Duncan - The Deal (The Cocky Smiling O Series #1) Read online

  In her defense, she doesn't wear overly revealing clothes, but damn, I think that makes her all that more enticing. With a body like Kimbra's, she could be in a damn paper sack and it would be impossible not to notice her curves. The way her ass sways in that tight skirt and her tits, her gorgeous round, big tits. They're almost too perfect. Since she entered our employment two years ago, I've given those tits a lot of thought, and my decision is they're real. I know women who've paid a fortune for tits like those. OK. I've paid a lot of money for women to have tits like those, but there's something about fake boobs—something I don't see in Kimbra's.

  "Mr. Willis," she repeats.

  As her voice echoes through my office, it takes all my willpower to stay seated and not push the button to cloud the glass and pull her close. It wasn't the sound of her shoes that told me someone was in the bathroom earlier—I'd heard the whimper, the perfect little whimper.

  I'd be lying if I said I didn't get off on someone listening, on someone touching herself as she listened. But never in a million years did I imagine it would be Kimbra Jones. I didn't see the shoes until it was too late.

  I'd much rather have my dick in Kimbra's mouth than the woman from accounting. Actually, she never got it in her mouth. She was too busy rubbing herself all over me, trying to turn me on. She's been throwing herself at me for a while, and after seeing Kimbra this morning in the coffee shop, I decided relief was in order.

  "Yes, Miss Jones."

  Kimbra reaches for the door and pulls it shut. Taking two more steps toward me she says, "We need to discuss a company policy infraction that occurred this morning."

  I lift my brow. "I see. Did you witness this infraction or was a report made?"

  She clears her throat. "I-I witnessed it."

  I stand, hoping my erection keeps itself hidden, and straighten my suit coat. Another layer of covering is always warranted. Keeping her bright blue eyes locked on mine, I narrow the distance between us. "This infraction, can you describe it?"

  What the fuck am I doing?

  My business partner, Michael Buchanan, has been lecturing me since we were in college together. I can't help that he's married and tied down to one woman. I'm not. Besides, I don't look for them. They throw themselves at me or walk into my office of their own free will.

  It just so happens that the pretty little thing in front of me has never shown that kind of interest and to be honest, it's bothered me. I've given her more attention than half the sluts who spread their legs and never once has she responded.

  Kimbra walking in here now is like a fucking birthday present and even though my birthday isn't for another four months, it would be a waste not to accept my gift.

  "I-it was fraternization," she says.

  "Really?" I ask. "We have a friendly work environment here, Miss Jones. We encourage our employees to get along."

  Her tits heave as she takes a deep breath. "Sir."

  My cock twitches at the word. I imagine her calling me that, on her knees, naked...

  "I'm not discussing friendly conversation near the water cooler," she explains, interrupting my thoughts.

  Amused, I lean back against my desk. "What exactly are you discussing?"

  Her cheeks flush. "Sex."

  "Oh, sex. Well, what happens away from the office—"

  "Not away from the office," she interrupts. "In the office. In the bathroom."

  "Sex? Are we discussing unwanted advances? Did someone force his- or herself upon another?" Little does she know, that is what happened. Granted, I wasn't exactly fighting her off, but it was her advance.

  "I-I don't think it was unwanted."

  "And you know this how?"

  Kimbra's hands come down, slapping the sides of her hips before she turns in a small circle, showing me all her curves, her ass to her tits. Once she completes the turn, her blue eyes narrow. "Mr. Willis, you know that I know. You know I was there. You saw my shoes."

  My grin broadens. "Only after I heard you. Tell me, did you cum?"

  All the color drains from her face. It happens so fast, I worry that she may faint. And then, it's back. Red. Flaming red. Brighter than her shoes—cherry red.

  "Mr. Willis, I am here to say that what happened was inappropriate. What I witnessed is inappropriate. What you just said is—"

  "Inappropriate," I offer. "Yes, it is. Perhaps HR should fire me."

  "You know I can't..."

  "Then what is this about?"

  "I-I like this company. I like my job. I don't want you or anyone to screw it up."

  "Screw?" My brows rise.

