Forbidden Pleasure Read online

  Max grabbed the file from his desk and held it out to her. Kaylee rolled her eyes as she snatched it from his fingers, but she got up and left.

  “No problem.” Hastings voice was as good-natured as ever, despite the wait. “I know this is a busy time for you. Are we good to implement?”

  “Yes. I told Emma she was cleared.” The lie was still bitter on Max’s tongue. “Against my better judgment, so you’d better be right about this.”

  On the other end of the phone line, Jesse Hastings sounded much less conflicted about the situation. “Well, we’re about to find out. I’m monitoring her computer remotely. I’ve got two camera angles on her workstation, and I can hear everything she says while she’s at her desk. With any luck, she’ll try to get a hold of her coconspirator, even if it’s just to say that she’s back in position. That should give a direction to follow at the very least.”

  Max thought it was a waste of time. Emma had worked for him for three years. She was a smart and methodical employee, with an incredible attention for detail. If she was the guilty party, she’d installed the spyware on her computer and walked away from Whitfield Industries with every intention of never returning, and he sincerely doubted she had any business left to attend to.

  There was a reason she’d almost gotten away with it—she’d struck quickly and decisively. She certainly wasn’t going to pick up where she left off when only a fool wouldn’t suspect her entire workstation was bugged and monitored after what had happened. And Emma Mathison was a lot of things, but a fool was not one of them.

  That being said, Max wasn’t a fool, either.

  And he would protect SecurePay at any cost. He’d fought for five years to bring a viable universal digital crypto currency to the market, and thanks to tireless work from his team, he was going to beat Liam Kearney’s competing product to market. Whitfield Industries was poised to make the threat of credit card fraud virtually nonexistent.

  Max’s jaw flexed at the prospect. The cost had been steep—his father despised Max for cutting him out of the business for the blackmail scheme his dad had implemented to lock down the software on which SecurePay was built. The extortion had ultimately led to the death of his tech mentor, John Beckett, a man Max had both liked and respected, which in turn had destroyed his friendship with John’s son, Aidan, who blamed the Whitfields for the accident that had stolen John before his time.

  Casualties that haunted him, even this close to the brink of success.

  Max had put SecurePay above everything in his life, and if it failed...well, it couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

  No matter what his gut told him, he couldn’t allow himself to trust Emma. Or let his body’s craving for hers cloud the situation. Right now, all roads pointed to her guilt, and he would not let himself forget that she was here against her will because he’d threatened her with corporate espionage charges.

  The thought made him ill. He’d spent the last five years trying to absolve himself of his father’s tainted legacy, and now he was following in the bastard’s footsteps. Blackmailing people to do his bidding. But there was no help for that now. He was committed to SecurePay, and he would uncover the mole in his company, no matter what it took.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AT PRECISELY FIVE O’CLOCK, Emma shut off her computer and gathered her things.

  She’d never realized just how decadent it was, leaving work at a sane hour, though some of the mutinous joy in it was stolen by the fact that Max wasn’t in his office to witness her unprecedented on-time departure.

  She had to make do with Sherri’s surprised, “See you tomorrow,” when Emma had wished her goodnight and headed for the elevator.

  The lobby was buzzing with people as she headed for the front door, her suitcase wheels bumping over the tiled floor, and she spared a moment to imagine exactly where they were going. What their lives were like. The things they’d experienced while she’d spent the last three years high in a tower, working herself to exhaustion. It had started as a way to afford the growing care requirements for her mother’s worsening condition and ended as a way to distract herself from the pain of losing her mom.

  And all that time, the world kept turning. People, these people, scurrying off to happy hours and dinners, rushing home to spend time with their families. Simple pleasures she’d forgotten existed.

  Emma pushed through the glass door and stepped into the evening sunshine. She had no such plans. No one to meet for dinner and drinks. No one to rush home to. No home at all, she realized suddenly.

  Shit.

  She’d meant to look into a hotel today, but she’d been so furious after meeting with Vivienne, and then Max, and finding pins for her skirt...

  A sudden prickle at the back of her neck alerted her to the presence of the tall, handsome man leaning casually against the gleaming black town car parked at the curb. He was scrolling through his phone, but as though he was privy to the same zing of awareness, he looked up, zeroing in on her before she could avert her eyes, pretend she hadn’t noticed him there. Waiting. For her?

  Emma hated that her skin came alive in his presence.

  Max pushed away from the vehicle, tucking his smartphone in the interior breast pocket of his suit before he pulled open the door. “Get in.”

  She stopped in front of him. “You could try asking.”

  “Get in the car, Emma.”

  She readjusted her purse on her shoulder, so she could cross her arms.

  “Please,” he added tersely.

  “No.”

  His hand tightened on the top of the door, whitening his knuckles. “Do we have a problem here?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you’re being a dictator...heavy on the dick?”

  To her surprise, the churlish insult drew a flicker of a smile from him.

  “You’re different than you were before I had you on my desk.”

  His blunt musings made her frown.

