Page 4 of Tell Me You Need Me

“Zurich.” Max pauses on the line, the rustling of papers shuffling through the speaker. “Right. Damn, I forgot we locked that in during the spring restructuring. Good catch, man. I’ll push the authorization codes through now.”

“Do it,” I order crisply. My eyes lock back onto Mischa’s, holding her captive with quiet dominance in my gaze. “And have the signed confirmation sent to my email as soon as possible.”

“Will do. Talk to you later, Nolan.” The line goes dead. I lower the receiver back into its cradle with a slow, deliberate click, my chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. I look up, ready to lay down the law, ready to tell Mischa that playing with fire in my office ends right here and now. Too bad she’s already turning around.

She doesn’t say a single word, only glides to the heavy door, her high heels clicking softly against the marble floor. It’s a lucky escape. If she stayed in this room for five more seconds, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. It’s bad enough I let my instincts take over in the garden. And now my professional boundaries are crumbling, and I’m tempted, so goddamn tempted, to lock the door and let her find out exactly what happens when you push a man to his breaking point.

But as I watch her walk away, I realize it’s not luck after all.

Mischa’s navy pencil skirt hugs every curve of her hips, swaying with each confident step she takes. The subtle, mesmerizing swish of her ass as she walks out the door is a slow-motion torture device designed specifically to ruin my sanity and test my willpower. Every step she takes commands my attention—every movement tests the limits of my control. Right before the door glides shut between us, she pauses, casting one last glance back over her bare shoulder. She catches my eye through the closing gap, throwing me a cool, satisfied look that she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

The door clicks shut, sealing her out and trapping me in the silence of my own office. I drop heavily into my leather chair, letting out a long, ragged exhale that feels like it’s burning its way out of my lungs, and rake both hands over my face. My pulse races wildly, and my body pulses with an unfulfilled desire that no amount of multi-billion-dollar work is going to distinguish. I might be wealthy, I might run a global enterprise, I might control market shares and hostile takeovers that dictate international finance that have men nearly twice my age sweat when they step into my boardroom.

And yet, I am entirely, completely at the mercy of a five-foot-four spitfire who happens to be my assistant and my best friend’s little sister.

If I’m going to survive, I need to get a grip on myself, but as I look down at the smooth surface of my marble desk, all I can picture is her laid across the stone, hair wild, completely naked, and thighs spread just for me. I know I’m already fighting a losing battle.

CHAPTER THREE

mischa

The clock in the corner of my laptop screen ticks over to 6:25 PM. Sterling Capital is completely silent at this time of evening. The dimmed ambient lighting reflects off the polished floors and alerts me that I’m well past the time I should be here. I pack my floral purple leather tote bag, slide my tablet inside, doing the same with my phone, and double-checking that I’ve got everything I’ll need for the evening, including my keys. My irrational fear of losing them, forgetting them, or them falling out of my purse or pocket makes me double- and sometimes triple-checking for them.

Once that’s done, I look toward the door, you know, the one that hasn’t opened for the past eight agonizing hours. Nolan didn’t step foot outside his office for anything, not for air, not for lunch, and he ignored my interoffice message asking if he would like his afternoon coffee. I can only assume he’s devouring financial reports, snapping at international directors, and burying himself behind a wall of cold, unyielding work. I swear, ever since our standoff this morning while he was on the phone with my brother, he’s treated me like a ghost. No, I take that back. He’s treated me more along the lines of the bubonic plague.

I drape my coat over my arm, hook my bag over my shoulder, and take two steps to the elevator, more than ready to go home, enjoy a healthy pour of my crisp white wine, and pretend Nolan Cross doesn’t exist.

“Mischa.” His voice cuts through the quiet reception area, deep and rough, carrying through the cracked open doorway of his office. I wonder when that happened? It halts me in my high-heeled tracks. A sudden flare of heat settles in the pit of my stomach, part happiness, part forlornness. I turn slowly, thoroughly surprised. I figured he’d be locked away for the night, lost in the flow of making more billions of dollars.

“Yes, Mr. Cross?” I call back, keeping my voice cool as I walk back toward his office. I step inside, pushing the door open, and there he is, standing behind his desk, only this time, he isn’t looking at a screen. His tie is completely loosened and the top three buttons of his crisp white dress shirt are undone, revealing the dark, muscular dip of his throat. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his thick, corded forearms, and his dark hair is a messy, windblown disaster that tells me he’s spent all day raking his hands through it.

