Shattered by the CEO / The Boss's Demand

She was good, very good, at luring a man into her trap.

It was time to regain control of the situation. He relaxed his clenched jaw and slowly reeled her in. His heart pounded out a hard-driving rock tempo beneath her palm. Snaking an arm around her waist, he brought her body flush against his. Hot, urgent desire pulsed through him.

Sex. Physical hunger. That’s all this is.

And he could control that.

“Ran—”

He smothered her words with his mouth, stole them from her tongue with his. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be distracted from the job ahead.

She tasted of the tiramisu she’d had for dessert mixed with a hint of the sweet wine she’d sipped throughout dinner.

And Tara. She tasted like Tara.

Damn the memories he couldn’t erase.

Her fingers fisted on his chest, but her resistance lasted only seconds before her body relaxed and curved into his, molding her soft breasts against a rib cage that felt so tight he could barely inhale.

He still wanted her even after she’d betrayed him, and the knowledge burned like sea water in a fresh gash.

Rand shut down his emotions and focused on his actions—actions guaranteed to seduce the woman in his arms. He swept a hand down her back, splayed his fingers over her butt and pressed her against his raging hard-on. Her quickly snatched breath dragged the air from his lungs.

Skimming his hands from Tara’s hips to her waist to her shoulders and then finally her breasts, he mapped her new shape while he devoured her mouth. Hardened nipples teased his palms as he cupped and caressed her.

She broke the kiss to gasp for breath, and he dipped to sample the warm spot beneath her ear. Her skin was fragrant and satiny beneath his lips, tender and tempting against his tongue. Memories battered him. He bulldozed them back.

She shivered and drove her hands beneath his suit coat. Short nails raked parallel to his spine, inciting his own involuntary shudder.

Tara leaned away and stared up at him with her lips damp and swollen, and her breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her low, rounded neckline. She pushed off his jacket.

He searched her face looking for signs of the conniving woman he knew her to be, but the shadows obscured his view. He grasped her waist and swung her into the moonlight. Dense lashes curtained her eyes.

She reached for the side zip of her dress, the one he hadn’t been able to find five years ago. The sound ripped the silence, then she dipped her shoulders, first one and then the other. The black fabric floated to the floor with a swish, leaving her bare except for a tiny pair of black panties and her stiletto heels.

He gritted his teeth to hold back a groan. He even remembered her shoes. Or more accurately, he remembered doing her in those shoes. And nothing else. More than once.

Damn.

Heat and pressure built inside him until he felt like a Molotov cocktail—ready to blow with the slightest spark. He inhaled so deeply, so quickly, his lungs nearly exploded. Releasing the air in a slow, controlled hiss, he fisted his hands and fought the need to take her hard and fast where they stood.

Tara had been curvy and beautiful before, but now… Now she looked incredible. The curves were still there, only tighter, sexier. The moonlight caressed her breasts, the indentation of her waist, her hips, her legs. Oh, yeah, she’d definitely come well-armed for this mission.

He reached for his tie.

“Let me.” She nudged his hands aside. Her fingers teased his neck with butterfly-light brushes as she loosened the knot, then she pulled the tie free like a slithering silk snake. She dropped it and started on his buttons. The roar of his pulse nearly deafened him.

Once she had his shirt opened, she closed the gap between them and strung a line of feather-light kisses along his collarbone. Rockets of fire shot to his groin. He ground his teeth together. She eased the cloth from his shoulders and licked the skin covering the pulse jackhammering in his neck. And then she nipped him and he nearly lost it. His fingers convulsed at her waist.

For godsakes, pull it together. It hasn’t been that long since you’ve gotten laid.

Sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. He was hanging onto his control by his fingertips, and if he didn’t take this upstairs, he was going to make an unforgivable mistake. Sex without protection.

He would never tie himself permanently to a woman. Or a child. He couldn’t risk failing, either.

He tossed his shirt aside, swept her into his arms and headed for the stairs. But even within his grasp she didn’t abandon her assault on his senses. She smelled good. Spicy. Sultry. Like sex.

