Tangled Up Read online

  Stupid, she told herself as she leaned over the bar to tug a silk scarf from a tangle of similar accessories she’d left on the dining room sideboard. This was stupid and dangerous, and she could lose her job…. She held the scarf aloft.

  “You need to learn to let go sometimes, Jamison.”

  He eyed her warily. “You seem to think so.”

  It was the perfect time for him to get up and leave. Closing in on 3:00 a.m., stomach full, no reason for him to stay. But he didn’t move.

  Caite drew the silk between her fingers, enjoying the smooth fabric on her skin. “Close your eyes.”

  4

  CAITE WAITED FOR him to scoff. Or sneer. But he didn’t. Jamison closed his eyes, and was that the slightest tremble of his lips she saw? The tiniest hitch of his breath?

  Her hands shook a little when she tied the scarf around his eyes and smoothed it onto his cheeks. It was an imperfect blindfold; if he tried hard enough, surely he’d be able to see. But Jamison didn’t move. Standing between his legs, Caite didn’t move, either.

  “Open your mouth,” she breathed, certain this time he’d have to deny her. He’d have to.

  But he didn’t. Jamison’s lips parted, the hint of his tongue making her want to lean in close and taste him. She didn’t, of course. Kiss her boss? Craziness, even if, dear God, he smelled so good this close that it made her knees a little weak.

  Caite took a fingerful of cream from on top of the scones and let it touch the center of his lower lip. “Taste it.”

  His tongue crept out. A shiver ran through her. His breath sighed out. She traced his lower lip again with the cream, this time adding a little more.

  “Again.”

  This time his breath shuddered out of him, and Caite put a hand on his shoulder to keep herself from having to sit. They stayed very close, neither moving. Below the blindfold, Jamison’s mouth looked even more lush and inviting.

  “When you can’t see,” she said in a low voice, “it’s so much easier to give up. Isn’t it?”

  His hands skimmed up the sides of her thighs to settle on her hips. She didn’t imagine the way his head tilted or his fingers tightened, pulling her a little closer. The heat that had been simmering between them became white-hot.

  Fuck this—she was going to kiss him.

  His phone bleated, then buzzed against the wooden breakfast bar. Jamison’s grip loosened. He pushed back from her a little, tugging at the blindfold to grab his phone. He didn’t look at her as he thumbed the screen and typed in his password.

  He looked at the text message, then at her. The cream had vanished from his mouth, which was good since nothing about his expression looked anything close to sweet. “Your girl Nellie just got herself arrested.”

  * * *

  It was actually a bonus, as far as these things went. For the company. A chance to prove that Wolfe and Baron could put a positive spin on negative situations meant that something bad had to happen first. So it wasn’t that Jamison was pissed that Caite’s new clients had gotten themselves into trouble.

  It wasn’t that at all.

  No, it was the memory of the way her fingertip had drifted over his lower lip. The taste of her mingled with the sweet clotted cream. It was knowing, deep in his gut, that her mouth would be as delicious. Her pussy even sweeter. It was thinking about how sleek the silk had been against his face, the darkness against his closed eyes. The press of his rock-hard cock inside his trousers.

  All of that had put him in the worst of moods, along with the lack of sleep and having to work on a Saturday. When the call came in, Caite had calmly begun handling it in a way that had impressed him, though he wasn’t willing to tell her so. Not yet. He’d been expecting to take over a bulk of work when Elise had the baby, but now with her on extended leave, having Caite take over her clients would relieve him of a lot of work and stress…and perversely, he wasn’t willing to let that all go. He’d worked too hard to build Wolfe and Baron not to cling to it. Not even if Caite Fox had her head on straight and seemed to know what she was doing. With everything.

  Again his cock throbbed as he thought of how she’d taken his phone. The way she’d known so much about him already, anticipating what he’d need or want. The simple act of making him food when he hadn’t had to tell her he was hungry. Her quiet commands. Jamison closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the remembered touch of her fingertips to his lips.

  “Open your mouth,” she’d said, and he had, immediately. Without hesitation, responding to her steady confidence. The impression that she expected him to do as she said without question had been like putting a match to gasoline for him. She’d said it as if she owned him, and he’d let her.

  That was the worst part.

  “Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his eyes. Not enough sleep and not enough coffee.

  From the couch across from him, Caite stirred, and Jamison quieted. Watching her. They’d spent the past few hours putting the spin on the Nellie situation. They hadn’t had to post her bail or pick her up—her management team did that. But he and Caite had done their share of Connexing, tweeting and posting links to positive updates about the incident, along with putting out official statements. Would it work? Time would tell, but instead of a flood of angry social media chatter about the fact Nellie had punched a girl in the face, they’d managed to at least twist the story to suggest it had been in self-defense. The other girl had tossed a drink in her face, called her names. Something like that. Jamison was too tired to care.

  “Morning,” Caite said. She stretched like a cat, one limb at a time, and pushed her honey-blond hair back from her face. She leaned forward to rub her hands on her knees. “Time is it?”

  “Just past eight.”

  “God. I wanted to sleep until at least nine today.” She eyed him. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Some.”

  “In that chair?” She pointed.

  Jamison nodded. Caite got up and crossed to him on bare feet. At some point during the night or early morning, as it were, she’d changed into soft pajama pants and a T-shirt. He’d declined her offer of a pair of sweats but had conceded to loosening his tie. Now she stood in front of him, and before he could stop her, she put a fingertip beneath his chin and tilted it upward.

  “You didn’t sleep.” She leaned close to look into his eyes. “You’re going to be a mess.”

  “I’ll sleep when I go home.”

  “Are you going home?” She hadn’t moved away. Hadn’t taken her fingers from beneath his chin.

  His throat closed. Heart began to thud harder. He blinked, unable to look away from her.

  “Jamison,” Caite said slowly. “We did a good job, huh? Got things back on track, right?”

  “Yes. It seems so.”

  “You should go to sleep.” Still, neither of them moved. She studied him. “You could’ve left. But you didn’t.”

  “I wanted to make sure we got this under control.”

  “Because you don’t trust me?” she asked.

  He had to admit it was true. Caite didn’t seem offended. She smiled faintly.

  “Because you like to be in control,” she whispered. “All the time.”

  “I…Yeah,” he said, and it was the truth but felt like a lie.

  “I told you, you should learn to let go a little.”

  This close, her eyes were wide and dark but not brown the way he’d thought. He caught glints of gold and green. She had the faintest lines in the corners, too. She spent a lot of time smiling, then.

  “I don’t like—” he began.

  Her hand slid from under his chin to the back of his head, where her fingers gripped his hair, tipping his face up. She wasn’t hurting him, but he let out a low groan he stifled at once. She didn’t laugh or even smile. If she had, he’d have been out of there before she could say a word.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. “Shhh.”

  Jamison quieted. Every muscle had gone tense, but when Caite fitted herself onto his lap, t