“What can I do for you? I was just heading out.” I rest one hand on the frame of the door, deliberately keeping my distance. He looks like he’s running on pure determination, all broad shoulders, dark eyes, and a presence that demands attention. Nolan’s eyes lock on mine, burning right into me with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat. A slow, wicked curve touches the corners of his lips

“That’s a loaded question, trouble,” he rumbles lowly. His baritone vibrates through the quiet space between us. “Do you really want to ask me what you can do for me right now?”

“Nolan…” My pulse spikes.

“Fuck it.” The words snap out of him like a cable breaking in two. Before I can process the sudden shift, Nolan pushes out from behind his desk and charges toward me. He moves with a predatory grace of a man who has completely run out of patience. The sheer alpha magnetism rolling off him sends a mix of panic and desire straight between my thighs. My instincts kick in, and I immediately start walking backward, my heels clicking against the floor.

“Nolan, wait—” I take three fast steps back, but he closes the distance in two long strides. My back hits the solid wood of his floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with a soft thud. He crowds me in, stepping directly into my personal space, towering over me, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the world. The scent of leather, tobacco, and raw masculine heat wraps around me like a warm blanket, completely throwing my senses out of whack.

“Nolan…” I gasp when large, heavy hands grip my hips with a bruising force. His long fingers dig into the fabric of my pencil skirt, penning me right where he wants me. I let out a sharp intake of air as my body goes airborne, and I wrap my legs around his waist, thighs gripping the hard muscles of his hips as my skirt rides up dangerously close to my hips. Nolan hitches me higher, notching the thick and heavy ridge of his cock right at my center.

He’s right there, his chest breathing heavily against mine. His dark eyes are nearly pitch-black with hunger that sets my insides on fire while also somehow managing to terrify me. I press my palms flat against his solid chest, holding him off just enough to look him in the eyes. My heart is hammering, beating vigorously, much like the pulse between my legs.

“We’re not doing this,” I whisper. My voice trembles slightly despite my best efforts. “We’re not doing this if you’re going to wake up tomorrow, put on your suit, and pretend like it never happened again.” His jaw clenches, and a muscle ticks beneath his skin. “I’d rather walk away with my dignity intact, thank you very much,” I add for good measure, tilting my chin, defying him as my thighs squeeze tighter around his waist.

“I tried that.” Nolan lets out a low, dark growl that vibrates against my chest. His grip on my hips increases, holding me effortlessly. “I tried playing the stoic boss all day. I tried pretending I didn’t want to rip this skirt off you the second you walked into my office this morning. It didn’t get me very far, Mischa. It almost drove me out of my fucking mind,” he rasps, leaning in until his lips are brushing the shell of my ear, his breath scorching my skin as his pant-covered cock grinds against my aching pussy. He pulls back, eyes wild and entirely possessive in the hottest way possible. “You want your dignity,” he groans, pushing his hips into mine, voice dropping into a dirty, command-driven whisper. “You can have it back tomorrow. But tonight, you’re mine.”

Nolan’s mouth crashes down one mine. It isn’t a gentle kiss, it’s a takeover, a deep, passionate, domineering invasion that shatters the last remaining thread of my sanity. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, claiming me, tasting me, drinking the breathless sounds right out of me.

His right hand leaves my hip and slides up my neck, his long fingers wrapping firmly around my throat in a claiming hold. He doesn’t squeeze to hurt—he holds me there, asserting himself, tipping my head back to give himself better access to my mouth. The pressure of his palm against my throat sends a sharp, helpless wave of arousal through my whole body.

I let out a muffled moan into his mouth. My fingers tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer, deeper. He shifts his hips, crowding himself flush against me, and I gasp. I feel him, his entire, thick, rigid length directly against my silk-wrapped core. He’s massive, rock-hard, and burning hot against me.

“Feel that?” Nolan growls against my lips, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second to trail his mouth down my jawline, his teeth scoring the sensitive skin of my neck. “That’s what you did to me all day. You stood in front of me while your brother was on the phone and played your little games. Now you’re going to pay for it.” He shoves his hips forward, swiveling the underside of his hard cock against my core. The sensation lights me up. A sharp, loud cry escapes my lips, echoing off the high ceilings of his office.

The past forty-eight hours, I’ve given myself countless orgasms, and yet nothing compares to what he’s doing to me.