Arousal Read online

  I stole a glance. I had to. But my breath caught in my throat when my secret longing overpowered me. From afar, I could see how he could steal a kiss and get away with it. I almost couldn’t believe this was the same man from the elevator. He belonged to the room now. He owned the room.

  I noticed some of the young women from my office standing around in a cliquey circle, ogling him from a distance, and wandered over to them. It was as if Chris Hemsworth was standing there shirtless, the way they were all gawking. My good friend and colleague, Aisha Vinay, an associate publicist at Berke and Monroe, was among them.

  “Who is that?” I asked her, trying to make it seem like a randomly curious question. It was bizarre that I had no clue.

  “That, my dear, is our new client, Nicolai Petre,” she said, pretending to fan herself with a glossy copy of the product brochure. “He’s C.E.O. of Petre Investments, the firm that funded our e-reader. Not to mention, he is also on my short list of hot billionaires I’d like to marry. He’s thirty-three, has never walked down the aisle, and appears to be completely single, no girlfriend in sight—on Google anyway.”

  Holy crap.

  “He’s our client?” A feeling of dread gripped my stomach, accompanied by a wave of nausea. When a server passed by with a tray of cocktails, I grabbed a glass of wine and took a swig. And then another. “Our client! Why have I never seen or heard of him before?”

  “Allison, you are so focused on work that you don’t pay enough attention to hot, gorgeous, rich, bachelors,” she said, flipping her beautiful and shiny mane of hair off her shoulders. “I know of every wealthy, available man in the New York Tristate area. That’s what I do on the weekends: research.”

  I was aware Aisha’s conservative Indian parents took arranged marriages very seriously, and they were searching for a mate for her. She was actively conducting her own exploration because she worried her parents would match her with the “wrong boy.” As a second generation Hindu, born in the United States, she joked that she wanted a romance novel character, not an IT specialist or accountant from New Jersey.

  I took another sip of wine. Actually, it was more like a gulp. “But why hasn’t he come to any of the client meetings? Why weren’t we told?” I hoped Aisha did not detect the growing panic in my voice. I made out with a client, the worst possible thing to do. Ever!

  “He has more important goals to focus on, so he sends his staff, Cal and Gina,” she answered, a perky smile still on her face. Clearly she, like everyone, was enjoying the view. “I heard he likes to keep a low profile, but I guess he is here to, you know, represent. Yay.”

  “Out of the blue? Tonight?” Remembering what I had done earlier in the evening, wildly fluttering butterflies filled my stomach.

  “This is a huge launch for the company because they are, as you know going up against the biggies in the market place,” she said. “I guess Sheila has been keeping him close to the breast, I mean, vest. We all learned he is involved only fifteen minutes ago.”

  “It’s so odd I didn’t know about him,” I said, about to sink into an anxiety attack over my faux pas. “I’ve never even seen his name on a memo.”

  That’s when my boss, Sheila Riley, interjected herself into our conversation. Now Vice President of Berke and Monroe, she’d once anchored the evening news in the New York Metro market and never let anyone forget it. She’d also dated my father’s partner, Dan Berke, and maneuvered herself into the company as an executive when my dad had gotten sick. When he passed away a year ago, his partner had left her in charge, and she was constantly trying to edge me out of the picture. Donned in a skin tight, low cut Donna Karan dress, and wearing so much makeup she looked like a caricature of herself, she pressed her skinny, underfed body between Aisha and me and maneuvered herself so she was standing in front of us, as if to block our view.

  “He has specifically requested not to be the public face of this launch,” she said, her false eyelashes fluttering in displeasure. “And, furthermore, I deal with him, directly and privately. There is no need for you to concern yourself about him or even talk with him. I will give him anything he needs.”

  She punctuated her statement with a glare that made her message even clearer: she wanted him all to herself.

  “Understood,” I said, silently thankful I didn’t have to deal with him. That would be the epitome of awkwardness. Jeez.

