Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

She hung up on me.

I stare at my phone in shock. This is another first for me.

Maybe I handled that wrong. Should I have acted like I didn’t know what she was talking about when she asked about the bartender? I lean back in my chair and look out at the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling window of my office.

Last night was amazing. We were amazing together. And if I’ve fucked that, I’ll be royally pissed. But so far, I’ve been completely honest with Hannah, and I have no intention of lying to her now.

I don’t think she’ll be angry with my reason for seeking her out that night. From what the guys in the bathroom were saying, she should be right on board with what I want with her. We probably should have discussed it before last night happened, but it’s not like I planned to fuck her brains out.

Before I can dwell on it all for too long, Tom throws the door to my office open and struts in wearing the most hideous suit I’ve ever seen. I burst out laughing. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He flips me off. “This beauty is from Bobby James’s new exclusive line, thank you very much. It costs thirty-six thousand dollars,” he says, running his hands over the lapels.

I roll my eyes. “Just because it’s obscenely expensive does not mean it’s worth it. That thing is”—I examine the eggplant-purple atrocity—“an eyesore.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Sammy. It’s not my fault you lack the confidence to pull off a suit like this. Also, I simply pointed out how much it costs. I didn’t say I paid for it. Bobby asked me to be the face of his new line.”

“And you said yes? Was that before or after you saw it?” I ask, genuinely curious now.

Heaving a sigh, he drops into the chair across from me. “Before, but that’s irrelevant.”

It’s after eight when I finally hear from Hannah.

HANNAH: Sorry for the late message. Work was crazy busy. This week isn’t going to work out for me. We’ve got a few people down with the stomach flu. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you.

After last night, I’m hornier than a teenager. I don’t want to wait a whole week before seeing her again. But she’s already called me a creeper once, so I’m not going to tell her that.

ME: Okay. Next weekend then?

HANNAH: Sounds good. Let me know where and when.

I send her the address of my favorite restaurant, Alejandro’s, then tell my secretary to make a reservation for next Saturday evening. I don’t actually have any intention of waiting until then to see Hannah, though. If she can’t get away from work, I’ll go to her.

Now that I know she knows it was no accident that brought us together, I have an overwhelming urge to explain myself.

* * *

Three days later,I got Tom to give me the security codes to enter the restricted staff zones behind the scenes of The Aquarium. He didn’t even ask why I wanted them; he simply gave me a knowing grin then handed them over.

After punching in the code on the digital lock at the staff entrance by the rear parking lot, I go in search of Hannah. A guy wearing a wetsuit steps in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder, attempting to steer me back toward the exit. “You can’t be back here, sir.”

I dig in my heels, look at his hand, then pluck it off, dropping it away from me. “First, don’t touch me. Second, I can go where I please, and third, where’s Hannah?”

His forehead scrunches as he eyes me. “Who are you and what do you want with Hannah?”

A feminine voice comes from down the hall. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

I sidestep the guy and stride toward a similarly dressed Hannah. “Bought you lunch,” I say, gesturing to the takeout I picked up on my way here. “You couldn’t get away from work, but I could. So, here I am.”

She frowns at the brown bag in my hand then leans toward it, sniffing. “What is it?”

“Medium rare eye fillet with garlic sauce and a side of fries.”

Her eyes light, and she snatches the food from my outstretched hand. “Follow me,” she says over her shoulder as she walks farther down the hallway.

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m on her heels, my eyes fixed on her ass swaying as she goes. It looks amazing wrapped in that skintight blue wetsuit. But I’m not the only one who notices. The guy who stopped me before is also watching her. I close the distance between us and curl a possessive hand around her small waist, walking beside her instead of behind her.

Hannah leads us to a room at the very end of the hall then closes the door behind me. I don’t miss the click of the lock or the seductive little grin on her pretty mouth when she does it.

Glancing around, I take note of the two couches pushed against the wall and the table with long bench seats on either side. When I turn back to Hannah, my mouth goes dry. She’s tugging down the zipper on the front of her wetsuit, slowly revealing more and more of her creamy flesh.

I swallow. “You don’t want to eat your steak?”

All I get is a shake of her head, then she’s on me. I trip backwards, landing on the couch behind me, and she quickly scrambles into my lap. Her lips press to the edge of my jaw, followed by a sweep of her tongue with a roll of her hips over my growing hard-on.

“Jesus, Hannah,” I groan. I came here to feed her and talk. As horny as I’ve been, I didn’t intend on fucking her at her place of work. But the way her hips keep rolling over me, that’s exactly where this is going.

