The Elliotts: Bedrooms Not Boardrooms!. Maureen Child

pitch was lower, huskier.

      Her nipples beaded and desire tangled low in her belly. “It’s cut very high and very low. My legs are bare. And it’s sheer and red. A teddy with a bow on each shoulder. One tug on each ribbon and …”

      He groaned. “You’re killing me, Aubrey.”

      Her inner rebel relished this brief interlude of feeling sexy and desirable and wanted. She’d never have the nerve to act as brazen face-to-face. “I want to talk about fantasies tonight. Tell me, Liam, in your secret fantasies where is the one place you’d like to make love but haven’t?”

      “At a Mets game,” he replied without hesitation.

      That jarred her right out of fantasy land. She’d never attended a baseball game, but she couldn’t imagine finding a private place in Shea Stadium. “A Mets game.”

      “You?”

      She shook away the disturbing image of crowds, stale beer and peanut shells. Did she dare confess her secret? “An elevator.”

      She heard the whistle of his breath. “That could be arranged.”

      “I know, and I think about your private elevator at night when I—” no, she would not confess that “—when I can’t sleep.”

      “Untie the bows, Aubrey.”

      She did as he asked. The lace slid downward, temporarily snagging on her erect nipples and then gliding into a puddle at her waist.

      “If I were there I’d kiss you, taste you until you begged me to stop,” he promised in a gravelly whisper that made her lightheaded.

      A quiver started deep inside Aubrey and radiated outward. “What makes you think I’d ever ask you to stop?”

      “Aubrey.” Her name was half moan, half plea.

      Her pulsed fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings and she squirmed restlessly, aching for his touch. “What are you doing right now, Liam?”

      “Wishing you were here. This is insane. I need to see you.”

      “We can’t. My father and your grandfather would never forgive us.”

      “To hell with them.”

      Regret tightened Aubrey’s throat, dousing the sparks of arousal that had flared within her the moment she’d begun her evening preparations. She wished she could believe she and Liam had a future together, but even if Liam didn’t consider her father the enemy, Aubrey knew from her mother’s multiple marriages that love at first sight was an illusion. What she had with Liam, though breathtakingly powerful and thought-consuming at the moment, would pass.

      “Liam, what we have is temporary. Our families aren’t.”

      And then she hung up.

      She had to end this and she had to end it now. If he called tomorrow night she wouldn’t answer her phone.

      “I have your books and I’m holding them hostage.”

      Aubrey nearly dropped the phone when she heard Liam’s voice. She quickly glanced out her open office door and exhaled when she spotted her administrative assistant’s empty chair. A check of her watch revealed it was almost six. Linda must have left for the day. “You shouldn’t have called here.”

      “I’m using a pay phone. No caller ID will trace the call back to me, and I used the automated directory instead of going through the Holt Enterprises operator. The ransom I’m demanding for the books is dinner.”

      So much for her plan to ignore him. Temptation nipped at her, but guilt took an even bigger bite. The preliminary report on EPH from the advertising department lay on her desk waiting to be read, edited and forwarded to her father. Aubrey shoved it into a drawer without reading it. Whatever the report contained was common knowledge among the advertising staff. She hadn’t pried and hadn’t gained the information using underhanded methods.

      She still felt guilty.

      Just say no, A. “We can’t risk meeting in public.”

      “My place. I’ll cook.”

      What happened to no? “Did you say books, plural?”

      “I did. I have everything ever published by the author you mentioned, including an autographed copy of her recently released hardcover. But if you want them it’s going to cost you. I need to see you, Aubrey.”

      Common sense warred with desire. “And you accused me of fighting dirty.”

      “I play to win, and I promise that if you join me tonight we’ll both win. I’ll be waiting in the elevator at seven o’clock. Carlos, the doorman, will give you the key.” The dial tone sounded.

      The elevator. Did that mean what she thought it did? Aubrey couldn’t catch her breath. She lowered the receiver, pressed a hand to her chest and tried to calm down to no avail. Tremors of excitement and nervousness shook her.

      Did she have the courage to accept Liam’s challenge? There was only one way to find out.

      Liam leaned against the mirrored elevator wall and sipped his champagne. Five after seven. Would Aubrey show or had he pushed too far too fast?

      You shouldn’t be pushing at all. You should be walking away. But he couldn’t. Aubrey Holt had taken possession of his thoughts, and he couldn’t evict her no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried.

      His heart chugged slower, heavier as minutes dragged past and Aubrey didn’t arrive. He’d learned that she was punctuality-conscious at their first meeting. If she were coming tonight she wouldn’t be late. Disappointment weighted his shoulders. He ought to pack it in and carry back to his apartment the ice bucket standing in one corner of the elevator and the bouquet of red roses lying in the other. He’d bought a dozen roses—not because that was the tradition but because they’d met and made love the first time twelve days ago.

       Romantic sap. You didn’t make love, you had sex. Mind-boggling, cook-your-brain sex.

      The elevator jolted and so did his heart, and then the doors glided open. Aubrey stood in the foyer, with nervousness filling her wide eyes and white teeth digging into her siren-red lipstick. She held her purse in front of her waist in a white-knuckled grip. Liam couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his face—one of relief, happiness—as he took in her seductive attire.

      A black wraparound dress hugged her slender waist and dipped low between her breasts. Skimpy high-heeled sandals put her eyes on level with his. And her hair was rumpled, as if she’d just crawled out of bed.

      “Come inside, drop your bag and push the button for my floor.”

      She hesitated, her gaze roving over the ice bucket, the roses and then him in a slow head-to-toe perusal. Her breasts rose and fell on a deep breath before she did as he asked. Her scent mingled with the heavier perfume of the roses. The elevator whizzed upward, leaving Liam’s stomach behind. Or maybe the woman a yard away caused the roller-coaster effect.

      Aubrey knotted her fingers in front of her. The hem of her dress, which he could see in a multitude of reflections, swished almost imperceptibly with the fine tremor of her body. He poured her a flute of champagne. Their fingers touched on the stem as she accepted the glass. His pulse stuttered and her breath hitched. “I’m glad you came.”

      “Me too. I’m sorry I’m late. I went home to change first.”

      Tension eased from his shoulders. He’d feared second thoughts had caused her tardiness. “It was worth the wait. You look incredible. Sexy as hell.”

      She swallowed the champagne in her mouth with a sudden and audible gulp and her cheeks flushed. “Thank you … You too.”

      “Thanks.” He’d showered, shaved and yanked on pale gray slacks and a pullover sweater in a darker shade. Same routine he’d follow for any other date, but