, Holt?"

"Pull the blinds."

She glanced over her shoulder. The window view was of the lawn, a few shrubs, West Coast's monument sign, and the road curving around to the freeway. It was unlikely that anyone would glance in his window, but his plan called for the privacy of closed blinds.

"But Holt—"

He cut her off with a look. "By not obeying immediately, you'll make the punishment worse."

"Well—" Obviously on the verge of arguing, she stopped herself this time. She actually bit her lip momentarily before realizing what she was doing. Ruby wasn't a lip-biter or a hand-wringer. "So I'm supposed to just do whatever you tell me to"—she raised a brow—"then everything will be the way it was?"

He allowed long seconds to pass before he answered. First he unbuttoned his suit jacket. Ruby's gaze fell below his waist. Her eyes widened. He'd been making plans, and planning had made him hard.

"Nothing will be the way it was," he said. "Everything has changed. Close the blinds. Now."

Ruby swallowed. She had the long, beautiful neck of a swan. He imagined touching his tongue to the hollow of her throat, tasting her. Those were the kind of thoughts that made him harder still.

Ruby took a step back, toward the bank of windows behind the sofa, as if she were afraid to turn her back on him. Finally she pivoted, skirted the coffee table, and leaned with one knee on the sofa to reach the pull. The blinds snapped closed. It wouldn't be dark for another three hours, but the shades bathed the room in shadow.

He shoved the chair she'd been sitting in back beneath the conference table, then stood in the center of his office. "Come here," he demanded.

Ruby had never taken orders from anyone, not even him. His management style was in the form of polite requests that, nevertheless, didn't take no for an answer. For the most part, his subordinates followed those requests. The few times someone hadn't—suffice it to say, there was only one chance per customer. The next time he made a request, they jumped. Ruby had never been a problem, but his requests had never been out of line.

Tonight, however, they were going way over the line. And he wasn't allowing her to say no.

Ruby knew it, too. She stood in front of him, a foot and a half between them. He could smell her perfume, something light and a little sweet, definitely exotic. And he could scent _her_. Musky, warm, all woman.

"You will do everything I say without question."

Ruby blinked, and her lips parted.

He sensed an argument and ruthlessly shut it down. "There will be severe consequences for every infraction."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to fire me?"

"I will never fire you. There are other things worse than that. Undo your jacket."

A pulse beat at her throat, but her bravado hadn't completely deserted her. "I don't have anything on under it except my bra."

He gave her a steady look. "I know. I've always known exactly what you have under there." He let that sink in.

Her eyes flitted across his face, assessing, analyzing, wondering. Then she slowly raised her fingers to the buttons of her jacket. It was short-waisted, cream-colored, fitted, and hugged her large breasts. Her fingertips were the same ruby red as her lipstick. There was nothing like red nails wrapped around a man's flesh.

She did what he'd ordered and no more. The lapels hung open slightly, giving him only a glimpse of the lavender lingerie beneath.

"Take it off," he said, recognizing the huskiness in his own voice. It was his turn to swallow, his throat suddenly dry with anticipation.

Ruby slid her nails up the jacket's lapels, then slipped under, pushing it off her shoulders and shrugging it down her arms until it fell to the carpet. Her nipples were tight beads beneath the lavender lace. Underwire plumped her breasts, held them high, a hint of dusky aureole peaking above the cup.

His mouth watered.

It wasn't polite to entertain serious sexual fantasies about your friend's lover. Unless you were invited. Clay had never invited him, and Holt was a stickler for propriety.

But Ruby had cheated, and Clay had left her. They'd been together for three years, and though their relationship had ended, Holt still didn't poach on another man's territory. So he'd briefly outlined his plans and requested Clay's permission to carry out Ruby's punishment. That was all they'd talked about, no gory or explicit details, very little explanation, and no rehashing of the relationship.

Permission granted. Ruby was now his.

Bra and skirt, he wondered. Or bra and panties? "Take off your skirt, but leave the heels."

Ruby didn't protest this time, reaching behind, unzipping. The skirt dropped to the carpet, pooling around her shoes. She stepped out of it.

And stole his breath.

Miniscule thong panties cut high on the hip, a barely there thatch of trimmed hair showing through the lavender lace, which matched her bra. Her stomach was flat, her hips rounded, her thighs beckoning a man to slip between them.

He reached out, tracing a finger along her collarbone until the tip touched the strap of her brassiere. He slid it off her shoulder. She looked elegantly debauched.

"Perfect," he murmured. Though he was supposed to be the one in charge, he found himself mesmerized. Ruby was extraordinary. He almost lost focus.

He brought his gaze back to hers and met the knowing look in her eyes. Ruby understood her own power. She needed to learn that his was greater.

He stepped aside, pointed. "Bend over, elbows on my desk," he instructed.

Her brows knit with a question, but she was smarter than to ask it.

"Now," he emphasized.

She stepped forward, leaned over, and assumed the position, ass in the air.

Jesus. Ruby's ass in her short skirts was delectable, but framed by the thong, the creamy globes were mouthwatering.