  In general, I tried not to give her any reason to make my life a living hell. I loved my job, took my work seriously, and tried to do what would make my father proud. I’d worked so hard to make this launch a success, and if things worked out well it could be my ticket to a new position. I’d always thought my father was grooming me to take over for him, but Sheila constantly knocked me down a peg. At twenty-eight, success in the firm my father built meant everything to me. I didn’t want anything getting in the way. I was not one of those women who competed with other females in the work place. Sheila, however, was. She was a cranky—because she never ate—overbearing, and non-supportive boss who just wanted to focus on her own career and had no qualms squelching others who got in her way. Her efforts to steal my ideas and undermine me over time had been annoying, to say the least!

  I was excruciatingly aware that the best way to handle Sheila was to do what she asked because she was not beyond a tantrum or a direct verbal attack when I did not follow her precise orders. That’s why a part of me wanted to get out of the general vicinity of Mr. Elevator Kiss, knowing Sheila would fire me if she had even the slightest inkling that the client had intimately explored my mouth on the ride up here.

  Aisha glanced over at me and rolled her eyes. She had no idea about the elevator indiscretion, but she knew that Sheila was not fond of me. She’d often said my boss viewed me as a triple threat of beauty, brains, and willingness to work hard—and that she was threatened by my place in my dad’s legacy. I didn’t see myself that way, but clearly she resented my family connection to the company. I was careful to stay away from any work drama that could put my job in danger, or could thwart my plans to get my father’s company back some day. It was like walking on eggshells with her, but I was used to it.

  I headed back to my post, excited that big media people—The New York Times, Huffington Post, and CNN—were in attendance. I wanted things to go smoothly. Just then, a well-known columnist from Publishing World Journal approached me for a product demonstration. I opened a sample kit and began to show him all the details and explained how it worked.

  “Say a reader loves a scene with a handsome hero in a tux.” I enthusiastically clicked through sample images. “She probably has an image in her mind of how he looks. So she can peruse our database of thousands of photos of movie stars and models donned in evening wear and pick the one who represents the character. The photo can be moved to the reader’s homepage as a screensaver, for every book read. We know romance readers love having a visual to go with the written word. This is the first time it’s been done.”

  I smiled warmly, but professionally, and asked him if he had any questions.

  “Yes, why don’t women just wait for the movie version of the book?” He laughed out loud and swigged his drink.

  “This is more immediate,” I said. “It’s instant gratification from having the story you love, and the images that help the story come alive.”

  “Look, I have more questions, but I need a refill.” He slugged down the last drop in his glass and looked at me with flirty eyes. “Join me at the bar. Help me understand.”

  “Gee, wish I could, but I can’t leave my post,” I said, gently brushing him off. “My suggestion is take a media loaner device home, let your wife use it for a week, and see how she likes it. Or ask some of the romance readers in your office to try it and give you feedback.”

  The columnist shuffled off to the bar alone, and I busied myself with restacking product boxes and press kits. With that done, I raised my head to look around the room again just to see what was happening.

  And there he w
as, Nicolai Petre, now in a different circle of people, closer to me than before. He seemed indifferent to the chatter of those clamoring around him and was, instead, watching me. More than that, he was drinking me in.

  He met my glance with an intense, soulful stare, holding my gaze with his from the distance. It was so intimate. I am not sure how it is possible, but I felt him from across the crowded room. A surge of energy tickled my spine, and then all of me buzzed with electricity. “Turn away now,” said my rational self. Do not engage!

  I swallowed nervously, sure the sound could be heard echoing around the room. Memories flooded back, and I could almost feel his hand on my face, pulling me in for a kiss. My only recourse was to disengage. I looked down for a moment and took a deep, centering breath. When I glanced back up, he was gone.

