Talking Dirty with the CEO Read online

  The stutter was back. He’d noticed it came out when she was either nervous or stressed, which meant he’d hurt her. What a prick. “Don’t apologize, honey. It’s not your fault. Anyway, it’s all in the past. Old news. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

  She remained silent a moment, then nodded and changed the subject, asking him something about his business. They chatted for a while about their jobs and he enjoyed hearing her talk about hers.

  “So what made you decide on writing rather than working in the electronics industry?” he asked as they turned down the road to her parents’ house. “Because you know that job offer in my R&D department is still open.”

  “I always liked writing. I’m much better at it than talking, at least. And I liked playing with new technology. So working in tech journalism seemed like a great way of combining the two things I like to do best in the world. “ She grinned. “But I have to say that job offer is very tempting. Would I get to play with tech all day?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And do the boss every night?”

  He laughed. “Okay, that does it. You’re hired.”

  “What about you? Why technology?”

  “Because it’s always changing. Always moving forward at such a fast rate. There’s always something new on the horizon, new ideas, new advances.” He glanced at her and grinned. “And it’s something I’m good at.”

  “You are. Hey, I just had a thought with the Arkon. There’s a bit of the motherboard that—” she stopped. “Oh. We’re here.”

  Joseph slowed the Tesla Roadster outside the huge, white, two-story villa mansion clearly visible through the trees. With manicured lawns, trees, and a huge “don’t bother me, I’m too important” gate, the place reeked of money and entitlement.

  Christie’s tension only got worse as he announced them at the intercom and the gates opened, allowing him to drive up a long driveway lined with stately oaks.

  “Right,” he said as he parked in the turnaround outside the house. “So what’s the plan? How would you like me to act?”

  Her jaw looked tight, her shoulders set, a bitter look in her eyes. “Just…” She took a breath, staring at the big house in front of them. “Just don’t make a big deal of anything my mother says, okay? I hear it all the time and arguing with her makes it worse. I’d prefer to walk in, stay an hour or two, then leave.”

  She was as guarded as he’d ever seen her. As if bracing herself for a blow.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching over to take her hand, curling her cold fingers in his. Wanting to help her in any way he could. “There’s something I want you to remember.”

  She didn’t pull her hand away, her gaze coming to his. “What?”

  “I want you to remember you’re strong and brave and beautiful.” He tightened his fingers around hers, warming them. “I want you to remember that you, Christie St. John, are perfect. Okay?”

  Like the edge of dawn showing in a cold, dark unforgiving night sky, her mouth curved and her face lost its tight, drawn look. Her fingers squeezed his back. “Thanks, Joseph.”

  He smiled. “Good. Now, let’s go in and kick your family’s butt.”

  Christie laughed and for the first time in weeks, Joseph felt like he’d finally done something right.

  Chapter Ten

  The party was in full swing, a number of her parents’ rich friends already gathered in the formal lounge. Waiters moved among the partygoers with trays of canapés and champagne. Probably the most expensive champagne. Nothing but the best for her mother, after all. There was even a string quartet playing.

  It was a sight that, a couple of weeks ago, would have made her sick.

  But now, as she and Joseph entered the room, all her earlier nerves seemed to have dropped away, the horrible feeling in her stomach gone.

  He was holding her hand, his warm strong fingers laced with hers, and the words he’d spoken to her out in the car seemed to have lodged deep in her soul.

  You’re strong and brave and beautiful. You’re perfect.

  Just words. Just one man’s belief. And yet they’d given her a strength that all the steel-capped Doc Marten boots in the world couldn’t.

  “Christie, darling!”

  Helene St. John, picture-perfect in an expensive green silk cocktail outfit that matched her eyes, came forward to greet them. She kissed Christie on both cheeks, enveloping her in a wave of soft perfume. “You’re a bit late of course but being fashionably late is the in thing, isn’t it?”

  “Hi Mum,” Christie said. Joseph’s fingers tightened around hers, a subtle reminder. And something inside her became even stronger.

