Tempted and Taken, page 7
“Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Moretti?” he offered.
She snorted. “Back to that, are we?”
Matt sighed. Sixty seconds in and he was already fucking up. “No, Liza, we’re not.”
“Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Let’s do a full reboot, Mr. Russo.” She drew out the mister in his name. “I prefer it when you call me Ms. Moretti.” The anger in her voice didn’t quite reach her eyes. He wished it did because he hated thinking he’d been the one to put that disappointment there.
She stared him down, one hand on her hip, and damn if his fingers didn’t itch to pull her over his lap to spank the sass and sadness right out of her. Matt hadn’t opened the door on his sexual proclivities in a long, long time. Leaving them behind hadn’t been hard to do because, before Liza, he hadn’t felt the desire to dominate a woman in the bedroom since…
Since his world crashed around his head and all he’d managed to drag from the wreckage was this shell of a man.
“I know you’ve come to discuss the annual report,” he said, resuming his composure. “But perhaps—”
“The budget was an excuse,” Liza interrupted him. “You and I both know it could have been shared in an email. I thought perhaps we should talk, but…” Her gaze drifted back to the closed door, clearly recalling that nasty insult of Patricia’s as well as the kiss she’d blown to him.
She thrust the folder with the annual budget into his hands, gearing up to leave. “But that’s not necessary now. I have all the information I need.” She took a couple of steps toward the door. Patricia’s presence had shaken her up.
He’d always admired Liza’s spunkiness, her fire, so it rubbed against the grain to see her backing down.
“Running away again, Ms. Moretti?” he drawled, giving her exactly what she’d just asked for. Whether she realized it or not, Liza was issuing an unspoken challenge to his dominance, and he found himself replying to it. She wanted him to stop her. He could see it in her eyes.
The second his taunt landed, she paused, spinning to face him.
Liza crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her breasts. He could still recall how they’d filled his palms, how tight and utterly suckable her nipples had been. Her body was a goddamn masterpiece. She should be on display at the Louvre.
“You’re right. Let’s do this. It would be better if we cleared the air. You and I fucked.”
She was purposely using the stronger, cruder description to minimize what they’d shared. In Matt’s mind, what they did was a million miles away from fucking. It had felt too steeped in importance, in meaning…in danger.
But he couldn’t say that to her. “We did.”
“And we agreed it was a mistake.”
That wasn’t entirely true. “You said it was a mistake,” he reminded her, his response taking her by surprise.
She fell silent, and Matt got the sense she was waiting for him to agree with her. Or maybe she was hoping he’d disagree.
Liza was poised, her gaze unwavering, patient. She intended to wait him out.
Matt wasn’t sure why he didn’t just give her the words, didn’t agree that it had been a mistake. Because she was correct. It had been a mistake of epic proportions.
But the words wouldn’t come, so the silence lingered too long.
In the end, she broke first.
“We’re adults and we’ve been playing the game for a long time,” she continued, “so it’s not like we’re new to one-night stands. We’d both had a bad evening, and we reached out to each other. It was just sex, so no harm done.”
“No harm,” he repeated, perfectly aware those words didn’t fit the situation.
“But for the sake of our working relationship,” Liza forged on, her eyes slowly drifting downward until she was staring resolutely at his tie, “it would be best if we put that night behind us. Forget it ever happened. Actually, it looks like you already have.”
She was saying exactly what he’d been practicing, and he should be grateful for that, for her willingness to put that night in the rearview mirror and return to the status quo. He should take her words at face value and move on.
But he couldn’t. Because for the first time since his and Liza’s worlds collided, she wasn’t holding his gaze.
“Can you forget it?” he asked.
She nodded instantly, not bothering to look at him.
Matt stepped closer and pushed her chin up with a knuckle, until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. The position left them standing too close to each other, her upturned face with those full lips right there.
“Don’t lie,” he warned, his voice stern. Fuck him if Liza didn’t respond to it.
Their proximity allowed him to see the way her mouth parted; the rapid blinks meant to shield her aroused reaction until she could school her features again.
She took a deep breath and then—because Liza was fearless—she gave him what he couldn’t give her.
Honesty.
“I don’t regret that night, Matt, and I don’t want to forget it. You opened my eyes to things I’ve never allowed myself to acknowledge, and while it was somewhat terrifying, it was also exciting.”
Matt hadn’t recognized her submissiveness until that night. However, he found himself too hung up on the idea that she found it exciting. Did that mean she intended to expand on it? To seek out lovers who would give her what she wanted sexually?
Matt felt like burning the whole world down as the image of Liza exploring her newfound sexual desires with any man who wasn’t him flashed behind his eyes. The possessiveness that coursed through him was uncomfortable. He’d never felt a drop of jealousy in his life, but he was desperate to close the distance between them, to lay claim to her lips, her body…to her. All of her.
