I knocked on the metal, trying to swallow down the anger bubbling at the surface. It was all too much. First I found the perfect job for it to be ruined by the reality of Max King, then I couldn’t escape him in my building. Now my noisy neighbors were stopping me from sleeping. Everything seemed so unfair.
I knocked again, louder this time. Did they not know how loud they were being?
Who was I kidding? I was pretty sure I could hear these guys from the Hamptons.
The stomping continued to go up and down, up and down. There was no one coming toward the door.
I slammed my fists against the cold metal and screamed, “Open the fucking door.”
Almost immediately the footsteps stopped, then changed direction. My heart began beating out of my chest. Had I gone too far? I might be knocking on the door of a serial killer or drug dealer with penchant for Bach.
Locks began to clunk and I folded my arms, ready to give my loud neighbor a piece of my mind. I should have pulled a sweater on over my silk robe.
The door opened wide and for the second time, I came face to face with Max King where I least expected to find him.
And of course, he had to be shirtless.
“Are you kidding me?” I bellowed, flinging my arms in the air in exasperation.
His eyes were wide and trailed down my body. I followed his eye line; shit, my robe had begun to part. I grabbed the silk and pulled it together, trying to ignore the fact I was almost naked in front of my boss.
His eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling and he reached out. “Get in here,” he said as he pulled me by the elbows. “You’re not dressed.”
I tried to stand firm, but he gripped me with such force I went crashing into him, and we stumbled backward into his apartment.
“Jesus, Harper,” he growled, and he pushed me away but didn’t let go of my arms. I realized it was the first time I’d heard him call me by my first name. He normally called me Ms. Jayne. He closed his eyes and with gritted teeth, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
Chapter 4
Max
Being close to her like this made me crazy. Because I’d done such wicked things to her in my head, I was always concerned I’d be over familiar with her in the flesh. And now I had hold of her, I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I didn’t want to let her go.
“What are you doing up here?” She tried to hold up some papers, but I held her arms firmly by her sides, pushing her up against the wall. “My ceiling is caving in from all the thumping.”
My brain wasn’t able to function. Why was she in my apartment? Why was she shouting?
Seeing that mafia boss lookalike at the gym hit on Harper had taken away the shock of realizing she was a resident of my building. I’d wanted to lift him up and kick him out on his ass. Then when he left I noticed her workout clothes stretched over her body so tight she might as well have been naked, and I’d bolted out of the gym, running away from the twitching across my skin that told me I had to leave before I embarrassed myself.
And now she was against my apartment wall. Enraged. And only partially dressed.
I was speechless.
She was always so cool and in control at work. It was odd to see her so . . . agitated. I clearly didn’t know her well, probably because I barely gave her the time of day, too desperate to keep as much distance between us as possible. I’d hate for her to guess what was going on in my perverted little brain, for her to know all the things I imagined doing with her.
“And the music. Anyone would think you had the New York Philharmonic up here. What the hell is going on?”
My hands burned from being wrapped around her arms. I loosened my grip, but couldn’t let her go entirely.
“Answer me!” she yelled. “I have to put up with you ignoring me in the office, but you don’t sign my paychecks here. You’re breaching your lease.”
I’d had an inkling there was more under her professional exterior than I normally saw. She’d hinted a couple of times that she thought I was an asshole. It was a relief, because if she hated me it made things easier. It made the distance wider.
But nothing was easy now, not with her right here, almost naked in front of me. Her smooth skin, hot under my fingers, wasn’t helping. The scent of musk and sex seeping through my body and going straight to my dick. The way her nipples poked at the silk of her robe. None of it helped. I closed my eyes, trying to claw back some kind of control over what I was feeling.
“Are you listening to me?”
I wasn’t. I could hear she was upset, but I couldn’t process what she was saying. My senses were too overloaded.
She tipped her head back, exposing her long, creamy neck, and sighed, exasperated. Before I could stop myself, I released her arm and stroked my index finger across her jaw and down her neck. She gasped, but I couldn’t hold back. I trailed my finger lower, into the dip at the base of her throat. She was like a drug. Every hit I took of her made me want more. I was chasing the high—her high.
“What are you doing, you asshole?”
Her words brought me up short. Asshole? I froze and looked up. Shit, I did things like that to her in my imagination, not in person.
“I . . . I’m sorry.” I let her go and stepped back, pushing my hands through my hair. What was I thinking? I was a father. A businessman. Nothing else mattered.
She paused and frowned at me. “You’re vile to me in the office,” she said, her voice quiet and questioning.
I nodded. “I know.” It was deliberate.
I fixed my stare on her full, pouty lips. All the things I’d imagined those lips doing . . . She was right. I was an asshole.
“And you think I’m stupid,” she said.
“Stupid?” If that were true she wouldn’t be quite so alluring. Yes, she’d still be beautiful, but there were plenty of beautiful women on this planet. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Then why do you treat me like shit?” She pointed at me; her voice got louder. “You act as if I don’t exist.” She jabbed her finger into my chest. It was as if she’d pressed a button with the word “cock” on it. My dick pulsed in response to every touch from her.
I grabbed her finger, forcing her to stop pressing her skin against mine, and froze, not wanting to let go, and she didn’t pull her hand away from me. Instead we just looked at each other, not knowing what happened next, needing answers from the other. Was she done yelling? Could I keep my hands to myself a second longer?
To my surprise, she dropped her papers, took a step forward, wrapped her free hand around my neck, and pressed her lips to mine. Relief rolled through my body, and instead of pushing her away, I snaked my greedy tongue into her mouth. She groaned, the sound reverberating throughout my body. She touched me as if it were practiced, as if she’d been thinking of it as much as I had.
I pulled back for a second and a look of confusion passed over her face. It was just the encouragement I needed. I pushed her against the wall and dropped my lips to her collarbone.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
She wasn’t acting as if she hated me, wasn’t trying to get away. Had I read her wrong? I glanced up and she frowned.
“Don’t stop,” she said.