“Convenient timing, don’t you think?”
“You’re not still harping on that paranoid talk about Lydia meeting Nathaniel.” Samara hesitated and then moved to stand in front of him. She pressed her lips together and then very gently said, “Do you think maybe it’s a good idea for you to talk to someone?”
Beckett jerked back. “What?”
There was nothing but sympathy in her dark eyes. “I’m serious, Beckett. I’ve known you a long time, at least by reputation, and this delusion you have going isn’t like you. Is it possible that Nathaniel’s death is hitting you harder than you realize? That you’re fixating on Lydia instead of your own grief because it’s easier to deal with an enemy than face the fact you can never make things right with your father?”
Every word flayed him, cutting to the quick. Beckett gritted his teeth against the need to tell Samara that she was the one who wasn’t thinking clearly. To yell. To expel some of the ugliness that had been brewing in him for a very, very long time. “I didn’t call you here to offer you a job, and I sure as fuck don’t need a shrink.”
She stood her ground as he advanced. Her heels put them at the same height and she still managed to look down her nose at him. “Then why did you call me here?”
Because I can’t spend another fucking moment alone without going out of my mind.
He didn’t say it. To admit how long it had been since he’d felt a connection with another person was to hand Samara—Lydia—a loaded gun and invite her to point it directly at his heart. He didn’t answer her verbally at all. Beckett cupped her waist and slowly pulled her against him, giving her plenty of time to register his intentions.
“Beckett.” Despair colored her tone and she gave a desperate laugh. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” Using a hand on the small of her back, he pressed her firmly against him. “I don’t want to stop.”
Samara hesitated, but finally placed her hands gingerly against his chest. He waited, letting her decide. Yes or no. Push or pull. Stay or go. She hitched a breath. “I don’t want to stop, either.”
“Thank fuck.” He kissed her and dug his free hand into her hair, tilting her head back and teasing her mouth open with his lips and tongue. I need you. Let me touch you. He nipped her bottom lip and devoured her gasp. Reality narrowed down to the feel of her tongue against his and the way she writhed against him, her hips rolling as if she’d take his cock right there in the middle of the executive offices.
That slowed him. He lifted his head and looked around. There was no one there to witness, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put her at risk. Beckett might have every intention of poaching Samara, but he didn’t want her or her reputation harmed in the process.
He looked down at her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and there was a hazy expression in her eyes. Because of him. He didn’t have a right to the possessive feeling that soared through him in response, but Beckett didn’t give a fuck.
He scooped her into his arms, ignoring her yelp of surprise, and stalked down the hall to his office. It had more privacy just by the nature of its corner position, but he still set her on the desk and moved to close the wood-slat blinds covering the glass wall overlooking the rest of the offices. Beckett shut and locked the door and turned to find her watching him. “We’re doing this.”
“Yes.” A wicked smile lit up her face. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“I want all your secrets.” His gaze fell to the gold ring on her right hand, the one he’d never seen her without. A secret.
Samara laughed. “I might be a little punch-drunk off lust, but not that much.” She smoothed her hands over his stainless-steel desk and leaned back. The move pressed her breasts dangerously against the bodice of her dress, as if they might spill free at any moment. Her gaze dropped the front of his jeans and she licked her lips. “I’ve thought about fucking you on this desk.”
He pulled his shirt over his head and advanced on her. “Tell me.”
“We’d fight—we always fight—and you’d kiss me.” Her lips quirked. “Kind of like you just did.”
“Mmm.” He stepped between her knees, and slid his hands up her legs. Beckett coaxed the dress up under her hips and then all the way off. It left Samara completely naked and he froze. “In this fantasy, did you show up to my office without a damn thing on under your dress?”
“I may have.” She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and towed him closer even as she undid the button and dragged down the zipper. “Though I will admit—in my fantasy, it was in the middle of the day and there were a dozen people around who could hear if we weren’t quiet enough.” She glanced at the closed door and windows. “This is better.”
“Samara.” He framed her face with his hands. “If nothing else, I’ll never do something to intentionally harm you.”
She shivered. “The proposal—”
“Is business.” He let his thumb drop to press lightly against her throat and dragged his other hand down the center of her body to cup her pussy. “This? This isn’t business. This is pure fucking pleasure.” He pushed two fingers into her, watching her eyes slide half shut and her lips part.
“Mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea.”
“We left business behind out there.” He jerked his chin to the rest of the world outside his office. “In here, it’s just me and you.”
“And pleasure.”
“And pleasure,” he agreed. Beckett spread her wetness up and over her clit and then resumed fucking her with his fingers. “Look
