Work Wife by Dee Ellis
Chapter Four
Karina
Why would I agree to something so impossible?
After a busy day at the office full of meetings, an hour long brief where I took notes until I ran out of ink, and a quiet lunch in Kolt’s office, I am a wore out. Sitting beside him in his Audi, I don’t feel tired at all. I feel wired and alert. Watching his long fingers drum on his steering wheel and the stretch of his crisp white shirt over his thick arms, I am mesmerized by him.
It is not the first time I have been to his home, but usually I am there to drop off dry cleaning or pick up work. I love his place though. It’s all stone and modern lines with lots of windows. Most of the house was decorated for him in whites and grays, very classy and upscale. It is his office I love the most though.
His office is him all over it. Movie posters and memorabilia line one wall and he has two upright arcade games. His desk is littered with sketches and ideas for new codes and programs. But it also has a line of little pieces of his travels all over the world. A hot pink phone booth from his trip to London, a neon green Eiffel tower, and even a led lit Sydney Opera House.
It is all very geeky chic.
“Don’t be nervous, K,” he says now, reaching out to turn down the radio, “tonight is just dinner. Just getting used to being around one another,” he states gently.
But we both know that is a non-issue. We fit around each other without awkwardness or fumbling. It has always been that way. Even when we sit too close at the office or he touches me too freely, it does not feel wrong or out of place. It makes this even more of a bad idea—we forget the rules at the office. How will we handle that at his place or being away together for the weekend?
“I am not nervous,” I lie then roll my eyes because I sound nervous, “I can do this.”
“Karina,” he says my name so softly it sends a shiver up my spine, “I meant what I said today. You can say no at any time. Hell, it might be a terrible idea. As bad as your monkey joke,” he teases with a crooked grin, and I laugh.
“That was one of my favorites, you didn’t like it?” I shoot back, looking over as he turns into his long driveway.
His eyes darken when they meet mine and the space between us feels too hot and too thick. Watching me, he reaches out slowly. Dropping it at my thigh, he gives a gentle squeeze. I ignore how his palm against my skin makes my panties damp and how I love when he looks at me the way he is looking at me right now. With something soft and hungry in his eyes.
“It made me laugh. They always make me laugh,” he husks, giving my thigh another squeeze before he pulls his hand back.
I hate the loss of his touch and the weight of his big hand at my thigh. I want to snatch it back. I even want to reach out and touch him too. Fuss with his mussed hair—it is always a mess and I love it—or brush my fingertips over his short beard. But I don’t because it is just us and we don’t have to pretend yet.
Not that touching him would feel like pretending to me.
After he parks, we both fall quiet. Inside, he waits patiently for me to take off my heels. When I stumble a little, he takes my hand, draping it over his shoulder. Bending, he unlaces the silly things one at a time, his fingers brushing over my calves where the straps wrap. I wore them because he mentioned liking them once and now am I ever glad I did.
“I like these shoes,” he speaks my thoughts and I smile.
“Do you?” I state as if I had no idea, and he chuckles.
“Come on, let’s eat and work up a game plan.”
My hand drops but he takes it in his and leads me down the hall towards his kitchen. At the tall island, he pulls out a stool for me and helps me climb up. My feet dangle because I barely hit five-five and he laughs when I kick them playfully. Rounding the island, he goes to the double fridge and swings the doors open. I watch him peer into the perfectly organized fridge with the meals his cook prepares and a shelf of beers and spritzers.
“What is on the menu tonight?” I tease, knowing he eats the same five meals every week.
Turning to shoot me a look, he closes the fridge. Going to the cabinets, he starts grabbing things out, covering the island with them. When he goes to his drawers and pulls out pots and pans, I let out a taunting gasp. He never cooks because he never has time for it. He told me he used to cook for his family all the time but once he got wealthy, he found he had less time to do it and enough money to pay for someone to cook for him.
“Going to cook for your wife?” I tease although saying wife makes me flush hot because, damn that would be something.
“Yes, Karina. I am going to cook for you,” he grins crookedly and rolls up his sleeves, showing off his muscled forearms that he must get from writing code all day, “you like meat, yes?” he asks, popping a brow as he sets some steaks down in front of me.
