Unexpectedly Yours Read online

  Drew nods, and then slides both of his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and rocks back on his heels, allowing a small of amount of space between us. A decent, professional distance, but not too much. His head turns and he looks out the glass conference room windows at all of the people pretending not to watch us. In an effort to appear casual, he takes another step back before pulling a hand out of his pocket and gesturing for me to sit.

  “Grace.” He says my name with almost a growl. The same way he said my name over and over last night in my ear. The same way he said my name in between kisses and nips . . . and oh, my god, just the mere presence of this man makes my panties wet. I clench my thighs and he smirks. He knows what he does to me. The simple act of saying my name has me damn near ovulating.

  I finally sit down in the chair next to him and cross my legs. Tightly. I do my best to think about anything except the throbbing between my legs. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and rakes a hand over his face. Before he gets a chance to speak, I jump in.

  “Last night,” I start, before looking out the glass-lined conference room wall to check again who’s watching us. Jamie looks up briefly from her desk, but when my eyes meet hers, she drops her head and goes back to work. “You said your name was Drew.”

  He smacks his lips and tilts his head. “It is. Andrew. I go by Drew.”

  I do my best to keep my voice steady and swallow down my anxiety. “You said you were in town for one night to buy a company.”

  “And I bought Williams Global.” He says it so matter-of-factly. A confident air to his statement. His crystal blue eyes hold mine, unwavering. He doesn’t look around. He looks only at me, not caring who’s watching us now or what they’re thinking. He’s confident and direct and he owns it. Just like he did in bed last night. Leaning back in the conference room chair, he props a foot on the knee of his opposite leg.

  With one hand resting on the large wood table and the other on the arm of the leather chair he’s in, he is a dead ringer for Matt Bomer. Perfectly combed dark hair with just a hint of a wave in it, a chiseled jawline with a sprinkling of rough, dark hair, and those eyes…as blue as the Caribbean ocean. And the package he is carrying between his legs still has me wonderfully sore from our marathon last night.

  “I don’t understand what the problem is, Gracie. I’ve told you the truth about who I am and why I was in town.” He smirks, knowing I don’t want him to call me that. He’s taunting me, trying to get a rise out of me, and I do my best to seem unaffected.

  I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to calm myself, but he’s right. It’s not him I’m mad at, it’s me. I’m mad at myself for jumping into bed with the sexiest man I’ve ever met after knowing him for only a couple of hours. I’m mad at how he affects me—still.

  I clear my throat and sit up straighter. “We weren’t supposed to see each other again.”

  “Who said?” he challenges me. “I don’t remember any agreement, just that there were no strings attached—”

  “There was no actual agreement,” I snap at him, hating that he can fluster me so easily. “But last night was just what it was…one night—”

  “You liked last night.” He grins at me, clearly amused. “You liked what we did together…when I ran my hand—”

  “Stop,” I mutter and shake my head, cutting him off, but he can see right through me. I loved last night. I loved letting go of my inhibitions and the crap that weighs me down for a couple of hours. I loved sharing my body with a man I didn’t expect to see again, yet here we are, seeing each other, again, and I’m turned on all over again.

  He exhales before speaking. “Listen, I was just as surprised to see you as you were to see me. But the way your nipples tightened underneath my shirt when you turned around and saw me. . .” I gasp at his brazen observation and he smirks before he leans in and looks me dead in the eyes. “I want them in my mouth again.” I don’t know if I’m more appalled at how direct he is or completely turned on. I cross my legs tighter, hoping to drown out the growing ache. Rolling his fingers on the wood conference room table, he clears his throat. “We had a good time, Grace…and I’d like to do it again. More than just again.” His eyes burn holes right through me.

  My face flushes at his words, and I don’t know what the sound that comes out of me is, but I liken it to a cough-snort. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” There’s that damn smirk again. He rubs his chin and I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Because. One. Night. Stand. Means just that. One night.” I enunciate each word, quietly, discreetly. Hoping that anyone watching us through the glass isn’t good at reading lips. “That’s all last night was. Plus, you’re my boss. Please don’t make this weird—”

  “You’re the one who said just one night and I’m not your boss,” he points out, all too pleased with his response. “You report to that senior account manager…what’s his name?”