  Momentarily, she purses her lips. "I'm here as a representative of the human resources department to warn you..."

  My head tilts to the side. She's warning me? This little fireball is warning me, and I fucking love it.

  "...will make you a deal."

  I'd missed some of what she'd said, but the last part has me intrigued. Pushing off the desk, I hit the button on the window, take another step closer, and then one more. "What kind of deal?"

  As Kimbra inhales, I imagine taking one more step and feeling the brush of her tits against my chest.

  At that moment, her resolve evaporates. "Never mind. It was stupid." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

  I reach out and grab her elbow. "Miss Jones, you're right. What you witnessed was inappropriate. We should have made sure we were alone."

  She grimaces.

  "We shouldn't have done it," I correct. "Michael wouldn't be pleased if this report was made to him. It's not like he could fire me either, but you're right. I was wrong."

  Her eyes widened. "Then I'm glad—"

  "What deal did you have in mind? What deal can be made to keep this just between the two of us?" Hell, I'll probably tell Michael anyway. I'll wait until we are three or four beers into a ballgame, but I'll tell him. Right now, I want to hear what Kimbra is thinking.

  "I need a plus-one for a wedding."

  My back straightens. What the fuck did I just hear?

  "Miss Jones, are you asking me on a date?"

  "No," she answers too fast. "I'm blackmailing you. Well, it's not really blackmailing...it's more of a quid pro quo. And it's not really a date. It's a weekend. A deal for a weekend from hell."

  I work diligently to keep my lips from gaping open. "Blackmail? Deal? A weekend wedding from hell?"

  She nods.

  "I'm intrigued. Will we travel somewhere?"

  "Indiana. It's where I'm from. It's my cousin's wedding. I forgot about it or blocked it out. But now it's this weekend. My mother RSVPe'd for two. I was dating...He...well, now I'm not. I can't go home without a date. I'm always the one without a date. It'll just be for this weekend, which, by the way, needs to start Thursday and...well, not end until Monday. So I need time off. And...oh...there's this thing about being in the wedding."

  She shakes her head.

  I stare at the lips, her red, full lips that are the same color as her necklace and shoes. Her words continue to spew faster than I can comprehend.

  "But I think I can get you out of that." She exhales. "That's it. You do this with me and I'll never mention what I heard. We can forget it ever happened. Unless...unless," she adds, "you're involved, like, with whoever that was."

  My expression of astonishment is replaced by amusement. Involved? I don't even know that woman's name. "No. I'm not involved. So tell me, Kimbra"—I like using her first name—"how long have we been dating?"

  "Shit!" I take a step back, but Mr. Willis reaches toward me again. This time he grabs my hand. His touch is warm and brings that fire back to life.

  "Are you alright? You look a little pale."

  The amusement in his tone reverberates from my ears to my pussy, reminding me of the growl I'd heard earlier in the morning. No wonder I'm pale. My blood is too busy racing through my system, muting the world. I mean, I'm sure I misunderstood what he'd just said.

  "Y-you agree? You do realize," I clarify, "that I'm
talking a full weekend. Four days. My family." I pull my hand back. "Shit!" I remember my mother saying we would stay at my old house with them. This is a disaster.

  Mr. Willis laughs. "Is that your favorite word? I should know, since we're involved."

  I shake my head. "No," I answer too truthfully. "Fuck is my favorite word."

  He laughs again, this time louder.

  "No! This was a bad idea. I just remembered. Since I kinda forgot about this weekend, I didn't book a hotel. My mom wants us to stay with her and my dad, and I don't know, probably my brother and his wife will be there...and maybe even my grandma. Oh, Mr. Willis, this will never work."

  "Duncan."

  His name is electricity setting my pussy ablaze. I've made myself cum to that name. I've fantasized about it. Now Duncan Willis is inches away, his lips hovering near mine, saying his name, his warm cinnamon breath caressing my cheeks, and his spicy cologne filling my lungs. I swallow. "Duncan...yeah, right," I say stupidly as I lift my right hand to shake his. "I'm Kimbra."

  Taking my hand, he laughs again, low and deep. "Yes, I know your name. Don't worry, I'll book a hotel. Where in Indiana are we going?"