Her arms looped around his neck, crushing her bare breasts to his chest, and the tip of her tongue traced his ear. Hot. Wet. She blew on the damp flesh. The effect was anything but cooling. A groan he couldn’t contain barreled up from his lungs.

Tara had learned some new tricks since their breakup. Wondering who’d taught her made Rand’s stomach churn like a concrete mixer.

In her room he stood her beside the bed. A small table lamp with a Tiffany shade cast a dappled puddle of Technicolor lights on the spread. One yank sent the covers flying to the foot of the mattress.

“Condoms.” His voice sounded strangled.

She folded her hands demurely in front of her waist as if she were self-conscious. But he knew better. She’d demanded this charade. And that took balls. “In the drawer.”

He pulled the knob she indicated with a glance, located the box and ripped it open. Extracting a ribbon of protection, he tore one packet free and tossed it onto the bed.

“Lose the panties. Keep the shoes.”

A quiet laugh bubbled from her and a sexy smile tilted her lips. She looked up at him through her thick lashes and desire bolted through him, as jagged and searing as lightning.

He cursed silently. He’d said the same words to her in the past. Back when he was foolish enough to believe she was his every fantasy come to life. Back when he’d believed he could play with fire and not get burned.

Before she’d screwed—

Don’t go there.

But the chilling thought brought him a measure of restraint. He wasn’t going to think about…her other partners. Not here. Not now. It didn’t matter whether she’d had one other lover or a dozen. He’d dumped her. Not his concern.

So why did the idea ride his back like a cheap wool shirt?

Get on with it. Give her what she wants until she begs for mercy.

She wiggled the lacy triangle over her hips and ankles then reclined on the bed with one knee bent. His gaze raked over her. Damp red lips, slightly parted. Taupe nipples tightly puckered on full, round breasts. The slight curve of her belly. An untamed tangle of golden curls. And legs…Tara had always had the most amazing legs. Long. Sleek. Toned. Her best weapon.

Her shoes—definitely do me shoes—were a reminder why he was here and what she’d demanded of him.

He reached for his belt with surprisingly unsteady hands. What was his problem? This wasn’t his first trip to the sheets.

She watched his every move through slumberous eyes. His zipper rasped. He shoved his pants and boxers to the floor then had to sit down to remove the shoes and socks he’d forgotten.

She rattled him. He took a sobering gulp of air.

The mattress shifted beneath him. A whisper of warm, moist breath was his only warning before her lips brushed his nape. He snapped to rigid attention. Above and below the waist.

She cupped his shoulders then stroked downward as if she were reacquainting herself with the feel of his back, hips and buttocks. She hugged him from behind, aligning her hot naked curves against him. Her breasts burned his skin and her hands splayed over his lower abdomen. His muscles contracted, bunching with need beneath the soft scrape of her nails. Her thumb swept across his engorged tip, catching a slick droplet and rubbing it in.

A sharp stab of hunger had him sucking a swift breath. He bent to tackle his socks and shoes. Finally, he kicked both aside, then he turned and tumbled Tara back onto the pillows. He couldn’t let her set the pace. Couldn’t let her push his buttons. Couldn’t let her make him lose control. Couldn’t let her make him forget why he was here.

Do the job.

He kissed her on the lips. Hard. Fast. And then he worked his way lower. His tongue found and circled one nipple while his hand found the other. He plucked, sucked, rolled and licked until she squirmed beneath him and panted his name. Navigating south, he drew a damp line to her navel and then lower. Her fragrance went straight to his head. Both of them.

Every muscle in his body tensed. It took him a full ten seconds before he could think again. He found her swollen flesh. Smelled her. Tasted her. Laved her. Sucked her.

Too good. Too familiar. Too much.

He traced her slick entrance with his fingers and then plunged deep. Her hips arched. She dug her fingers into his hair and whispered his name. Using knowledge he thought he’d lost, knowledge he should have lost, dammit, he drove her relentlessly toward a climax with his mouth and hands.

Moments later orgasm broke over her, convulsing her body, contracting her internal muscles around his fingers. Her low, shuddery moan had him grasping himself with his free hand and damming the eruption about to happen.