  “Eddie.”

  “Ah yes, Eddie.” He pauses for a moment. “Grace…you know I’m a man who gets what I want, don’t you?” His eyes hold mine, no sense of humor in them. He’s serious. He means business.

  I actually roll my eyes at him, not even trying to hide my disgust at that statement. It’s so barbaric. “I’m not available.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Not available? So you have a boyfriend and you’re a cheater? That’s not what this says.” He grabs a manila folder that’s on the table and opens it. He pulls two pieces of paper out and looks back and forth between both of them. “Grace Morgan,” he reads off the sheet. “Twenty-five years old from Antelope Hills, Montana. Single,” he emphasizes that word, “graduate of the University of Montana with a degree in Marketing, emphasis in Advertising. Moved to New York City in twenty-eighteen. Only known relative is Jennifer Morgan, mother. Lives in Red Hook, Brooklyn.” He pauses, his eyes looking at me for confirmation of what he’s just read, only I’m too shocked to respond. “Red Hook isn’t safe,” he says disapprovingly, shoving the papers back in the folder.

  I blink at him several times, shocked at his boldness. Who does he think he is, just reading my file like that? “Where did you get that information, and what are you trying to prove?” I ask, my voice laced with annoyance. How does someone get that kind of information?

  One side of his mouth tips up. “I’m showing you I can find out anything about you. I know you’re available, Gracie. And I’d like to see you again.” His voice softens and he sits back in his chair, his shoulders falling comfortably as he laces his hands together.

  I do my best to temper my voice, but my anxiety has changed to anger. “Why? So we can fuck like rabbits, and risk the chance I might get attached to you just in time for you to turn around and move back to San Francisco? No, thank you. That’s why last night will only be a one-night stand.”

  His eyes seem to widen at my sharp tone and foul language, or perhaps it’s because I told him I might get attached. I blink hard to keep from squeezing my eyes shut. God, I’m such an idiot. I’m not good at casual sex and how it’s supposed to work. Sex has always been about love and caring and, yes, attachment for me…until last night.

  Drew clears his throat and leans forward. “If I recall last night correctly, we had a great time…fucking, if that’s what you’d like to call it. And I’d like to do it again. We’re grown-ups here, Grace. We’ll set boundaries, and we won’t cross them. We both mutually benefit from our time together—”

  “Not going to happen,” I cut him off and push myself up from the chair. Who the hell does this guy think he is? “As I said before, it was one night. Please don’t make this awkward for us, and please don’t ever bring it up again.” My voice shakes and I hate that he knows he can get to me.

  He throws himself back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head with that damn smirk still plastered across his face. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

  “And I like it when you don’t talk to me. So please leave me alone.” I grab my notebook
off the table and march toward the door, my stomach twisting and turning the entire way.

  “Never going to happen, Gracie,” I hear him say with a chuckle as the door shuts behind me.

  * * *

  When I finally hang up my phone from fielding client inquiries regarding today’s acquisition developments, I realize I’m the last one left in the office—except for Drew.

  The automatic office lights have begun to dim or turn off completely and the sparkling Manhattan skyline is on full display outside my office window. This is why I’m here. The dazzling lights of New York City. Those lights represent opportunity. Opportunity for me to grow in the greatest city in the world. Opportunity to change my circumstances…change my mom’s circumstances. Through hard work and perseverance, I hope to change both of our lives. Growing up in abject poverty has shaped me. I’ve seen the worst of the worst and survived on literally nothing. I’m living the American dream and trying to do better for myself—for my mom. This is why I’m here. This is why I won’t ruin this opportunity by bedding Drew again.

  Shoving those thoughts away, I decide to call it a night. I’m thankful that it’s Friday and I can spend the weekend forgetting about Drew and last night. Only, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to forget about Drew and the night we shared.

