He shouldn’t have said it. The image of Samara on her knees in front of him was enough to make a man forget himself. Beckett had spent more time than he should have imagining the smirk she’d wear when she took his cock into her mouth…
Fuck.
“Why wouldn’t I? She’s superior to you in every way.”
He smiled in thanks to the bartender as the woman slid a tumbler across to him. “We just spent four days fighting for this account. Let’s not talk business.”
“Business is the only thing we have to talk about.” Three empty shot glasses sat in front of her, lined in a neat little row. As he watched, Samara took a fourth and turned the empty glass over.
“Bitter isn’t a good look for you.”
As he anticipated, she turned on him, dark eyes flaring in challenge. “You won this round. That doesn’t mean a damn thing about the next one.” She leaned forward, getting into his space, and lowered her voice. “Besides, we both know Norway’s contract is small potatoes. If you need to pat yourself on the back for winning at softball, then go right on ahead.”
“Samara, you don’t have to pretend that every time I win doesn’t needle the hell out of you.” He closed what little remained of the space between them. They were alone in the bar, and the music floating from the speakers overhead was so low there was no need to whisper. But he found himself doing it all the same. “I like your hair down. You should wear it like that more often.”
Her mouth dropped open for half a second before she recovered. “I don’t know what gave you the impression I care what you like.” She pressed her full lips together and tilted her head to the side, considering. “Though if we’re playing that game, you need a shave, Beckett. You look like you just rolled out of bed. It’s embarrassing and sloppy.”
He grinned because her body language told a different story. She leaned into him like a flower seeking the sun. They didn’t quite touch, but he could feel the heat of her body and it would take nothing more than a single deep breath to press his chest against hers. He had to fight not to take that breath, not to relish the slow drag of her breasts against him. This was why he’d taken great pains to ensure they were never alone.
They weren’t alone now, but they might as well have been.
She was off-limits.
He didn’t give a fuck.
They were in Norway, not Houston. No one here knew them or the roles they played in warring companies. His father didn’t have to know. Neither did his aunt.
What’s one night?
“You know, there’s one way to test that theory out.” Let me take you to bed.
Her brows shot up and she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable. I know you’re a King and all, but your arrogance is out of control.”
It wasn’t arrogance. If there was a sure thing, it wasn’t Samara Mallick. She was too prickly, too ambitious, too loyal to someone who hated both Beckett’s father and his company.
That didn’t stop him from wanting her.
It sure as hell didn’t stop him from leaning down and brushing his lips against her ear. “Why don’t you put me in my place?” He took her hand and slipped his hotel-room key into it. “Room 311.”
Beckett should have turned and walked out right then. It was the smart thing to do. But Samara pressed her hands against his chest, her fingers gripping his shirt in a kneading motion that rooted his feet to the spot. He felt a shudder work its way through her body as if she fought for the same control that flitted through his grip. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“All the best nights start with terrible ideas.”
Samara had all the right words ready. No. Fuck off, Beckett. Stop trying to add insult to injury. You got the contract—you don’t get this, too.
The right words weren’t what came out of her mouth when she finally managed to speak. “Yes.”
It wasn’t her fault.
Beckett King was a force of nature both in and out of the conference room. The charisma she worked so hard to exhibit seemed to come as naturally as breathing to him. Men wanted to be him—or be his best friend—and women just plain wanted him. Samara managed to keep her distance out of sheer spite, but she didn’t stand a chance with him leaning so close, his expensive cologne teasing her senses the same way his presence seemed to wrap around her even though she was the one touching him.
Just blame it on the tequila.
She tightened her grip on his shirt when he started to move back. “Two conditions.”
“I’m listening.” Damn him to hell for sounding amused.
“No one can know.” She had a reputation to protect—they both did.
He splayed his hand across her lower back, guiding her to close the last little bit of distance between them. She sucked in a breath. It was so easy to forget how big Beckett was when they stood a respectable distance apart. His expensive suits toned down his broad shoulders, gave him a more civilized air.
There was nothing civilized in the possessive way the heat of his hand seared through her thin dress and his hard cock nudged her stomach. Oh God.
“No one will know,” Beckett growled in her ear. “It’ll be our secret.”
She had no reason to trust him, but…Neither his father nor her boss would be thrilled if they found out. He might be better positioned to weather the storm of disapproval, but that didn’t mean he wanted to borrow trouble.
He exerted the slightest bit of pressure on her back, urging her to arch against him. Her body throbbed everywhere she touched him, but there were too many barriers in place. Samara tilted her