“I eat meat,” I say, watching his eyes flash when I tease him.
Something about him makes me talk this way, makes me feel flirty and bold. Never have I been this way with a man. This is how we talk with one another and sitting here now I know it’s not proper for the office. It feels even less proper here, with his bedroom down the hall. Or the couch in the room across from us. Or hell, the flat space of this granite island.
“Can you chop and dice, wife?” he teases. He might as well ask if I like it missionary or from behind the way he says it.
“Yes, husband,” I shoot back, reaching out to take the cutting board and knife he sets out, “quite sure I can handle that.”
As we both get to work, it comes to us as easily as it does at the office. We talk as I chop tomatoes and basil while he gets the steaks ready. He asks me my favorite foods, what I hate to eat, and even what I like to get drunk on. I ask the same questions, but they seem unnecessary. We already know the answers.
Even though we’ve only had business dinners before, we know each other so well already. Though he asked about steak, he knows I love a greasy cheeseburger as much as a good filet mignon. I know he uses pepper on everything, drinks whisky before lunch but never at dinner, and he loves dessert. Sometimes he needs sweets before his main course.
We talk about the weekend we will spend at his cousins’ place out at The Pillars. He explains who will be there and what he expects his cousins have planned for the long weekend. A family friendly party atmosphere with dinners, drinks, and a little debauchery. I laugh as we carry dinner to the table, and he pulls my chair out for me.
“Maybe this will be easy,” he murmurs as we sit down to dinner.
“Holden Hill will totally buy me being your wife,” I say it teasingly, but I wince because I hate that we have to fake it at all.
“Karina,” he says softly, reaching out to cover my hand with his, “I cannot tell you what this means. Doing this could convince him to take this deal with me. That would secure every other deal we have waiting right now. That tech will streamline everything I do. Means everything that you are willing to do this for me.”
Watching me, he slowly laces our fingers together. We don’t talk anymore for the rest of the night as we enjoy our meal. Our fingers stay laced together atop the table. He lets go to grab the dessert from the freezer. After he dishes up some chocolate cake with a side of creamy ice cream, he scoots his chair close to mine. When his hand drops atop my thigh beneath the table, palm warm at my skin, it feels so natural.
“It’s late, you should stay the night,” he says around a bite of his dessert, “in my guest room,” he is quick to add when my eyes fly to his.
“Oh shit. We will have to share rooms there, won’t we?
Kolt comes off his chair to kneel beside me. The hand at my thigh flexes as his other hand tangles in my hair. I realize I am breathing fast, overwhelmed about the very idea of sharing a room with him. A room with a bed. Where people do things besides sleep. I have never done that with someone else. Never slept with another person in my bed besides my sister.
“Look at me, calm down sweetheart,” his endearment falls softly against my ears as my eyes focus on his, “no, I will make them give us two rooms. Or adjoining rooms. I won’t put you in that position. If we did, I would sleep on the floor. Or you can tell me right now you don’t want to do this. I won’t risk making you upset over a fucking deal,” he laments, his thumb smoothing over my jaw as I tremble a little.
But now that is all I want to do. Share a room with him and pretend, if just for a few days, that he is mine. And that I could be his. I know there is no way it could ever be real. He is beautiful and rich and so brilliant I race to keep up with his thoughts. Doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about it even when I’m pouring his coffee or taking down notes.
“We can share a room. I am a big girl. I can do this. I want to do this.”
Gazing up at me, he brushes my hair away from my face. He mentioned once how I always seem to hide behind the dark waves. He is not wrong, I guess. Sometimes I have reason to hide. Especially from him. Lifting, he cups my face in his hands and I think might kiss me. But he touches his lips to my forehead and lets out a little sigh.
“Come on, let me get you to bed,” he whispers gently.
After a shower in the spare bedrooms’ bathroom, I climb into bed wearing a shirt he lent me. I try not to think about him just down the hall in his own bedroom. I can smell him all around me. Before I can stop myself, my hands are between my legs, and I am rubbing at the ache that has been there all night. As I climax, I don’t even care if he can hear me.
Coming so hard I pass out, I make just one sound, “Kolt.”