“I don’t regret what we shared either.” She’d opened up to him, given him a glimpse of her feelings, so he owed her that much. “But—”
She laughed, though it wasn’t a joyful sound. “There’s always a but, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid so.” His next words would be some of the hardest he’d ever spoken. “But—”
She cut him off again. “But you’re back with Patricia, so it can’t happen again.” Leave it to Liza to rip off the Band-Aid.
He wasn’t sure he heard or imagined the slight inflection at the end of her sentence that made it sound like she was asking rather than telling him.
“It won’t happen again.” Matt steeled himself to hold steady, refusing to let her see just how much those four words killed him to say. He closed his hands into fists, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms, to kiss her again.
Because damn if he didn’t want those soulful, expressive, beautiful brown eyes in his life…for the rest of his life.
Liza licked her lower lip, but he couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or a show of nerves.
It didn’t matter because now that he was looking at her lips, the devil on his shoulder prodded at him, telling him to claim another kiss.
Just one more.
He’d almost convinced himself he could do it. Could kiss her one last time and then let her go. He unclenched his hands, ready to reach for her, but in the end, Liza proved herself to be the stronger person.
She gave him a sad smile, stepped back, and then walked to the door. Opening it, she glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“Goodbye, Matt.”
The door was closed behind her before he could manage to whisper the words, “Goodbye, Liza.”
Matt wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the closed door, but when his cellphone rang, he jerked, startled by the sudden noise in his too-quiet office.
He walked to his desk, intent on sending the call to voicemail. Then he read the screen and before he could think better of it, he answered.
“Devonte wants to know when you’re coming back.”
“Hello to you too,” Matt joked, chuckling at Arnold’s greeting. He turned to look out the window of his sixteenth-floor office, grateful for this distraction.
Arnold Jackson was a tenacious son of a bitch, something Matt typically found annoying as hell. However, for some unknown reason, Arnold’s phone calls didn’t fall into that category. In fact, Matt enjoyed speaking to the older man.
Matt didn’t have a lot of friends. Unless he counted his brothers. And his old college roommate, John Kelly, who refused to say die on the friendship. Of course, all John managed was to drag Matt out for lunch once every two or three months. None of those relationships were close enough that he felt comfortable sharing confidences.
That was something he hadn’t done in a very long time. One of the first lessons Dad ever taught Matt was to trust no one. “Everyone’s looking for a weakness, Matt. Don’t reveal any and they’ll never be able to hurt you.” Dante Russo had been a regular Dr. Spock.
However, his gut told him that should he ever want to confide in someone, Arnold was the type of friend he could trust, one who might even understand him.
Arnold didn’t back down. “So?”
“Dammit, Arnold. I was just there two days ago. I’m not in any hurry to have those kids wipe the floor with me again.”
Since his initial visit to the Promise House just before the holidays, Matt had returned almost a dozen times more, dropping by two or three days a week. He told himself he was going back because playing basketball with the teens added variety to his fitness routine and was a great cardio workout, but the truth was, he liked going there.
His life for the last fourteen years had consisted of work and home with the occasional social event sprinkled in, and he’d always told himself that was the way he liked things. Uncomplicated. Predictable. Organized.
Lately, it just felt mind-numbingly boring.
The Promise House was anything but dull. The place was raucous noise, nonstop activity, interesting people…things that were missing from his quiet-as-a-tomb penthouse. The Promise House was full of energy and life and laughter, all painfully absent in his day-to-day routine.
And while he couldn’t win a basketball game to save his soul, he gave himself a W in another category because he’d managed to restrict his visits to weekdays when he knew Liza wouldn’t be there.
He hated just how hard that battle had been. Once, he’d gone so far as to get into his car and drive halfway to the Promise House on a Saturday morning before his brain kicked his libido to the curb and he turned around.
The damn woman consumed his thoughts, and the lack of sleep was leaving him distracted and irritable. Something both his brothers had noticed and pointed out. Conor had suggested he see his doctor for sleeping pills; Gage had told him to loosen up and get laid.
“You almost beat Devonte’s team last time,” Arnold said, both of them aware that there was a double-digit difference between the teams’ final scores. It had been an old-fashioned butt-whooping—there was no other way to describe it. “Devonte said he’ll let you have first pick for teams next time.”
Matt chuckled, aware that wouldn’t help. He and Devonte had somehow been granted eternal dibs on the captain roles whenever he was there, each of them handpicking different teams every time they played. Matt always selected those most likely to be picked last early in his lineup so no one’s feelings were hurt. Devonte, competitive from the word go, hadn’t quite managed to let empathy overcome his desire to win.
“That’s very generous of him,” Matt replied sardonically.
Arnold laughed. “Well, if I can’t entice you back for another game, how would you feel about going out Friday after work to grab drinks—maybe dinner—with me and Johnnie?”
This was the fourth time Arnold had extended such an offer. Matt had turned him down the first time because he was rusty as hell when it came to making new friends and that was clearly what Arnold was offering. The last two times, he’d gone and had a great time.
“Let me check my calendar.” Matt returned to his desk, dropping down to glance at his computer monitor. Friday evening was clear. “Sure. That sounds great. Did you have a place in mind?”