He clenched his teeth until the white-hot haze ebbed.

What in the hell? He’d almost lost it. And he wasn’t even inside her. He hadn’t come prematurely since his teens. His early teens. And he’d almost—

He shook off the unsettling thought. Tara had always had that effect on him. She’d always made him want to rush. Going slow with her had been a challenge every time.

He grabbed the condom and shoved it on. And then he grasped Tara’s buttocks, lifted her hips and drove deep into the wet, tight glove of her body. Buried to the hilt, he froze, locked his muscles and fought for control as sensation scorched a lava trail up his spine.

She’s a job, dammit. Do her. Screw her. Forget her.

But she didn’t feel like a job. She felt hot and slick and soft and so damned good. The fingers she dragged down his back sent sparks skipping down his vertebrae.

“Rand, don’t stop. Please.” She wiggled impatiently and clutched his waist. His brain short-circuited and his nerves crackled like downed power lines. He withdrew and surged in harder, faster.

Do her, screw her, forget her, he silently chanted with each thrust.

He tried to focus on the mechanics. His arms and legs trembled with the effort to hold back. His lungs burned. And then he made a mistake. He looked into her deep blue, passion-darkened eyes, and the hunger on her flushed face sucked him into a black hole of need. She cried out and her body quaked as another climax rippled through her.

Did she come like that with him?

The rogue thought slammed his libido like a submerged iceberg, stilling his movements, sinking his desire. Struggling to fill his deflated lungs and ban the repulsive image from his mind, Rand pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head clasped between his hands.

Damn. Damn. Damn. He couldn’t do this.

When he had a measure of control he turned and looked at Tara, at her flushed face and her heavy-lidded eyes.

“Good for you?” He bit out the words.

“Yes,” she said on an exhalation. Her brow furrowed. She rolled to her side and reached for him. “But—”

He shot to his feet before she could touch him and gathered his discarded clothing. “Then good night.”

“But, Rand, you didn’t—”

He slammed the bedroom door, cutting off her words.

No. He hadn’t. But he’d come close.

Too damned close to forgetting why he was here.

Blackmail. His father’s. Tara’s.

And he’d almost forgotten who he was, what was at stake and that she’d lied to him before.

And that was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make.

Four

Why had Rand left without finishing? Tara wondered as she swiped on her mascara Wednesday morning.

He’d been lost in the passion with her. She was sure of it. She’d felt his heat, his hardness, the rapid slamming of his heart and the trembling as he tried to slow his pace. And then he’d just…stopped.

Had she done something to repulse him?

Her idea of getting closer to Rand by getting closer to Rand had failed. Sex hadn’t brought them together. It had driven them further apart, and now her emotions about last night were a tangled mess. He’d given her exactly what she asked for, but despite the climaxes, she wasn’t satisfied. Physically or emotionally. In fact, she felt a bit…icky.

Not that the sex hadn’t been good up until he’d walked out. But making love was supposed to be about two people. Not one. She needed more than just a superficial encounter.

She needed to know she mattered to someone.

In her experience Rand had never been the cuddle-until-morning type, but in the past he’d held her afterward at least until their pulses slowed and sometimes until she’d fallen asleep. But this time he’d—

She stopped midthought and stared at her reflection as realization dawned. She’d done it again. She’d let him walk away without demanding an explanation. Why?

Because she was afraid of what he might say.

The sobering reminder that she lacked courage when it counted chilled her. She’d learned the hard way that being a coward and taking the easy way out left too much room for regret. And hadn’t she vowed not to do that again? If she wanted to make this relationship work, then she’d have to find the courage to ask what went wrong.

No more avoiding conflict. No matter how much she preferred not to make waves.

She put away her makeup and left her bedroom determined to ask difficult questions and possibly receive hard-to-hear criticisms. She paused in the hallway to gather her nerve and silence settled over her like a heavy, smothering quilt. An old, familiar emptiness filled the house. Rand wasn’t here. She knew it even before she tapped on his door and didn’t get a response.