  The clock on the office wall tells me it’s after eight in the evening and my stomach growls in hunger. I pull a long sweater out of my cabinet and change out of my heels into a pair of ballet flats—much more comfortable for commuting in.

  After powering down my computer, I shove my phone in my handbag and head toward the elevator. Sliding through the open double doors, I step to the back corner of the elevator car and let out a long sigh. I’m ready for this whole weird, stressful day to be over. As the two metal doors are just about to meet, a hand reaches in and stops them. Two bright blue eyes peer at me as the doors part. Drew. My stomach sinks at the same time my heart flutters. Why do I have such a traitorous heart?

  Wearing dark grey suit pants and a black dress shirt, he carries the matching grey suit jacket over his shoulder. In his left hand is a black, sleek leather briefcase and he looks every bit the GQ model I thought he was when I met him at the bar last night.

  “Late night, Miss Morgan?” he questions, sliding right next to me. His shoulder brushes mine and I step as far as I can to get away from him, but this puts me up against the wall. When he takes two steps sideways, I’m pinned between Drew and the cold elevator wall. My nipples harden, and I cross my arms over my chest to cover the firm peaks his white shirt that I stole does little to hide.

  I hear a snicker from Drew, but I ignore him and close my eyes as I feel the elevator descend. I don’t like elevators and I don’t like that my body betrays me every time Drew is within eleven feet of me.

  I hear a click and the elevator stops abruptly. My eyes snap open as a loud gasp escapes me. Drew stands with his finger on the emergency stop button, that damn smirk he’s had all day still plastered across his face.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss and swat at his hand, trying to get to the button and reengage the elevator.

  “This.” He drops his briefcase to the floor and quickly backs me into the corner, pushing his entire body into mine. Every hard inch of him is pressed against me, allowing me to feel every ripple of muscle from his arms, chest, stomach, and thighs. But it’s the long, firm erection nudging at me that makes me weak. The same one that made me come three times last night.

  “You can deny this all you want,” he says, pressing his lips to the edge of my jaw and placing a gentle kiss against it. “But you feel it…” His lips move slowly to the soft spot on my neck just behind my ear where he kisses me again, this time sucking the flesh into his mouth ever so lightly. “And I feel it.” He thrusts his hips gently against me, every pronounced inch of his dick rubbing against me.

  My hands grip his muscular arms and my head falls backwards as my body reacts to his. I hiss out a “Jesus,” when his fingers find one of my nipples through my shirt and he pinches it—hard. A jolt of electricity trails right from my nipple down to my very wet core, and now it’s my hips that buck against his.

  “Don’t deny us, Grace.”

  I whimper as his hand falls from my breast, down my stomach to the hem of my skirt, his fingers brushing quickly past the edge of my skirt before trailing up my thigh. My traitorous body leans back into the wall, allowing him greater access. I bite my lip…feeling the sting as I fight off the growing pleasure seeping through me with every kiss, every touch.

  “Let me touch you, Gracie.”

  It’s a simple request, but I don’t need to give him permission because my body does it for me. My legs shift slightly, and his fingers move hungrily, finding the edge of my panties before pushing them aside. A single finger nudges at my opening just as his lips suck on that sensitive skin behind my ear where he nips at it gently. He circles my opening, spreading my arousal around and teasing me, all while nipping at my neck.

  A single finger slides into me, and a groan escapes my lips. His thumb finds my clit and works small circles over it as his finger keeps pace inside me.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Gracie,” he hisses against my neck when he suddenly stops, pulling his finger out of me. He grabs both sides of my face and slams his lips to mine. This kiss is needy and aggressive, and his tongue swirls passionately against mine. Pulling away from me, he groans, readjusts his erection in his pants, and smacks the red emergency button causing the elevator to suddenly fall.

  My chest heaves as I pull long, harsh breaths into my lungs, my body aching from his touch and the sudden absence of it.