  Thank God. All I needed was for Sheila to see me having an eye-fuck stare-down with a client she clearly said is off limits. I should have felt relieved that he removed himself, but instead, my heart was beating fast. I was suddenly overheated, tiny prickles of sweat beading on my neck. At twenty-eight, I was too young to be having hot flashes and heart palpitations, so I chalked it up to some sort of odd reaction to this desirable man. Not wanting to sweat through my new silky white blouse, I had to get some air.

  I asked my assistant to hold the fort and headed outside to the huge terrace that surrounded the upscale venue atop a Manhattan skyscraper. We’d selected this place for the stunning view. Tonight the waxing moon hung in the sky, casting a glow on the city. Surprisingly, the majority of guests were inside, drinking, so I had most of the area to myself except for a few people gathered at a table off to the side. I made it to the railing to collect myself.

  A slight wind blew across the patio inspiring me to let my hair out of the barrette. I let it fall to my shoulders. Placing the clip in my pocket, I planned to put it back up later.

  From seventy-seven stories above, New York City was a beautiful sight to behold. Watching the traffic move like illuminated toy cars below and catching the sight of all the twinkling lights around me, my pulse slowly restored to normal. A panoramic view of New York always calmed me. I inhaled the beauty of the moment and steadied myself.

  That’s when I felt a presence. And heard a voice coming from behind me. “It is a beautiful evening,” he said, the familiar accent carried on a soft breeze to my ears. “Even more beautiful with you here.”

  Turning around, pulse racing again, the energy I’d felt from across the room was now closer and stronger.

  He moved toward me slowly and purposefully. He wasn’t shy about looking directly into my eyes as he made his way over. Then, he was right in front me, so close I could smell sweet cherry and a hint of vodka on his lips. My heart rate accelerated as it became clear I would have to talk to him. Finally, I sucked in enough air to send some oxygen to my rational brain.

  Snapping into professional mode, I extended my hand to shake his. Warmth emanated from his palm as he took my hand.

  “Nicolai Petre,” he said, that sexy, subtle accent reaching my ears like a pleasant melody. “Perhaps I was rude not introducing myself earlier.”

  “Allison Monroe,” I said, trying to be cool, calm, and collected. I ignored his reference to “earlier.”

  He brought my hand up to his lips to kiss. Something close to a shiver ran up my arm as his warm mouth brushed against my flesh. He slowly disengaged his lips, and let go of my hand but stood close.

  “I wanted to see how you are doing.” His gorgeous blue eyes appeared to change color beneath the moonlight, blue from one angle and greenish from another. Whatever the hue, they were like refreshing pools of water and I wanted to fall into them. “I hope you did not mind the impertinence of my actions. I was concerned and wanted to help you calm down.”

  “Wait … you kissed me to calm me down?” Suddenly I wanted to smack him, the way I should have in the elevator, yet part of me wanted to press my lips against his again. It was devastating to hear it was a mercy kiss.

  “You needed a distraction,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “A kiss releases dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, and it makes you focus on your lips instead of your fear. It stopped your hyperventilating, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I hated to admit it. “But, so would breathing into a paper bag.”

  “If I had a paper bag, I gladly would have given it to you,” he said. “I used my lips instead. Was it not a pleasant kiss?”

  It was a remarkable kiss—although forward and inappropriate—and was the kind of kiss that woke up my whole body. But now that I know he’s my client, I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “We need to forget that ever happened.”

  “Actually, I was thinking the opposite—that you are a woman I’m meant to spend more time with.”

  “Well, apparently, you’re correct. I very recently discovered you’re my client.” I was trying to keep it professional. But those eyes—they were melting my resolve.

  I was worried about being out here alone with him. What if it happened again? What if I didn’t try to stop him again? My body quivered slightly from nervous energy. This didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Are you cold, Ms. Monroe?” he asked. “Can I offer you my jacket?”

  “I’m fine, actually.” But tremors ran through me. My nervous system was going haywire due to his proximity. It was as if my body was remembering his touch.