  "Indianapolis, and shit, you can't. It's race weekend. The hotels are all booked."

  "Race? The 500?"

  "Yes. My mom wants us there Thursday. Friday night is the bachelor party." I narrow my eyes. "Mr. Wi—, I mean, Duncan. There will be women. That's the kind of party it is."

  He nods knowingly.

  "If we're...together, you can't...you'll be with my brother and cousins and you just..."

  He squeezes the hand he's been holding. "Tell me, Kimbra, will we be together?" He elongates the final word.

  My breathing hitches. "We need rules."

  He releases his grip and leans back against his desk. "Lay them on me," he says, looking fine in his custom suit with his arms crossed over his broad chest. The way he's staring at me looks like he's waiting for me to give him a report on the office morale, not like I'm about to tell him our plans and sleeping arrangements for the weekend...in my parents' house.

  "We have to make them all believe we've been dating."

  He nods.

  "We'll need to stay at my parents' house. My mom wants us sharing a room. She thinks if she gives her permission, some day I might get married."

  Duncan's eyes widen.

  "I'm not saying that. This is one weekend."

  "One. Got it. Still..." His eyebrows wiggle, and then he pushes off the desk and pulls me toward him, his arm around my waist. "So am I hearing you right? Your rules include sharing a room at your parents', where they want me to deflower their little girl?"

  My neck cranes upward as heat fills my cheeks. "I'm not a little girl and well, that flower has already been picked."

  He pulls me closer. "Even better. Too much responsibility. How about the other flower?"

  "The other?"

  The arm around my waist lowers, until his hand is firmly on my ass. While my mind screams inappropriate, I yearn to turn toward the window, wishing that it was opaque so that this could go further.

  "So your pussy isn't virginal," he says. "How about your ass?"

  I inhale deeply, my breasts now rubbing against his chest. "Mr.—"

  He touches my lips. "Duncan. Come now, Kimbra. We're a couple. How long have we been together and how in the world have I had the restraint to keep my cock away from your tight hole?"

  I try to articulate. "Th-this—"

  "Your rules," Duncan interrupts. "I'm trying to understand."

  "No."

  His eyes widen.

  Clearing my throat, I say, "That flower is still there."

  "Good to know." He squeezes my ass again. "For now."

  Heat floods my cheeks. "No. A weekend. This is pretend. That's all. We do this and I don't say anything to Mr. Buchanan, and if whoever that was with you, files a report, I talk her out of it." Before he has a chance to respond, I add, "I'll make plane reservations. What time can you leave on Thursday?"

  Duncan brushes my cheek with his knuckle. "I've seen you blush before, but it's even cuter close up."

  I nervously look toward the window. My breathing hitches as I realize it's no longer clear, but frosted. "How? When?"

  He tips his head toward the desk. "A button, right after your interesting proposal."

  "I-I..."

  His lips stop my response. His warm lips. His sexy, full lips. The sensual lips that swallow my protest and zap my pussy, as it sends hot chills—yes, HOT CHILLS—straight through me. His kiss consumes. In merely seconds, I'm pliable, putty in his strong hands as he pulls me against him, his erection probing my stomach.

  I should stop this.

  I should pull away.

  My brain is talking, but I'm not listening.

  When we finally separate, I stare at his mouth before slowly moving my gaze to his eyes. "Flight?" I ask, remembering my earlier question.

  "Noon. We'll leave from here. Bring your luggage and have Peter take care of it. If a hotel is out of the question, then I'll arrange the flight. We'll take a company plane."

  I shake my head.

  "Kimbra," he says, his tone like sandpaper, the perfect amount of roughness. "Don't make me play the boyfriend card."

  Boyfriend!

  "Pretend," I remind him. "And we don't need to be there until later."

  He brushes his lips over mine. "Five months. A winter fling that I can't seem to get enough of."

  I try to comprehend. "What?"

  "It's how long we've been dating. It started at the company holiday party when I saw you in that stunning gold dress, the one with the slit that went all the way up your thigh. I couldn't stop thinking about how high it went, wondering if your pussy was covered or if it was available. If all I had to do was reach..."