I grip her waist, holding her still. “We should talk. I wanted to—”

She cuts me off with a swipe of her tongue over my bottom lip. Christ. I tried. That counts for something, right?

Dragging one hand along her now naked spine, I tangle my fingers in her damp hair and tug her head back. She squirms in my lap when I lift my mouth to her slender throat and suck. A moan escapes her, and her hands yank at my belt then undo my fly.

I let go of her to dig my wallet out of my pocket. Hannah takes it from me, snatches the foil package out, then drops the leather to the couch beside us. I’m transfixed as she wraps one hand around my length and slides the condom down my shaft with the other.

She strokes me, once, twice, three times. Then I lift her and swing, depositing her on her back on the couch. She helps me rip her wetsuit off, kicking it to the floor when it’s free of her ankles.

She is so damn beautiful spread out beneath me like this: hair damp and splayed around her head like a halo, nipples hard and peaked, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. I glide a hand down her throat, over her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts, and across her taut stomach.

“Sam, just fuck me already!” she demands, reaching for my cock and tugging it toward her entrance.

I steady myself with a hand beside her head, but refuse to enter her until I’m sure she’s wet for me. “Wrap your legs around me, baby,” I instruct. When she complies, I reach between us, run two fingers through her folds, then push them inside her slick heat.

Hannah squirms. “Please, Sam.”

My cock jolts at her plea, and I remove my fingers, bring them to my mouth, and suck them clean before dropping to kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue.

Shifting my hips, I align myself with her entrance and thrust hard and deep. I still for a moment, enjoying the feel of being inside her again.

She digs her heels into my ass. “Fuck me, Sam. Please fuck me. You feel so good,” she whimpers, wriggling her hips beneath me.

“Such a dirty mouth,” I croon, gliding my cock in and out in long, slow strokes. She squirms beneath me. “You want more, baby?”

She nods frantically.

“I’m going to need you to say it, Hannah. I like that dirty little mouth of yours.” I continue to taunt her with excruciatingly slow glides in and out of her. It’s killing me, too, but I want words.

She moans, her heels pressing relentlessly into my ass, trying to force me to go faster. “Please, Sam.”

“Please what? What do you need, Hannah?”

A frustrated growl rips from her lips, her eyes blazing with fire as she says, “Fuck me hard and fast, Sam. Now!”

My lips quirk in what I’m sure is the most cocky grin I’ve ever worn. “As you wish,” I whisper over her kiss-swollen lips. Then, I give her what she wants. I pull out almost all the way then slam back in hard and fast just like she’s asked.

My day couldn’t possibly getany better. Sam surprising me with not only lunch, but a steak lunch. And then the quickie on the couch . . . I am so blissed out right now.

Sam is refastening his black suit pants as I lie here taking him in. I’m too sated to move just yet.

“What?” he asks with a raised brow.

I give him a lazy smile. “Nothing. Can’t a girl simply enjoy the view?”

He gives my thigh a playful smack. “Come on. Your steak will be getting cold.”

“A good steak tastes good hot or cold. And I’m willing to bet you didn’t bring me a subpar steak.”

Sam shrugs then offers me his hand, and I take it before sitting with his assistance. He passes me my discarded wetsuit. “Have you got something else you could put on, or is this your uniform?”

“I was actually on my way back here to get changed when I saw you,” I tell him as I walk naked to my locker then pop it open and grab a fresh pair of underwear and clothes.

I feel his eyes on me as I slide the black lace thong up my legs. Peeking over my shoulder, I give him a wicked grin.

He clears his throat. “You wear sexy lingerie every day, or are you trying to kill me?”

“Every day. There’s something empowering about wearing sexy lingerie under regular clothes. It’s like I have a secret that nobody else knows.”

“Well, now I know. And I like it,” he says, stepping into me from behind. “A lot.” He takes the clasp of my bra from me and fastens it himself before gliding his hands along my naked sides.

I tip my head back, resting it against his shoulder as his hands trace light patterns over my skin. “That feels nice,” I murmur.

“Good,” he says in a husky whisper. “Because I’m going to be touching you every chance I get.” Then his lips press to mine, gentle and sweet.

A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the break-room table when I ask Sam, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin then clears his throat. “Well, you asked why Tom and I talked to the bartender before approaching you and Amy that night. The truth is . . .” He strums his fingertips on the table and looks away for a moment.

“Sam, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine. Just say it, ’cause you’re making me nervous.”

His eyes immediately dart back to mine. “Sorry. You’re probably right. At least, I hope you are.”

That sentence does not soothe my nerves at all.