Beyond Breathless

He had an odd compulsion to talk to her, find out where she worked, what she did, what corporate prize resided in Stamford.

He pushed back the purple curtain over the window, saw the endless line of gridlocked cars, and sighed. Not a good day for heading to Connecticut.

Not a good day for heading anywhere.

Their lead insurance analyst in New Haven had scheduled a lunch meeting to discuss the impact of the flattening bond market. A two-second phone call could have rescheduled the whole business, but then he had bumped into the sleek dark suit, the curvaceous body, and the stiff blue eyes, and he couldn’t resist. His brother would have leered, his sister would have cheered.

Andrew was just intrigued.

So what was it in Connecticut? He didn’t think she was meeting a boyfriend or a lover. Ten in the morning was too early for social obligations and there wasn’t any softness about her, any excitement in her eyes. And although he wasn’t big on fashion, he didn’t think that women wore pinstripes on a date.

“Job interview?” he asked, because she seemed nervous, her eyes straying every now and then to her briefcase.

She peered at him over the financial page. “Excuse me?”

“In Stamford,” he said. “Do you have a job interview there?”

She shook the newspaper page to straighten it out. “No,” she answered, and then continued reading, dismissing him.

He checked his watch. Another six minutes until his call. “Business meeting?” he asked, trying again.

This time she lowered the paper. “Yes,” she answered, just as the limo jerked to a halt.

Andrew thumped against the back of his seat.

“Sorry, sir,” said a voice over the loud speaker. “The Triboro is backed up tight. Want me to try the Deegan?”

There were cars stretched out over the bridge and beyond. Nothing was moving. Not the air, not the brake lights. Andrew pressed the speaker button to talk. “An accident?”

“No,” said the voice. “Just the entire city thinking a power outage is a great way to gain a four-day weekend.”

Jamie leaned forward, and he caught a whiff of perfume. “Can’t he go faster?” she whispered.

Andrew pressed the talk button again. “Do whatever’s fastest,” he said, knowing in his gut that he could’ve flown to Connecticut and back in the time it was going to take them to travel forty-five miles. He didn’t have the heart to tell her, though. She looked like she could chew nails, but no way was that getting them across the bridge.

“Whatever you say, sir. If I hear any updates, I’ll let you know.”

The voice cut out, leaving Andrew and Jamie alone.

“Do you think I can be in New Haven in an hour?” she asked.

“Truth or lie?”

“Lie,” she said without hesitation.

“Sure. Without a doubt.”

He watched as she reached a hand around, kneading the tendons at the back of her neck. Her arm lifted her breasts under the fitted suit jacket, and his eyes flickered down. Only for a minute. But she caught him and lowered her arm.

“I have a call,” he said briskly, exorcising the lust from his mind. “Do you mind?”

She looked relieved. “No, go ahead. Do what you need to.”

It wasn’t meant as an invitation, but the image of her, skirts up, flashed in his head. A subliminal message that came and went. Andrew frowned, and spoke into the telephone headset, commanding the phone to dial the Chicago office. He’d always been a little claustrophobic, and, trapped in the car, even if it was forty feet long, was messing with his head.

He began to speak, trying not to look her way. She took her own cell out of her briefcase and dialed, holding it up to her ear.

She wasn’t overtly pretty, no argument there, but there was something so controlled inside her, a pressurized spring, tightly wound. Andrew’s brother and baby sister always said he was too tightly wound. That he needed to relax and get a life. One way to relax would be to pry apart those tightly wound thighs and bury himself inside her.

“Andrew?”

He jerked back into the conversation. “Repeat that, please?”

And so the boring meeting went on. He had a life. A successful, fulfilling, organized life. But it was another kind of fulfillment, sexual fulfillment, or lack thereof, that was currently tenting his pants. He took a pad of paper from his briefcase and laid it strategically across his lap.

Just in case she noticed.

She hung up on her call, putting her cell away, and pulled out a notepad of her own.

Tinny voices buzzed his ear, the words making less and less sense.

All he could think about was the one white pearl button that was three inches below her throat. Such a small, sensible button.

Andrew had the oddest desire to take the white pearl button between his teeth and pull. Just like Everest—because it was there.

THE CAR WAS STARTING to heat up. Not from the warmth in the air, but the tension. He was having a normal, mundane conversation that Jamie had heard many times before. An assortment of numbers, buzz words, and run-on sentences that permeated corporate buildings across America, yet every time she heard that voice, it was like a shot of tequila straight to the brain. The car was going to her head. Jamie didn’t even like tequila.

She tried to concentrate on the paper in front of her, but his eyes were feasting on her throat, making him impossible to ignore. After a futile struggle to remain calm, she finally put the notebook away. She crossed her legs, uncrossed her legs, before settling herself with both feet planted firmly on the floor.

There was no reason to be nervous. She’d graduated Summa Cum Laude with all of three dates. She scared men off, mainly because take no prisoners ran in her family. A genetic trait that appeared when an army general mated with a dentist.

But this one…

Andrew.

There was something about him that called to her. Something besides the immaculate Italian wool suit. Something, well…earthy.

It was new and exciting, and to be fair, new and exciting didn’t happen to Jamie very often. Nothing happened to Jamie very often, which was probably her own fault, but this feeling inside her, this tiny bubble of passion, was better than chocolate.

Much better than chocolate.

Her hand moved to her throat, and his gaze sharpened.

With one tiny flutter of her hand, his eyes had narrowed, and she heard the quiet, indrawn breath. A primitive thrill pumped through her system, a feeling usually reserved for corporate IPOs and the year-end bonus. Quickly, her hand dropped to her lap.

Just as quickly, the hunger faded from his eyes, and she watched as he scribbled efficient notes on the yellow lined legal pad in front of him.

She crossed her legs, trapping a thrill between her thighs.