  His fingers graze my hip and slowly bunch my skirt higher and higher.

  I can't speak.

  Holy shit! Duncan Willis is lifting my skirt.

  Not only that, he noticed me. I did wear a gold dress to the company party. I never thought he even saw me.

  His fingers stop moving, the hem of my skirt still mid-thigh. His eyes lower to my breasts. "And your tits, both in that dress and now," he adds, "are breathtaking. But that night, you were with that guy from distribution, Timothy."

  "W-we dated, but not for long." Not after I caught him with that slut from accounting. It happened right after the holiday party at a New Year's Eve get-together.

  "Don't tell me any more," Duncan says. "If you do, you or others in HR may need to justify a wrongful termination."

  "Pretend," I say again, less convincingly.

  Duncan's fingers brush the skin of my thigh, just below the hem of my skirt. "You keep telling yourself that, but I'd bet if I lifted this skirt higher, I'd find you wet and ready. I bet in no time at all I could make you whimper, not like you did in the bathroom when you were listening, but this time loud enough that Peter could hear you."

  His touch is electric and erotic. I sway toward him, before coming to my senses and taking a step back. "Pretend, Mr. Willis. One weekend."

  Duncan smiles. "Miss Jones, you're lucky that I'm not a gambling man. If I were, I'd need to verify that I'm right"—He leans down until our noses touch—"about your pussy being wet. And for the record, since we've been dating you should know that I'm rarely wrong."

  The last two days have been hell. I've hardly slept. Every time I do, I think of him. I think of me. I think of us.

  There is no us. I remind myself daily.

  Pretend.

  Thankfully, I convinced my mother that Duncan didn't need to be in the wedding. I also let her know that Timothy is out of the picture. I told her that I'd said it before and she probably didn't remember. It's an old trick my brother and I use to do. We wouldn't tell her what we were doing, but later we'd act like we had. I may be twenty-six, but old habits die hard.

  "Miss Jones?"

  I take a deep breath and turn towar
d Duncan Willis. "Mr. Willis."

  The clock on my computer says noon, the exact time he'd said we'd leave.

  "I believe we have a car waiting to take us to the airport."

  I nod, hoping no one else is paying attention. Although I doubt that is true. This office is full of gossip-hungry people. That doesn't matter. I still love them, well, most of them. I tell myself not to worry. If anyone notices, they'll think we're doing something business related. Maybe it's a seminar or a conference.

  Yes, right. There are so many seminars over Memorial Day weekend.

  Duncan and I haven't spoken since I left his office two days ago, and now we're stepping into an elevator, just the two of us.

  Once the doors close, Duncan turns. In one quick step, I'm backed against the wall and his hips crash into mind.

  "O-oh!" I stutter.

  Again, his lips capture mine. This time, his tongue joins the assault. Sweet and cinnamon. His kiss is warm and forceful. When the elevator stops, he backs away, leaving my lips bruised and eyes wide.

  Shit, this man can kiss.

  Without regard for those around us, he places his large hand in the small of my back and leads me through the lobby. Nodding at the doorman, we exit out onto the street and to a waiting car.

  Once we're moving, he asks, "Shouldn't I know about your family?"

  "My family? I mean we've only been together for..."

  "Five months," he says.

  "Right."

  "You have a brother?"

  "Yes. Kevin. His wife's name is Susan. My mother is Judy and my dad is Oscar."

  Duncan's eyes widen. "Oscar? Cool name."

  "It's my cousin Scarlet's wedding. We're about the same age and she's everything I'm not."

  "So she's ugly and has no personality."

  I fight the urge to lower my eyes. Pretend. This is just pretend. That will be my new mantra, an ongoing chorus for this weekend. "No, she's perfect. She's sweet and successful. She's great at everything she's ever done and is marrying her high school sweetheart. His name is Kurt."

  "Let me guess," Duncan says, "they're waiting until their wedding night and she wants a hundred babies."

  I shrug. "Yes, the bouquet at the wedding won't be the only flower picked Saturday night. And as for babies, I think it's more like four, but I'm pretty sure she's had them named since they started dating. You know, doodling their names in the margin of her high school notebook?"