Nonetheless she turned the knob and pushed open the panel. He’d made his bed. No discarded clothing littered the floor and no personal belongings cluttered the furniture surfaces. Only a lingering trace of his cologne hinted at his occupancy.

Desire and disappointment, relief and regret mingled in her belly. Since Rand had apparently left the house before she’d awoken for the second morning in a row, she’d have to ask her questions at the office. Not the ideal place for awkward morning-after encounters or private conversations.

Had he planned it that way? Was leaving before sunrise his way of keeping the walls between them intact?

She left his room and went downstairs. Last night’s black silk dress draped the back of the rocking chair instead of lying puddled on the floor where she’d dropped it. Only Rand could have put it there.

She entered the kitchen. Like yesterday, Rand hadn’t left any signs of his passing through. There weren’t any breakfast dishes cluttering the sink or drain board, and the coffeepot stood cool and empty. If not for the slight tenderness between her legs, she’d believe she’d dreamed up his reappearance in her life.

She forced herself to eat a yogurt and drink a glass of juice even though hunger was the last thing on her mind. Her stomach churned over the encounter to come. She had to confront Rand and find out why he’d held back and why he’d left her. And then she’d find a way to make the next time better. For both of them.

Unfortunately, the pre-rush-hour drive to Kincaid Cruise Lines’ towering waterfront building overlooking Biscayne Bay and the Port of Miami remained uneventful, giving Tara plenty of time to think about all the ways this affair could go wrong. By the time she pulled in to her assigned parking space her nerves had tied themselves into knots a Boy Scout would envy.

The security guard waved her through and then the glass elevator whisked her all too swiftly up the outside of the building to the top floor. Even the amazing view of the bay and the boats couldn’t distract her from the encounter ahead.

She entered her office—the same one she’d used when she’d been Everett’s PA. She was going backward, in many respects, to move forward. And yet nothing was the same. Especially not her.

The click of computer keys and rustle of paper carried through Rand’s open office door, affecting her pulse like a starting gun and sending it racing. She stashed her purse in a drawer, took a bracing breath and gathered her courage before crossing to the doorway.

“There are eight brands under the KCL umbrella,” Rand said without looking up from his laptop. “All are profitable except the Rendezvous Line. Reserve the first available balcony cabin for us on a three- or four-day cruise. I want to see for myself why those bookings are down when that price point is the fastest growing market for our competitors.”

From the look of his rolled-back shirt cuffs and the two to-go cups from a nearby coffee shop chain shoved toward the corner of his desk, he’d been here a while. “Us?”

His hazel eyes lifted and met hers coolly as if he hadn’t been in her bed and inside her body last night. Unease prickled her scalp. Had sleeping with her meant nothing to him?

“It’s primarily a couple’s cruise. I don’t want any fanfare or special treatment. I want to travel as an average Joe, not the company CEO.”

The idea of taking a romantic cruise with Rand made her pulse flutter and warmth pool beneath her skin, but his all-business face erected barriers larger than the Rocky Mountains between them. She had to get past those barriers. If sex wouldn’t do it, what would?

“I’ll make the reservations in my name and through a travel agency if that will help with anonymity,” she offered and he nodded.

“Give me the dates when you have them.” His gaze returned to the computer screen, dismissing her.

Determined to get the awkward conversation over with before the rest of KCL’s employees arrived or she chickened out, she tangled her fingers and approached his desk. “Rand, about last night—”

His jaw turned rigid and his head snapped up, corking her questions. His eyes met hers before slowly raking over her as if he were visually stripping away the red sleeveless dress and matching bolero jacket she’d worn to boost her confidence. His pupils expanded and her heart shuddered.

“What do you want, Tara? A roll on the company couch?”

Her breath caught and heat arrowed through her belly. A tumble of confusing emotions rumbled through her. She glanced at the leather sofa that had been delivered Monday along with the rest of the office furniture then back at Rand. Was he serious about sex in the office? Did she want him to be?

And how could she possibly desire him when he was being this cold and distant? Was she that needy?

