Page 11 of Executive Privilege (Event Horizons Agency #1)

The Morrison Industries headquarters in Dallas is a study in corporate evolution—traditional marble lobby updated with sleek modern touches, like someone tried to make their grandfather's bank feel contemporary.

"Ms. Reynolds, Mr. Blackwood," Morrison's CEO, James Morrison, greets us with the kind of firm handshake that probably comes with decades of country club membership. "Welcome to Dallas. I trust the flight was smooth?"

"Perfect," Nicholas replies, his professional charm dialed up to maximum efficiency.

The fifty-three-minute flight from Austin to Dallas was the most exquisite torture I've ever experienced. Sitting beside him in first class, close enough to smell his cologne, watching his hands as he reviewed documents, remembering exactly what those hands had done to me in his office yesterday.

We found our middle ground after our little post-couch conversation—polite professionalism at work, but not arctic distance.

"Your timing is perfect," Morrison continues, leading us through the lobby toward the executive elevator. "Our marketing team has prepared everything you requested, and I've cleared my schedule for the executive interviews."

In the elevator, Nicholas' hand briefly touches my lower back as Morrison gestures toward the building directory, the contact sends familiar heat through me.

"The retreat center is about an hour outside the city," Morrison explains as we reach the executive floor. "Team building exercises, strategic planning sessions, informal networking. Should give you excellent behind-the-scenes material."

"That sounds perfect," I say, focusing on Morrison instead of the way Nicholas's presence affects my concentration. "What kind of team building activities are planned?"

"Outdoor challenges, mostly. Rock climbing wall, trust exercises, collaborative problem-solving." Morrison grins. "I understand you have some climbing experience, Ms. Reynolds?"

"I do," I admit, glancing at Nicholas. "It's a hobby."

"Excellent. You'll probably find our artificial wall laughably easy compared to real rock, but it should make for good content."

I catch Nicholas watching me with an expression I can't quite read.

"Mr. Blackwood?" Morrison's voice pulls us both back to the conversation. "Any questions about the timeline?"

"Just one," Nicholas says smoothly. "You mentioned that the executive team will be participating in the outdoor activities?"

"All of us. Leading by example, showing team unity." Morrison looks between us. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. Just want to make sure we capture the right dynamic."

But I can see something tense in Nicholas's posture that suggests he's not entirely comfortable with the idea of outdoor team building. Which is interesting, considering how composed he is in every other professional situation.

***

The next few hours pass in a blur of meetings, interviews, and carefully choreographed interactions designed to showcase Morrison Industries as dynamic and forward-thinking.

I handle the social media content while Nicholas manages the broader strategic narrative, and we work together with the kind of seamless efficiency that makes Morrison's marketing team take notes.

"You two make an excellent team," Morrison's marketing director, Sarah Choi, observes during a brief break. "Very complementary skill sets."

"Sadie is exceptionally talented," Nicholas replies, his voice professionally appropriate but warm enough to make my chest flutter. "Event Horizons is fortunate to have her."

Hearing Nicholas praise my work in front of clients never gets old. Especially when he uses my first name, when there's genuine pride in his voice.

By late afternoon, we've captured some great executive content for the campaign. I can feel the awareness building between Nicholas and me with every shared glance, every casual touch, every moment of professional collaboration that reminds us both of our non-professional chemistry.

"We should head to the hotel and get checked in before the team dinner," Nicholas says as we're wrapping up the final interview.

The Four Seasons Dallas is exactly what I expected—elegant, expensive, and the kind of place where Nicholas Blackwood fits seamlessly into the marble-and-crystal lobby. What I didn't expect is the way he hesitates when we reach the reception desk.

"Two rooms," he tells the desk clerk. "Reservations under Blackwood."

"Of course, Mr. Blackwood. We have you in adjoining suites on the fortieth floor."

Adjoining suites. With a connecting door between them.

"That wasn't necessary," I say quietly as we wait for the elevator.

"Jennifer's doing," Nicholas replies. "I had nothing to do with it."

The elevator ride to the fortieth floor passes in charged silence. When we reach our floor and Nicholas shows me to my suite, I can see the connecting door on the far wall like a physical reminder of how thin the line between professional and personal has become.

"Dinner's at eight," Nicholas says, setting down my bag. "Morrison made reservations at some place downtown."

"Sounds good." I'm hyperaware of his presence in my hotel room, of the bed visible through the open bedroom door, of the fact that we're alone together for the first time since our new arrangement began.

"Sadie." Nicholas turns to look at me, and the careful professional distance he's been maintaining finally cracks. The hunger in eyes has an immediate affect on me.

"Yes?"

His hands frame my face, when he looks at me like I'm something precious and dangerous, "I've been thinking about this all day," he says quietly. "Watching you work, pretending I don't know exactly how you taste."