  “You seem to be trembling.” He took off the jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was huge on my frame, but I felt slightly protected by pulling it tighter around me. His chivalrous act meant I had a full view of his gorgeous form and all that had been hidden beneath his jacket. In his fitted shirt, his chest looked wide and his abs hard. His pants fit snugly and low on his hips. So many women at the party were looking at him with longing and desire. I did not want him to think he had the same effect on me—but he did.

  “Take a walk with me,” he said, placing his hand, again, on the small of my back and guiding me forward. I liked the way his hand felt—really liked it—but I was worried he would make a pass at me and I wouldn’t be able to resist. A voice in my head screamed, He’s a client! This is so dangerous! Your father would not approve! My dad used to say, “We only get into bed with clients and media to fill their business needs, not their biblical needs.”

  “I’m working tonight, Mr. Petre,” I said, making a solid attempt not to wander off with him to a dark corner.

  “I know,” he countered. “But I would consider the time you spend with the client to be work, no? Although I hope my company is more pleasurable than work.”

  The sexy, seductive sound of his voice melted my plan to pretend we hadn’t shared a moment in the elevator. I allowed him to move me along. He walked us to a completely deserted area of the terrace, behind a huge outdoor plant.

  He stood quietly for a while and took me in. Was he waiting for me to say something first? I bounced nervously from heel to heel and looked away—out on the city—to relive the intensity of the moment. With my eyes averted, I blurted out what was on my mind, “I had no idea you were our client, Mr. Petre. I am so sorry. I never would have…” I lowered my head, not wanting to face him.

  “Look at me, Ms. Monroe,” he finally said. “Please don’t turn away.”

  His words were so completely unnerving. Yet I felt them in my body, running through me and landing between my legs like a soft, sensual vibration. I looked up and let my gaze connect with his. Something seemed to pull us closer.

  He stepped forward and took my right hand in his. It hummed with a subtle sensation that left a charge on my flesh. With him so close, the delicious, fresh scent of his skin traveled through my sinuses where it registered as enticingly familiar. Maybe I was seduced by pheromones. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe a sexy stare down with this gorgeous man, who happened to be a client, was the most normal thing happening on this terrace tonight.

  “You are a beautiful woman,” he said, punctuating his statement w
ith another intense, intimate look into my eyes. “I know you have beauty and strength inside, too.”

  “That’s very kind.” What else could I say? “But how could you know who I am inside? We don’t know each other.” I pulled his coat around me tighter.

  “Sometimes you can tell something about a person in a glance,” he said. “And sometimes you feel it in a kiss.”

  I brushed two fingers across my lips, remembering.

  “You would have to have a lot of confidence in your own instincts to get so much information at first glance,” I challenged. “Or even a kiss.”

  “I do have complete confidence in my instincts,” he said, asserting his opinion into the air around us. “But even if I were a complete buffoon, with no intuition or emotional intelligence, I doubt I would have missed the electricity between us in the elevator when we first set eyes on each other, or how my kiss calmed you, or the way that energy rose up and traveled across the room when our gazes touched again. And how could I possibly ignore the force that continues to pervade the space between us. You feel it too, don’t you, Ms. Monroe?”

  “No.” Yes, I did, all over my body, but his direct approach was disarming. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  “Where I come from, people speak openly about emotions and they do not feel compelled to deny physical attraction,” he answered, smiling. “There is a strong force between us, no? I kissed you in the elevator to take your mind off of your fear, and, maybe, because I found you irresistible. I followed you out here because I had to meet you again. I am hoping you’re glad I did.”

  As much as I was relieved to know I was not completely imagining that there was this “force between us,” the conversation was trouble on so many levels. Force or no, I had a job to do, and I could get fired for kissing and swapping sexy glances with a client, especially one my boss specifically told me to stay away from. I had to politely extricate myself.

  “I’m so flattered, Mr. Petre.” I did feel it but stopped myself from admitting it. “But you’re a client and it’s not meant to be. It’s complicated. I guarantee my boss would not appreciate me being out on a terrace alone with you.”