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The trembling became shockwaves that rocked her body and she didn't even need to say the words because I felt it. She reached that moment of complete loss of control; where her body no longer belonged to her. It belonged to the climax.
I kissed her then, my tongue against her tongue, tasting her moans, her abandon. She was sweet and naughty and everything I dreamed she would be and more.
But she's not the only one that lost control.
My conscience stepped back into the picture and I gave her a final, chaste kiss before I pulled myself from her gushing sex. My rules, my control....they were in place for a reason.
It's what separated me from men like my father. Men who thrived on impulsiveness. Who chose selfishness over all else.
Which was exactly what I'd just done.
A few moments ago I couldn't take my eyes off her. I wanted to make her let go. Make her surrender. Make her mine and watch the pleasure unravel her from head to toe. Now, I avoided her gaze, wiping my fingers with a handkerchief as she put her clothes back on.
I cautioned a look in her direction and my heart balled into a fist. Without uttering a syllable, I knew she wanted me to say something. To tell her what was going on in my head. I couldn’t face the shame rendered me speechless.
She spoke first. "Mr. Whitmore-"
"If you follow the stairs, you'll find your way back to the lobby." I turned from her, but I could still feel her wetness. Taste her lips. The fact that losing control with a virtual stranger not only felt freeing but right just made the ache in my chest grow. "I lost myself, Leila. It won't happen again."
Chapter Three
I told myself as soon as I stepped into my office that I would put Leila and our time in the stairwell behind me. Technically, I didn’t break that rule, because instead of shooting to the top floor where my office looked out on the city, I went to the fifth floor where Maria Delacourt and her team took care of hiring and firing and other personnel issues.
The receptionist behind the desk perked when I stepped through the glass doors, and when she realized who I was, she dialed the charm up to 1000.
"Mr. Whitmore! Gorgeous tie."
My tie was simple, black, and decidedly not gorgeous. Instead of shooting down the compliment, I gave her a cordial nod. "Thank you-"
"Marissa," she interjected, flashing me a blindingly white smile. "Marissa Collins."
I hadn't been on my way to asking for her name, but I just cleared my face of all emotion but business. "Could you please inform Mrs. Delacourt that I will be sitting in on her next interview?" I knew the manilla folder resting at the edge of her desk was Leila's file, so I swiped it and made my way into the conference room.
I flipped it open and couldn't help but smile. A bold, powerful header. Sharp angles and thick lines. In a sea of applicants that just faded into one another, this one caught your eye.
I picked the chair in the center, dropping the folder on the table in front of me and adjusting my tie. The quick, precise movement usually cleared my head and I could put aside all else but being professional, but my mind was elsewhere. I was back in that stairwell, Leila pushed up against the wall, her eyes simultaneously throwing daggers and daring me to do the thing we both craved.
I glanced down at my crotch and shook my head. What the hell was I doing? I didn't sit in on interviews. I was nursing what was sure to become an uncomfortably snug erection and seeing her—that wild hair, those eyes, those lips—would just push me further into insanity.
I closed the folder, deciding that when I walked away the first time, I'd done the right thing. Any woman that had me this undone would be more headache than I could deal with right now.
The oversized wooden door creaked open and I held my breath. When I saw Maria's face, I exhaled. My relief was short-lived because me leaving the interview room now would be even stranger than showing up in the first place.
Maria remained at the door. She was a woman used to calling the shots, and was clearly no fan of another alpha dog staking its claim.
She flashed me a tight smile that matched the fierce salt and pepper bun at the crown of her head. "Mr. Whitmore, how lovely to see you. I wasn't aware you would be attending the interview, or I would have had Marissa make you a more thorough work up on the applicant."
Heat rocketed through me, recalling just how thorough I'd been with the applicant just a little bit ago. "I had a last minute opening and I thought I'd branch out and see what stellar applicant had caught your eye."
The battle lines on Maria's face softened as she glided toward the table. With the bun and her perfect posture she seemed well suited for gliding across the stage in a leotard and ballet flats. I knew that her career choice, human resources, was a godsend for Whitmore and Creighton. With her at the head of the department, we'd assembled a powerhouse team whose skill was unparalleled...and she knew it. Still, she accepted the compliment gracefully, even though I was stepping on her toes.
"I definitely appreciate you taking the time," she said congenially, easing into the seat beside me. "Her name is Leila Montgomery. Marissa told me she's ready, so we'll begin shortly." She cleared her throat and put her hands palm first on the table, then dropped them to her lap, then brought them back to the table.
Reading her body language, I offered the folder to her.
"Oh, that's okay-"
"I'm just here as an observer," I assured her.
