“Oh, yeah, you missed this.” He rocked his hips so she could feel his full length.
“So you do believe in fairytales.”
After capturing both of her wrists in one hand, he raised them above her head, yanked her skirt over her hips, and lifted her higher with his other arm. His cock was positioned right where he wanted. He met so much wetness between her legs he didn't hesitate and surged forward, breaching her with a hard thrust. Her heat was an agonizing fire, and when she clamped down on him, lightning rushed through his body. She groaned, deep and guttural, at the invasion, and he didn't wait for her to adjust. Holding back was impossible. Puffs of breath escaped her lips as his cock rammed into her over and over. His lips reclaimed hers, and with teeth grazing over lips, tongues twisting for control, he poured all his bitterness, rage and need for revenge into her mouth as he battered her senseless.
Balls-deep in her, he exploded. He hadn't had more than a few quick fucks in the last year, and his orgasm nearly took off his head. Who cared if she came. It was his turn to take.
Sucking air, he eased her hips down and slipped out of her. He let go of her wrists but caged her again between his forearms against the door.
A fury grew in those chocolate-colored eyes, mascara smeared under lashes so wet they glistened. “I knew you couldn't resist.” Her hiss blew moist against his cheeks.
“Didn't hear you complaining.”
“We always were good in bed, and a pity fuck seemed in order.” She pushed against his chest and ducked under his arm. She reached down and picked up her panties. “I want my money back.” She pulled the lace up over her hips and smoothed down her skirt like a prim schoolmarm.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath and pushed off the wall. He tucked his wayward cock back in his pants.
She shook her hair from her face, now still and cold, but her eyes—those eyes—reddened further. Tears? The thought yanked at his heart. What do you know? He still had one despite her shredding him to pieces.
“I want. It. back.” Her throaty whisper raised more unwanted feelings.
He turned and let his head fall heavily against the doorjamb. He was so tired. Tired of all the rage. Tired of thinking about what happened. Tired of thinking about what could have been. Tired of thinking about Rachel at all. “If I had your money, I'd give it to you, and that's the truth.”
“Really? You expect me to believe …” She paused, and for the first time since he'd seen her again, she must have heard the weary truth in his voice. She cocked her head, brows furrowed in question. “If you don’t have it, then who does?”
“Not me.”
“What about Peter Martin? He worked for your firm.”
The woman never gave up. He’d liked that once about her, right? She’d have made one hell of a life partner—hell-bent on having her own career as an international resort manager superstar, throwing out witty one-liners that made him laugh, and staring up at him with so much love and loyalty he couldn’t have imagined air getting in between them let alone false accusations. Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about how he used to know this woman. He hadn’t.
Straightening, he buckled up his pants. “Peter’s in San Francisco. Married. First baby on the way.” His colleague was the first person he’d believed could be part of the frame job, but dispelling that theory had been easy. The risk wasn't worth the measly three million to Peter, not when the man made twice that in one year.
“So, if you don't have it, and I don't have it, who does?” She glared at him as if all of this was still his fault.
The name of the culprit, the lone thief who sucked the trust fund dry, came so clearly, he felt each letter form in his brain. “Where's Jay? Where the hell is he?”
“Oil rig. Somewhere in the gulf.” Rachel fluffed her hair nonchalantly like they hadn't just fucked against his office door. ‘Unlike you, he took care of me after everything went to pieces. He went to work.”
“That prissy boy getting his hands dirty? Unlikely. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, something is wrong here.”
“Duh.” Her eyes darted away, avoiding his gaze.
He scratched his chin. “Jay on an oil rig? You sure about that? What company?”
“I'm not telling you squat.”
An itch grew under his skin like something refusing to stay under the surface. She hadn't always been this obtuse, had she?
He narrowed his eyes as she crossed her arms. “You don't know where he is, do you?”
“Screw you.”
“You already did that, sweetheart.” He grasped the side of her neck and pulled her closer. “That money was yours and his, and eventually, your half would have been ours. Don't you get it? All I had to do was wait to access it. Now, where is Jay?”
“In the middle of the ocean, thanks to you.”
His stubborn Rachel could try the patience of a saint, and he was at least familiar with that purse-lipped grimace. Pushing her to talk followed the law of diminishing returns. He'd get nothing more from her—for now. He sighed. For now, he’d let her go live in her obliviousness to the truth—like how she’d not only abandoned him, but she’d done something even worse. She’d sided with the real thief, the one who had set up a phony company, hacked into his computer, transferred the trust fund money, and drained the account in less than six hours—and all done in his name. The piece of his theory that no longer fit was Rachel, overseas, waiting for the transfer to get it out of the country. Maybe she really was innocent—at least of the crime. She’d still abandoned him.
She straightened and lifted her chin. “Hire me. You did say I'd make more money, and you owe me. You offered me a job, remember?”
“Tell me how to reach Jay, and I'll make good on the offer.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you. He's on an oil rig.”
Sure he was. Everyone had their blind spots, and Rachel's was her stepbrother. She'd lost her mother when she was very young, and the only man she'd known as a father when she was eighteen. Clinging to the last of your family was understandable, but in Jay's case, not wise. Then again, what he was about to do wasn't wise either, despite his earlier plan to keep a close eye on her.
“Okay, you're hired, and then you'll give me his cell phone number.”
“He won't answer you, so no. I'd like to work six nights a week—”
“Five.”
“For the first two weeks until you can see that I can handle myself, but then I get six.”
“Perhaps. You can start—”
“Tomorrow, and you won't be sorry. I have good ideas. I work hard. But no hostessing, no taking my clothes off, no bartending, and I—”
“We'll discuss this tomorrow. See you then.” He turned away from her, knowing her inability to get the last word in would gall the shit out of her—something he was totally okay with.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Trick, swear to God—”
“You'll waitress, Rachel. On probation.”
“Fine.” She flipped him the bird and yanked open the door.
“Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.”