  Her mother waved a hand. “Oh, no, darling. Not mum. Sounds so old.” She cast a sidelong glance at Joseph, standing at Christie’s side, a tall, restless presence. “So I see you didn’t make him up after all. Introduce us, there’s a dear.” There was a flirtatious note in her voice. Helene playing the socialite again.

  “This is Joseph. Joseph Ashton.”

  Helene blinked, green eyes wide. “As in Ashton Technology?”

  “Yes, Mrs. St. John. The very same.” Joseph smiled, dark and devastating.

  “Mrs. St. John? Oh no, not that, either, please,” she simpered. “Makes me sound like my mother-in-law. Call me Helene.” Another flirtatious glance at him that made Christie cringe. “So you’re Christie’s…what do they call them these days? Boyfriend?”

  Joseph’s smile didn’t falter. “I believe they call them lovers, Helene.”

  Christie’s teeth sunk into her lip, a laugh bubbling in her throat at the look on her mother’s face.

  Helene, clearly flustered, gave a false giggle. “Oh, how…lovely. Haven’t you done well for yourself, darling?”

  Holding Joseph’s hand very firmly, Christie looked her mother in the eye. “Yes, haven’t I, Mum?”

  The look in Helene’s eyes flickered for an instant at the firm, steady note in her daughter’s voice, her mouth pursing in disapproval. A frown appeared. “We’re privileged, I see. A dress instead of jeans. Lovely, darling. Though I’m not sure about that color on you. You have a tendency toward sallowness.”

  And so it begins.

  The rain of criticisms. Such mild complaints by themselves, but taken together they were the death of a thousand cuts. Making her feel so small and plain and ugly.

  But not today. Because today she was beautiful. Today she was perfect.

  “Actually, Mum, I thought the color looked good on me.”

  “Oh no, sweetheart. Sorry, but it’s true. I know fashion has always been a bit of a challenge for you so take it from me.”

  “May I respectfully disagree, Helene?” Joseph said from beside her. “I thought she looked beautiful in it.”

  Another flustered expression passed over her mother’s face. “You did? But then you must admit, men don’t know much about fashion.” She gave him a condescending smile. “I bet you’d probably think Christie would look fabulous in a paper bag.”

  “She would.” The smile that curved his mouth was pure wolf. “Though I prefer her in nothing at all.”

  Christie felt herself blushing, alternating between embarrassment at Joseph’s frankness and pleasure at Helene’s shock. Her mother was never put off-balance or caught by surprise, and boy was Christie going to enjoy the moment.

  It didn’t last of, course. Because Helene always had to have the last word.

  Sure enough, she gave them both a fixed smile then said to Joseph, “You must let me introduce you to my husband, and Andrew, my son.” She made a beckoning motion and Christie realized that her father and brother had been hovering in the background for a while now, like courtiers waiting for the queen’s summons.

  Helene began taking charge of the introductions while her father and Andrew fawned all over Joseph.

  “Well, Christie, you never told me he was the Joseph Ashton,” Helene said as her father beamed, shaking Joseph’s hand. “How ever did you meet him? I didn’t think you moved
in quite the same circles.”

  Joseph answered before Christie could open her mouth. “She interviewed me for her magazine. And she was so articulate, so interesting, I couldn’t resist looking her up after the interview.” He raised his eyebrows at the rest of her family. “Do you know how talented this woman is?”

  Mark, Christie’s father, gave him a faint disbelieving smile. “Talented?”

  Joseph nodded slowly, as if to a child. “Yes. Extremely. Have you read any of her writing?” He didn’t wait for a response. “But of course you would have. She’s your daughter. You must be so proud of her.”

  Helene blinked. “Naturally we’re proud of her. Aren’t we, Mark? Terribly, terribly proud.”

  Oh yes. Proud. Sure they were.

  It was so fake. Such a lie. They weren’t proud. They’d never been proud.

  A sense of calm descended on Christie.