  “What the hell just happened?” I look at Drew for answers. Except he doesn’t answer; he simply straightens my skirt and runs his fingers through my mussed-up hair. His face is twisted in confusion, or maybe guilt. I reach a shaky hand up, pressing my fingers against my lips, still feeling the sting from his kisses.

  “I’m not doing this here,” he says as the elevator chimes, alerting us that we’ve reached the main level. He reaches down and picks up his briefcase with one hand and grabs my wrist with the other.

  “Oh, no!” I tell him as he all but drags me out of the elevator. It’s not aggressive enough to look like he’s kidnapping me, but more of a he’s walking fast and I can’t quite keep up kind of dragging. “Let me go!” I whisper-yell to him, trying not to cause a scene.

  Cloyd, the doorman of our building, smiles at us and opens the large glass door just as we pass through. “Good night, Mr. McPherson,” he says with a nod. Cloyd gives me a strange look, and I just smile at him, hoping this doesn’t look as weird as I think it does—except I know it does.

  “Night, Cloyd,” I wave with my free hand, and he just shakes his head at me.

  The humid evening air slaps our faces when we hit the bustling Manhattan sidewalk. Drew guides us down the sidewalk and around the corner. His grip on my wrist tightens when he feels me trying to free myself. When he stops suddenly, I slam into the back of him and I yelp in surprise.

  “Drew!”

  He stops, his eyes rabid and hungry. Releasing my wrist, he instead laces his fingers through mine, his grip still firm. With his other hand, he pulls his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen.

  “My train station is that way.” I point to the right, where the green stair rail encases the steps that lead down to the subway station I use to get back to Brooklyn. Instead, he pulls me to the left and toward a waiting black Town Car, where a driver stands at the rear passenger door.

  “Mr. McPherson,” the driver greets us and opens the back door.

  “Tony.” Drew nods and pulls me in front of him, guiding me into the car. Drew slides in next to me and the door closes.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Drew doesn’t answer, but the driver gets into the car and starts the ignition, lunging the car into the still crazy Manhattan traffic. I should be afraid, but I’m not. It’s
Drew.

  “Four Seasons, sir?” the driver asks and Drew grunts out a yes.

  As the car weaves in and out of traffic and down Manhattan’s side streets, Drew leans in and presses his lips to my ear. His warm breath causes my entire body to break into goosebumps.

  “We’re going to finish what we started in that elevator, Gracie. Do you understand?” His voice is quiet but commanding.

  I should fight him. I should instruct the driver to drop me at the subway station right this second, but this time, it isn’t my body that defies me; it’s my brain. I close my eyes and rest my head back against the seat. I don’t even fight Drew on this, because right now, I want this, my body wants this as much as he does…and once again, I hate myself for it.

  Five

  I’m a fucking asshole. Who finger fucks someone as amazing as Gracie in an elevator? She’s not some whore I picked up. She deserves better than an elevator romp and a pat on the head before I send her home.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  I ignore her. What I want to say is I’m taking her back to my hotel to fuck her living brains out, in a bed instead of a trashy elevator. That I want to feel every inch of her perfect, soft body underneath me all night long. That I want to wake up next to her in the morning instead of having her disappear like she did this morning. Instead, I keep quiet, hoping my silence is less intimidating.

  Her head rests against the headrest in the back seat of the car as our driver zigzags across Midtown to get us to my hotel. I can see her pulse throbbing in her neck as she takes deep, slow breaths, I assume to calm herself. I want to press my lips to her neck, but I notice her black skirt is tugged up to about mid-thigh and her long, toned legs are on full display, distracting me.

  My dick hardens to the point of being painful as I take in those long legs. I can’t wait to have them wrapped around me again while I fuck her, and then have them draped over my shoulders while I taste her. As Tony gets us closer to the Four Seasons, I lean over and whisper in her ear, “We’re going to finish what we started in the elevator, Gracie. Do you understand?” Now it’s her who doesn’t acknowledge me. She opens her eyes and now stares straight ahead, giving me a dose of my own medicine.