  “I think you mean before I had you on your desk. If you’ll recall, I made the first move.”

  Max gave an indifferent shrug. “If you say so.”

  Let it go, she counselled herself. He’s just baiting you. “I mean, I kissed you.” She tried to sound nonchalant about it. “That’s clearly a move. No one would classify that as not a move.”

  He tipped his head, and the arrogance of it made her bristle.

  “What? What’s...” Emma mimicked his action, doing her best to imbue it with the right amount of condescension.

  “If that’s how you want to remember it,” he clarified, so supremely blasé that it sparked something in her belly.

  A need to prove herself. A need to make him admit that he’d felt something shift that night, a night that had required all her courage. She needed to know that her emancipation had registered. That she’d made him want, made him burn. That she hadn’t been the only one lost to the maelstrom of sensations.

  She dropped her arms, stepped closer. Only a few feet of sidewalk separated them now. “That’s not just how I remember it, that’s how it happened.”

  “Oh really?” Max let go of the door, cut the gap between them with a step of his own. The noise of traffic and passersby receded, replaced with the throb of her pulse, the rumble of his voice resonating in her chest.

  “I dared you to kiss me. And despite a million reservations, you did. I like that I make you lose control.”

  The egotistical, patronizing, inconveniently true statement stiffened her spine. Emma’s scoff was forced, born of pride and fear. “You wish.”

  The grin that tilted his lips was positively predatory. “Shall I prove it?”

  Her body begged her to let him. Something dangerous and fizzy was working its way through her bloodstream as she swayed closer to him, desperate for a taste of the magic that seemed to spark whenever they were together. They’d unleashed someth
ing dangerous that night in his office, something Emma didn’t know how to control.

  Max’s breathing shallowed, and his hooded gaze flicked to her mouth. He talked a good game, but he wasn’t immune to what was happening between them. He might be better than her at hiding it, but the magnetism between them was not one-sided.

  The blare of a horn broke the spell before their lips touched, and she jerked back from him.

  He sighed. Pushed the door open wider with one hand and grabbed her suitcase with the other. “Will you get in the car now?”

  Emma relented, too off-balance to do anything else. She slid into the sumptuous black leather interior, and he shut the door behind her. A muted thud behind her meant her suitcase was now being held captive in the trunk. She twisted the ring on her middle finger as she waited for Max to crawl into the back seat beside her.

  The car slid away from the curb as soon as he’d pulled the door closed behind him.

  “I think we need to establish some rules for our working relationship, going forward.”

  “Let me guess. Rule number one: wear a fucking bra?” she inquired sweetly.

  The slightest frown marred his brow. “We have to keep things professional in the office. And stop being so insubordinate.”

  “Then stop being an asshole.”

  “I can see these rules are going to be difficult for you,” he said drily.

  “Hey, technically, I didn’t break that one. We’re not in the office anymore.”

  “You’re right.” Just like that, the banked fire in his eyes blazed to life, and he turned a little, angling his upper body toward her. “Come here.”

  The timber of his voice sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

  “Don’t talk to me like that.” The warning was more breathless then she’d have liked.

  “Like what?”

  “Stay. Sit. Come. You’re always ordering me around like I’m some Labrador retriever, desperate for you to pet me.”

  He reached up, brushed a finger along the edge of her jaw, and her breath stuttered in her lungs.

  “Are you desperate for me to pet you?”

  Oh, God, yes.

  “I like it when you come, Emma.”

  Her heart lurched with the need to be closer, to test how near she could get before the burning consumed her.

  Then her hand was on his shoulder, and his hand was on her waist, and despite the confines of the car, he was pulling her close as she levered up so that she was straddling him, her knees digging into the cushy leather seat on either side of his hips.

  “I’ve been hard since you walked out of my office this morning,” he confessed, dragging his lips against the hollow of her throat, “wondering what you’ve got on underneath this skirt.”

  Emma buried her fingers in his dark hair, hands clenching as she tried to keep her wits, tried not to drown in him. “I think you’re supposed to seek medical attention when that problem persists for more than four hours.”

  The joke faded to a breathless rasp as he swiped his tongue against her collarbone.

  “I don’t need a doctor.” His fingers dug into her hips. “I just need to get my hands on you so I can stop wondering exactly how many dress code infractions you’re committing.”

  Max tried to pull her more fully against him, but her skirt held her hostage.

  “I’m stuck,” she whispered, looking down at the straining safety pins and gaping material along her thigh that prevented her from widening her stance.

  He grabbed the hem of her skirt and ripped the slit back open, scattering the pins and freeing her.

  They both groaned as she spread her knees, settling into his lap. He set his hands on her legs, tucking his fingers just beneath the edge of her skirt.

  Emma’s breath caught as he stared into her eyes, his palms slowly moving up her thighs, beneath her skirt, searching for answers.

  Without conscious volition, their breaths had synced up, short pants of need that had her fingers clenching in his hair. She bit her lip, unable to look away from his eyes, searching hers so intensely as his hands trekked upwards, smoothing along the outside of her thighs, curving around her bare ass. He sucked in a breath, his fingers moving inexorably upward until his fingers finally encountered the lacy waistband of her thong.