  She’d been listening to this sort of stuff all her life. Always there was something wrong with her. Always something that didn’t quite meet the required expectations. Either with her appearance or her job or her choice of boyfriend or any one of a thousand other tiny things.

  And she’d let them get away with it. Let them steadily undermine her confidence until there was nothing left. Armoring herself in her heavy-metal T-shirts and her steel-capped boots, pretending that she didn’t care.

  All because deep down she was afraid that her family was right.

  Well, she wasn’t afraid any longer. There wasn’t anything wrong with her. Hadn’t Joseph shown her that? He’d told her she was perfect. And now it was time to believe him.

  “Stop it, Mum,” Christie said quietly, for the first time in her life the words coming out the way they were supposed to, not tangled up and stuttering.

  Helene’s green eyes flicked back up to meet her daughter’s. “Stop? Stop what, darling?”

  “Stop criticizing me.”

  Her mother gave a laugh. “Criticizing you? Darling, I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are. That’s all you’ve been doing my whole life.”

  Silence.

  “Now steady on, Chris.” Her father frowned at her. “I don’t think that’s quite right.”

  Christie regarded her father, the calm spreading into a quiet strength she hadn’t known she possessed until this moment. “Isn’t it, Dad? Can you name even one of the articles I’ve written lately?”

  “Well…I…of course…it’s…” her father muttered.

  “Oh come on, Chris,” Andrew said, sounding bored. “You know no one’s interested in that computer stuff.”

  “No, I know. None of you are.”

  Helene touched her hair in a nervous-looking gesture. “What nonsense, darling. Anyway, you know me. I just like to point out a few things that you could improve on.”

  Beside her, Christie could sense Joseph’s restlessness like static on her skin. He wanted to say something, she knew, but this wasn’t his fight. It was hers. She squeezed his hand. Hard. Then said to her family in the same level tone, “I don’t need improving.”

  “Everyone needs—”

  “No, Mum. I don’t.”

  Helene’s jaw looked tight. “I’m just trying to help you, Christie.”

  “Well, I don’t need help.” Christie lifted her chin, swept her gaze over them. “All you’re doing is making me feel small and plain and insignificant.”

  Her mother’s eyes went wide, an odd expression crossing her face. Her father gaped like one of the slack-jawed zombies Christie liked to shoot in her games, his cheeks reddening as if he was embarrassed. Andrew scowled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Christie raised a sharp finger. “No, Andrew. I have something to say.”

  Gratifyingly, her brother shut up.

  “I know you’re not interested in the stuff that I am,” she went on firmly, a fierce edge entering her voice as she looked each of her family members in the eye. “I know you don’t care about it like I do. But I’m sick of feeling like I disappointed you. I’m sick of feeling like I don’t measure up. I have so many things to be proud of. And you know what? My family isn’t one of those things.” She took a breath. “I always wanted to be one of you. To feel like I fit in. But right now I’m glad I don’t. Because I’m really disappointed in you. You all kind of suck.”

  Her mother had gone quite pale, while her father spluttered. Her brother looked anywhere but at her.

  “Thanks for the party invite, Mum,” she continued, remaining calm, “but I won’t be coming back here again until I get an apology for the way you’ve treated me all these years.” She gripped tight to Joseph’s hand. “Come on, Joseph. I don’t think we need to stay.”

  A surge of adrenaline went through her, making her want to tremble. But not from fear this time. This time it was all about satisfaction.

  And as she turned and left her shocked family standing there gaping, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  For the first time in years she felt free.

  …

  Joseph followed Christie down the expansive hallway and out onto the veranda, where there were some steps leading down to the driveway and the scent of wisteria in the air. Then he stopped and, unable to help himself, pulled her back against him.

  “You,” he murmured into her ear, “were amazing.”

  Because she was. Strong and calm, laying down the law. Telling her family what she thought of them and their behavior. Telling them that she was disappointed in them.

  Magnificent. Absolutely bloody magnificent.

  Christie turned, her cheeks pink, the sparkle of triumph in her eyes. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to say those things.”