He calmly checked his watch. “Mitch will be here in five minutes. You’ll have to wait until tonight. Unless you want him to join us. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on one of the Kincaid men.”

His insolence left her speechless. Fury flooded her until she thought the dam on her temper would burst.

The slam of his office door made Rand wince.

He’d never deliberately humiliated an employee—or anyone for that matter. Humiliation had been his father’s specialty. Rand knew firsthand. And he didn’t like it.

But for a moment he’d seen an earnest and tender look in Tara’s eyes that convinced him she wanted to make more out of last night than there was. He’d had to snuff that notion fast.

Last night… He shook his head. Last night he’d come too close for comfort to losing his head and forgetting what was at stake. Too close to forgetting she’d taken him in once before with her passion-glazed eyes and words of love.

Still, he’d been a bastard. Just like his old man.

Before he could rise to find her and apologize the door flew open and Tara stormed back through. She marched toward him with her fists clenched by her sides and angry red streaks marking her cheekbones.

Would she punch him? He deserved it.

She stopped in front of his desk, her body trembling. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get out of your part of our deal with your rude, crass comment. But don’t forget for one moment who loses if I quit. I just left one obnoxious boss. I will not tolerate another one. The only reason I’m not already cleaning out my desk is because I gave you my word and because Nadia and Mitch can’t help it if their brother is sometimes a jerk. But if you make one more nasty remark like that, Rand Kincaid, I’ll revoke my promise and I’ll walk. And you will fail your brother and sister. Do you understand?”

Taken aback, he stared at the woman in front of him. The Tara he remembered had been soothing, soft-spoken and amenable. He’d never seen this assertive, untamed side of her before. The spark in her eyes and the strength in her spine looked more like the woman he knew her to be—one who could profess her undying love for one man then sleep with his father as soon as that man was out of town.

“I’m sorry, Tara. I was out of line.”

Some of the starch seeped from her shoulders. She capped off her tirade by ducking her head and looking embarrassed. Her blush was so damned endearing and convincing, he almost wanted to circle the desk and hug her. And that wouldn’t do. He couldn’t fall for her trickery again.

“Completely out of line.” She turned and left, brushing past Mitch on his way in with a brisk, “Good morning, Mitch.”

“Hello, Tara.” His brother stared after her then shut the door. “Lover’s spat?”

“Explain that remark.”

“You’re shacking up with Tara.”

The gossip grapevine thrived at KCL, and this time it had broken speed records. This was only his third day as CEO.

Rand clamped a hand across the sudden snarl of tension at the base of his skull. If he was going to keep KCL employees and the public from losing trust in the company after the change in leadership, he needed credibility. As Tara had already pointed out, a cloud of suspicion hung over their unexplained departures five years ago. Sleeping with his PA wasn’t going to help matters. “Where did you hear it?”

“My PA picked it up in the cafeteria this morning.” Mitch folded his arms. “So you did leave with Tara.”

“No. I moved to California alone. But I am living in her home now.”

“Rekindling the old romance?”

“There is no romance.”

He considered telling Mitch about Tara’s ultimatum, but confessing he’d become a pawn in Tara’s game was as infuriating as it was frustrating. And arousing.

He hated that she’d backed him into a corner and turned him into her personal gigolo. Hated that, despite all he knew about her, she still had the power to make him want her. And he definitely hated the way his pulse had jackhammered and his blood had rushed below his belt the minute he’d heard her in the outer office this morning.

His sleep last night and his concentration this morning had been shot to hell because her breathy cries kept echoing through his head.

“Am I going to have to clean up after you the way I am after Dad?”

Mitch’s reminder of their father’s inability to be faithful to his wife or any other woman was exactly what Rand needed to hear to get his head back in gear. Even if Tara tried to sucker him into a long-term relationship, Rand didn’t have the stay ing power to make it last.

Like father, like son.

“How is it going with Dad’s little brat and his guardian? What was the tenacious aunt’s name again?” Rand asked.

“It’s going fine. Her name is Carly. But we’re talking about you.” Mitch lowered himself into one of the sleek leather visitor chairs stationed in front of Rand’s wide mahogany desk.