  “Disappointed?”

  “Not even close,” he assured her, tracing the band from back to front before he stroked a finger right down her center, pressing the wet lace of her panties against her core.

  She gasped as sparks unfurled through her body, her hips canting forward in the search for more pressure.

  He obliged her, breaching the flimsy barrier of her underwear and sliding two fingers deep inside her without further preliminaries.

  She bit her lip to keep herself from crying out, because she had no idea if the glass partition between them and the front seat was soundproof, but after a few more strokes of his fingers, she stopped caring.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he rasped, dropping his forehead against her collarbone as he thrust inside her again and again, setting up a rhythm that had her muscles clenching in a desperate attempt to quell the need building deep inside her.

  Just when she wasn’t sure she could endure another second of the sharp-edged pleasure, he twisted his wrist, pressing his thumb against her clit in a circular motion that sent her spiraling over the edge.

  She collapsed against him, her face tucked into the crook of his neck as she tried to catch her breath, savoring the aftershocks rippling through her body.

  Finally, she found the strength to pull back, pausing just long enough to press a quick, hard kiss to his mouth before she slid off his lap and onto the seat beside him.

  “Oh, man,” she breathed, and he shot her a wicked grin, made even sexier because his hair was mussed, and his tie was askew. He looked disreputable. Not like the unflappable CEO of Whitfield Industries she was used to.

  He leaned close, and she tilted her chin up, but he bypassed her mouth, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.

  “You’re going to want to pull your skirt down before Sully opens the door.”

  It took a moment for the import of his words to register. Along with the fact that the car was at a complete standstill. They’d arrived.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Emma had barely gotten her skirt over her hips when the door flew open, but Max, adaptable as always, was already filling up the doorway with his broad shoulders as he got out, giving her a few precious seconds to finish restoring some semblance of order to her skirt. He stood there, blocking her from view as he exchanged pleasantries with his driver, and she used the reprieve to position her tote bag as a modesty shield before he turned and helped her out of the car.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMMA’S EYES WIDENED as she joined Max on the sidewalk in front of the lavish entrance of the infamous Berkshire Suites. She’d heard of the luxury hotel, of course, but the reality of it was something else entirely. Television footage and photographs had not prepared her for the grandiosity of it all. “There’s more to see inside. Shall we?”

  The words were a murmur, delivered softly in her ear, sending an avalanche of shivers down her spine and snapping her out of her open-mouthed stupor.

  She turned to tell him that no, in fact, they shan’t do a damn thing and how dare he bring her to a hotel to finish what they’d started in the car, a move that was not only presumptuous, but insulting, too.

  Then Max placed a hand at the small of her back, and the possessively intimate touch hit her like the voltage from a cattle prod. She was already up the wide stone steps, clearing the glass doors that had been swept out of their path by liveried doormen, and being dazzled by her first view of the lobby before she had the chance to say anything.

  Elegant, but not subtle, the place practically oozed money, and lot
s of it. It was opulence manifest—dark wood, rich brocade, intricate tilework, glittering chandeliers and vases spilling with fresh flowers. It was like something out of a movie. Who lived like this?

  “Mr. Whitfield. Welcome back.”

  Emma shot the man beside her a sidelong glance. Well, she should have seen that one coming.

  Max turned toward the distinguished, middle-aged man who strode toward them and shook his hand.

  “We had the liberty of having a new key made up.”

  Max tucked the swipe card in his pocket.

  “Thank you, Gerald. May I present Emma Mathison?”

  She shouldn’t like this, she told herself. The casual gallantry, the coupledom of it all.

  “Welcome, Ms. Mathison,” the man said with a polite nod. “If the two of you will follow me, it would be my pleasure to show you upstairs.

  Everyone’s eyes were on them as they headed for the elevator, and Emma double-checked that her leather tote was still covering the giant tear in her skirt.

  Not that anyone was looking at her.

  It was funny, she’d seen the phenomenon before, around the office. The way Max drew attention when he walked into a room. She’d always thought it was because he was the boss, but it seemed his magnetism extended into the real world, too.

  Well, if you considered this playground of the rich and famous real, she supposed.

  Max guided her into the elevator and left his hand resting against the dip of her spine. She was starting to get used to the steady hum of connection that it caused.

  “Would you prefer they take the next car, sir?” Gerald asked as two older ladies approached.

  “Not necessary,” Max assured him.

  Gerald held the door open for the women, one tall and regal, her gray-streaked hair, one short and pleasant-looking, her white hair cut in a stylish bob.

  “Mrs. Fernandez. Mrs. Tuttle. I hope you ladies enjoyed your afternoon of shopping.”

  “We did. Thank you, Gerald,” one of the women replied as they boarded the elevator, but Emma didn’t see who it was, because under the guise of making room for the new passengers, Max’s fingers had trekked over to her hip and tugged her in front of him.