Moving in on her, Holt cupped his hand and slapped her sweet tush hard, fingers in a downward slant that connected with the warmth of her pussy.

Ruby squealed.

**_Submitting to the Boss_**

Ruby has been very, very bad. Now it's time to take her punishment. And that atonement is best served by her sexy boss...

Ruby Williams royally messed up her last relationship, and now she's paying the price for her reckless choices. Then her boss, powerful, silver fox CEO Holt Montgomery, offers her a way to make restitution for her mistakes. And Ruby jumps at the chance. But when she realizes her punishment is a game of dominance and submission, she fears she'll never have the upper hand again.

For Holt, Ruby has always held the upper hand. Because he wants her. Passionately. Even if she's his employee. Now, after Ruby's catastrophic decisions, Holt has finally hit on the best way to make his seductive assistant completely his. Forever.

By submitting to the boss, Ruby may find everything she's been looking for.

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Don't miss Ruby & Holt in **_Submitting to the Boss _**!

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**_Naughty After Hours_**

**_Revenge | Submitting to the Boss_**

**_The Boss's Daughter_**

**_The Only One for Her | Pleasing Mr. Sutton_**

**_Any Way She Wants It_**

**_More than a Night_**

**_A Very Naughty Christmas_**

**_Show Me How to Leave You_**

**_Show Me How to Love You_**

# About the Author

NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author Jasmine Haynes loves giving readers sexy, classy stories about real issues like growing older, facing divorce, starting over. Her books have passion, heart, humor, and happy endings, even if they aren't always traditional. She also writes gritty, paranormal mysteries in the Max Starr series. As Jennifer Skully, she writes laugh-out-loud romantic comedies laced with a heavy dose of mystery. Look for Jennifer's new series written with Bella Andre, starting with _Breathless in Love_ , The Maverick Billionaires Book 1. Having penned stories since the moment she learned to write, Jasmine now lives in the Redwoods of Northern California with her husband and their adorable nuisance of a cat who totally runs the household.

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**Join our newsletter and receive free books, plus learn about new releases, contests, and other freebies:<http://bit.ly/SkullyNews>**

# Also by Jennifer Skully/Jasmine Haynes

Books by _Jennifer Skully_

**_The Maverick Billionaires by Jennifer Skully & Bella Andre_**

**_Breathless in Love | Reckless in Love_**

**_Fearless in Love | Irresistible in Love_**

**_Wild In Love | Captivating In Love_**

* * *

**_Mystery of Love_**

**_Drop Dead Gorgeous | Sheer Dynamite_**

**_It Must be Magic | One Crazy Kiss_**

**_You Make Me Crazy |_** **_One Crazy Fling_**

**_Crazy for Baby_**

**_Return to Love_**

**_She's Gotta Be Mine | Fool's Gold | Can't Forget You_**

**_Return to Love: 3-Book Bundle_**

**_|_**

**_Love After Hours_**

**_Desire Actually | Love Affair To Remember_**

**_Pretty In Pink Slip_**

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**_Stand-alone_**

**_Baby, I'll Find You | Twisted by Love_**

**_Be My Other Valentine_**

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Books by _Jasmine Haynes_

* * *

**_Naughty After Hours_**

**_Revenge | Submitting to the Boss_**

**_The Boss's Daughter_**

**_The Only One for Her | Pleasing Mr. Sutton_**

**_Any Way She Wants It_**

**_More than a Night_**

**_A Very Naughty Christmas_**

**_Show Me How to Leave You_**

**_Show Me How to Love You_**

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**_The Max Starr Series_**

**_Dead to the Max | Evil to the Max_**

**_Desperate to the Max_**

**_Power to the Max |Vengeance to the Max_**

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**_Courtesans Tales_**

**_The Girlfriend Experience | Payback | Triple Play_**

**_Three's a Crowd |The Stand In | Surrender to Me_**

**_The Only Way Out |The Wrong Kind of Man_**

**_No Second Chances_**

* * *

**_The Jackson Brothers_**

**_Somebody's Lover | Somebody's Ex_**

**_Somebody's Wife_**

**_The Jackson Brothers: 3-Book Bundle_**

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**_Castle Inc_**

**_The Fortune Hunter | Show and Tell_**

**_Fair Game_**

* * *

**_Open Invitation_**

**_Invitation to Seduction | Invitation to Pleasure_**

**_Invitation to Passion_**

**_Open Invitation: 3-Book Bundle_**

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**_Wives & Neighbors_**

**_Wives & Neighbors: The Complete Story_**

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**_Prescott Twins_**

**_Double the Pleasure | Skin Deep_**

**_Prescott Twins Complete Set_**

* * *

**_Lessons After Hours_**

**_Past Midnight | What Happens After Dark_**

**_The Principals Office | The Naughty Corner_**

**_The Lesson Plan_**

* * *

**_Stand-alone_**

**_Take Your Pleasure | Take Your Pick_**

**_Take Your Pleasure Take Your Pick Duo_**

**_Anthology: Beauty or the Bitch & Free Fall_**