The dirty admission sends heat straight through me. "Nicholas—"

"I know we said we'd see what happens, but I need you to know that what's happening is that I can't stop thinking about you."

His hands work at the buttons of my blouse while I tug at his tie, both of us moving with the kind of urgent need that comes from wanting something you're not sure you should have. Like it could be taken away any moment.

"We have dinner in two hours," I gasp against his mouth as he unzips my skirt.

"That's plenty of time," he murmurs, backing me toward the bedroom.

We fall onto the bed and his hands roam my body, rounding over my shoulder, by breasts , my waist, and soon his fingers are between my legs, circling and then pushing inside me. His tongue and lips make their way to follow.

When he settles between my thighs, and I feel his wet tongue make contact, I arch off the expensive bedding, and I bite my lip.

"Let me hear you," he says against me, his voice vibrating through my core. "I want to know how good this feels."

He brings me to the edge with methodical precision, then pulls back just before I fall, making me whimper with need.

"Come on, Sadie, let me hear you."

"Nicholas."

He pushes two fingers into me and begins pumping me methodically while licking and sucking and biting gently and I can't contain my moans as they get louder and louder as I writhe on the bed.

And when he curls his fingers, I come undone completely, pulsing around him, panting and waling like a very satisfied woman.

"That was amazing." He says, clearly pleased with himself.

He doesn’t wait long before making his way up and over me and finally inside me.

It’s then, as he fits himself into me slowly this time, watching his face, that I understand why this arrangement is so dangerous.

The physical chemistry between us is explosive enough to make me forget every rational thought about keeping things simple.

It makes me greedy to keep him for myself.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes against my ear, setting a rhythm that has me clinging to his shoulders. “I could stay here forever.”

The comment is casual, probably meaningless, but it sends warmth through my chest. For a moment, joined with him in this expensive hotel room, it feels like maybe he means it.

Perfect — I’ll keep the raw, breathless intensity and layer in that moment of him reaching between her thighs to push her over the edge, making it the most explosive release yet:

Then he shifts, pulling out abruptly enough to make me gasp.

His hands are firm on my hips, flipping me onto my stomach before I can catch my breath.

The mattress dips as he comes over me again, pressing my shoulders down into the sheets.

I push my hips back instinctively, greedy for him, and he growls a curse before sliding back inside me with a force that steals my breath.

The change in angle is devastating—deeper, harder, rawer. My fingers twist into the sheets, my body arching as he drives into me like he can’t get close enough. Each thrust is demanding, staking a claim, and every part of me responds in kind.

“Mine,” he mutters against the back of my neck, his words more primal than tender, but they unravel me all the same.

One of his hands snakes around my hip, fingers slipping lower until he finds that desperate, throbbing place between my legs. The contact rips a cry from me. He strokes in time with the punishing rhythm of his hips, each pass dragging me higher until I’m gasping, shaking, teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he growls, his voice ragged. “I want to feel you lose it around me.”

The command shatters me. My body convulses, pleasure detonating so violently it’s almost too much to bear.

I squeeze around him, my climax ripping through me in waves that leave me trembling.

He doesn’t stop, driving me through it, making it stretch and spiral until I’m undone completely and then he let's out a loud moan, grasping my hips as he find his own orgasm.

We're both breathing hard and not talking. Nicholas traces patterns on my bare shoulder, and I wait for him to start rebuilding walls.

Instead, he pulls me closer.

"We should probably get ready for dinner," he says eventually, but makes no move to let go of me.

"Probably," I agree, settling against his chest.

"Morrison's expecting us at eight."

"Mmm."

"It's seven-fifteen."

"I know."

Nicholas is quiet for a moment. "I don't want to let go of you yet."

The admission is soft, almost vulnerable, and completely at odds with his usual emotional control. It's the kind of thing that should scare him, that should send him reaching for his clothes and his professional distance.

Instead, he holds me tighter.

"Five more minutes," I say.

"Five more minutes," he agrees.

But we both know it's not really about the time. It's about the fact that whatever's happening between us is becoming more than just physical chemistry, more than the simple arrangement we agreed to.

We have a professional relationship where we respect each other's strengths.

Everyone can see that when we work together, we're a powerhouse.

And the more time we spend together, the more we get to know each other and the respect and curiosity are building and deepening.

And neither of us is ready to deal with what all of that means.

When we finally force ourselves to get dressed, to become professional partners again, the air between us has shifted. There's an intimacy now that wasn't there before.

As we rush to get out the door I feel beautiful when Nicholas looks at me while he adjusts his tie and I catch him watching me fix my lipstick in the hallway mirror.

"Ready?" he asks as I grab my purse.

"Ready."

But we're both lying. Because whatever's building between us, we're nowhere near ready for where it's leading.