Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

Shit.

Obviously, I need to chill, and I grab my phone and my purse and log off the computer. I'm about to transfer his calls to the reception desk one floor down when the phone rings. "Mr. Stark's office."

"Mr. Thorton is on his way up," Mr. Stark says. "He's misplaced his phone, most likely in my office. Please help him find it."

"Of course," I say, understanding that "please help him find it" is code for "don't let this man I don't know poke around in my office alone."

I wait, numb, for the elevator to ding again, and even though I'm expecting it, the moment it does, I jump. I suck in air, mentally kick my own ass and stand behind my desk as he steps off, my hands flat against my sides so that he won't notice the way they're shaking.

"Mr. Stark called. I'm happy to help you look."

"I appreciate you taking the time." His bland tone pisses me off. He's playing with me--he has to be playing with me. Because if he's not, that means he really doesn't remember me.

I know it shouldn't matter. Blake Thorton is no longer in my life.

But it does. It really does.

Once we're inside the office, he goes to the seating area where Mr. Stark has a couple of leather chairs and a sofa separated by a coffee table. I lean against the wall near the door as he slips his hand between the couch cushions. I know I should be looking too, but I'm in a pissy mood.

"Did you find it?" I snap when I realize he's no longer fishing in the cushions. Instead, he's standi

ng with his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes on me. Now, his expression is no longer bland.

Now, it seems dangerous.

"I did." He pulls his hand from his pocket, revealing his phone, and for a moment I wonder if it's been there all along. "Sometimes you have the chance to get back the things you lost." There's a low, sensual quality to his voice that I recognize, that seems to vibrate through me like a low roll of thunder. He takes a step toward me. "I guess this time I got lucky."

He's mere inches from me, all his attention focused on my face. My cheeks flush, and I start to push away from the wall, but he moves in, caging me in his arms. I only have time to gasp before his mouth closes over mine.

I clench my hands into fists at my sides, fighting the urge to touch him. I don't know where this is leading, what game he is playing. But his hands are on the wall, not me, and I'm certainly not going to be the first to touch.

But even without soft caresses or frantic groping, this kiss is wild and hot and meltingly perfect. I imagine his palms stroking my skin, teasing my nipples, sliding between my legs. I want that.

So help me, I want all of that and more.

I'm on fire, on edge, my body hot with need and trembling with passion. I'm craving his touch, desperate for him to take this further, and so I cry out with disappointment when he denies me, instead gently breaking the kiss and pulling away to look at me with those storm-filled eyes.

"I didn't think you recognized me." My voice is raspy. "I thought you'd forgotten me."

"Forgotten you?" He moves in again, and the air between us crackles from the electricity we're generating. He strokes my cheek, and that erotic sensation steals my breath. "Baby, I remember everything. The way you clung to my hand so tightly, as if I had the power to take away all your hurt and fears. The way your mouth tasted of gin when I kissed you in the hotel bar. The way your lips parted when I traced a fingertip along the curve of your shoulder. The softness of your skin. The sweetness of your pussy."

I tremble as he eases closer, his breath tickling my ear as he continues. "I remember exactly how it felt to be inside you. To feel the rhythm of your heart and the heat of your skin. Most of all, I remember the way you cried my name when you came, and the way your body fit with mine when you curled up trembling and limp in my arms.

"Forgotten you?" he repeats, leaning back to once again meet my eyes. "No, Penny," he says as he traces his fingertip over my lips. "I haven't forgotten a thing."

I'm breathing hard, wildly turned on, and I think if he suggested it, I'd strip naked and fuck him right there in Mr. Stark's office.

Except he doesn't suggest it.

He doesn't suggest anything.

Instead, he pulls his finger away, then takes two steps back, putting distance between us. He pauses briefly, then exits the office. I follow, stumbling slightly as I try to adjust to this strange new reality.

Back in the reception area, he pushes the button to call the elevator. "I should get back to lunch."

"I--oh."

The doors open, and he gets on.