“There’s a new little pub that opened just down the street from the Promise House that looks pretty inviting. Feel like checking it out with us?” Arnold asked.
“Absolutely.” Matt was warming up to the idea of kicking back in a bar with a couple of guys and a cold beer, something he’d never really done before.
When he was younger, his idea of a good time was sitting in a leather chair at the club, sipping Scotch with his dad and his cronies, all of them plotting world domination like the arrogant assholes they were.
Since then, he’d eschewed a social life, opting for a more solitary existence, and he’d gotten away with it because—thanks to his less than warm and fuzzy personality—there’d been no one offering true friendship. Arnold refused to give up on him and it felt…nice. On top of that, Johnnie and Arnold were an interesting couple and a lot of fun to hang out with.
“Text me the name of the place and I’ll meet you there. Five thirty work?” Matt asked.
“Perfect. Johnnie will be thrilled you’re joining us. He was quite amused by Devonte’s play-by-play recounts of your last game.”
“Terrific,” Matt grumbled. “So he already knows of my shame.”
“You’re spending your evenings playing basketball with a bunch of homeless teens. Loser or not, Johnnie’s probably your biggest fan these days.”
It was a nice compliment, but the words still hit Matt hard. Because he didn’t have fans…didn’t deserve any.
“We also wanted to talk to you about something,” Arnold continued.
“Oh?”
“As you know, we’re getting married in Hawaii in a few weeks.”
He was aware of the upcoming nuptials. He, Arnold, and Johnnie had chatted at length one night about past trips they’d taken to the islands.
“Johnnie may have talked about nothing else the last time we went out for drinks,” Matt joked.
“He’s obsessed. I honestly don’t know what we’ll talk about once this is all over.”
“I suspect Johnnie will keep the conversation from lagging for too long.”
Arnold chuckled. “You’ve gotten to know him well. Listen, I know it’s late notice, but I’ll plant the seed now and then Friday, I’ll let Johnnie convince you.”
“Convince me of what?”
“We’d like for you to attend our wedding.”
Matt didn’t have a clue how to respond to that. The invitation was coming out of left field. While he’d been introduced to Arnold years ago, the two of them running into each other occasionally at various social functions, they’d only started hanging out regularly about a month ago.
“Arnold—” he began.
“Don’t answer me now. Take some time and think about it. You and I both know you’re a workaholic, so a week away would do you a world of good. We enjoy your company, and we’d love to have you there with us. Besides, Johnnie’s family has reserved a hotel ballroom that is ten times bigger than we need, so you’d be helping us fill the space.”
Matt’s knee-jerk reaction was to refuse because he knew who else was attending. Then he wondered if Liza was the reason he was getting this invite. Had she told Arnold about their night together? He’d gotten the sense the night of the gala that she’d grown quite close to him and his partner…but close enough to share those kinds of confidences?
It didn’t matter either way because he and Liza together in Hawaii would be a huge fucking problem.
Matt had spent weeks trying to figure out how to get his life back on track, his head in the game, and whatever other stupid cliches might work in terms of forgetting about Liza.
But after seeing her just now…he knew that was going to be nearly possible.
And that was when it occurred to him…he’d been approaching the entire situation from the wrong angle.
Ever since the night of the gala, he’d been reacting to the situation each time he’d seen her rather than driving the outcome. Matt never played defense, and yet that was the role he’d been taking.
He’d allowed his emotions to blind him to what should have been obvious.
Control had never been a problem for him, and he wasn’t sure why that should change now. If he set the parameters and stuck to them, there might just be a way he could have his cake and eat it too.
Now it was time to regain the upper hand, tighten his grip on the reins, turn the tide in his favor, and start employing some new, better cliches.
Matt rubbed his chin, a smile emerging as the answer to his Liza problem became crystal clear.
So instead of refusing Arnold’s offer, he said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Wonderful. We’ll see you Friday,” Arnold said.
They said their goodbyes and Matt hung up the phone, feeling—for the first time in weeks—like he was in control again.
Chapter Six
Liza limped off the elevator and trudged to her office, cursing everything from the weather to her damp clothing to her messed-up hair. Today had been an utter clusterfuck. One of those days where she would have been smarter to turn off the alarm, burrow under the covers, and sleep the day away.
Unlocking her office door, she walked to her desk and grabbed the laptop she’d forgotten to take with her yesterday. Charles had told her not to pack it because she was going on vacation, but this was the longest she’d been away from work since taking the job as director and she wasn’t quite comfortable going cold turkey. She figured she’d just check email every morning and put out any fires that might flare up.
But thanks to her excitement about flying to Hawaii—she’d been looking forward to this trip for months, complete with a countdown since September—she’d said her goodbyes to everyone in the office yesterday and bebopped home without it. She’d considered stopping by on the way to the airport to get it but decided Charles was right about her needing a break, so she figured it was fate telling her to take the whole week off without worrying about work. Besides, she had her phone and could deal with email on that just as easily as the laptop.