  “So why haven’t you before?”

  “Oh, because I could never seem to get them out.” She flushed. “You’ve heard me stutter, right? Well, Mum would start criticizing me and I’d try to tell her to stop, but all the words would get caught up inside my head. I’d start stammering and stuttering, being pathetic. It was easier just to ignore it and walk away.”

  Joseph raised her hand, her long, slender fingers laced with his. He kissed it, smiling at her. “I don’t believe you were ever pathetic, Christie St. John.”

  Christie smiled back, so warm and open his chest ached. “Not now. Thanks to you.”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

  “But you did.” She stepped close all of a sudden and he couldn’t smell the wisteria anymore, only her. Only lavender and musk and sweetness. “You made me believe in myself. I could never have faced them if it hadn’t been for you.”

  Her face glowed bright with triumph and satisfaction, and he couldn’t stop himself from cupping it in his hands, stroking her delicate jaw with his thumbs. “Yes, you could. Don’t underestimate yourself. Surely you don’t need me to tell you that?”

  She smiled, then rose up on her toes, brushing her mouth with his. “You could show me though. At home.”

  He had the feeling then that he’d forgotten something. Missed something. But he couldn’t immediately figure out what it was. Hard to concentrate on anything else when Christie was in his arms, kissing him as though she couldn’t get enough.

  “Then let’s go,” he said, dismissing the odd feeling.

  The car journey was silent. He didn’t ask which home she wanted to go to—he took her to his. The bed was bigger, for a start.

  In the elevator on the way up to his apartment, he got impatient, pulling her into his arms. And she didn’t hold back, meeting his kiss with her own. A kiss that tasted of sweetness and Christie. A kiss that exploded inside him like a stick of dynamite exposed to a match.

  He pushed his hands into her hair, gripped the back of her neck, and deepened the kiss, tasting the soft heat of her mouth. Her fingers curled into his shirt and he felt the pull of the fabric.

  God. Could he ever get sick of this?

  The elevator pinged as they reached his floor and he released her, taking her hand, leading her to his apartme
nt, then opening the door.

  He headed immediately to the bedroom, but Christie pulled on his hand, making him turn back. Her pale face was flushed, eyes so green they looked like a meadow full of new grass.

  “What is it?”

  She didn’t say anything, merely tugging her hand from his grip and putting her fingers on his hips. Then she pushed him against the wall.

  Joseph’s breath hitched. She was looking at him like she hadn’t eaten in weeks and he was a banquet she wanted to gorge on. “What are you doing, Naughtygirl?”

  “I want to seduce you.” She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his throat. Her mouth burned on his skin.

  So unexpected, his guarded, insecure Naughtygirl. Except now she wasn’t guarded. Or insecure.

  “Go ahead.” His voice sounded rough as she began pulling open his shirt. “Give it your best shot.”

  His voice caught as her hands slid over the bare skin of his chest. Her touch was light but not in any way hesitant. She caressed him, stroked him as if he were a work of art she’d been longing to touch. Desperate to take control and haul her off to bed, he nevertheless found himself staying where he was; her touch was gentle, soothing him while at the same time making him so hard he couldn’t think.

  He looked down at her. She was staring raptly at the movement of her hands on his skin. Her mouth open, her lips wet from their kiss. Her face glowed pink with arousal, and a fierce determination burned in her gaze. A determination that made his desire coil tighter. She was a woman on a mission and intended to prove herself, that much was clear.

  She kissed him, soft kisses all over his chest while her hands stroked, and he had to struggle to take a breath, a ball of emotion sitting hard behind his breastbone. Desire and something else, something deeper somehow, more complex.

  The way she touched him, as though he was precious, made the feeling get heavier and heavier. Part of him wanted to throw her to the floor and take her to make the feeling go away, while another part wanted to be quiet and still and bask in those light, tantalizing caresses.

  Her hands slid down, over the fly of his trousers, pressing him through the cloth, and he had to bite back a groan. “Christie.” Her name sounded rough, guttural.