Page 23 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

“ But, Dick-bag Daniel is making my life hell. He suddenly pulls a work ethic out of his ass the moment a promotion is dangled in front of him like a carrot. And Liza keeps so much to herself I have no idea where she is at, and I will deny it if you tell anybody, but I’m worried she will get it.”

“She won’t.”

“You’re so sure?”

“I am.” Again, he shrugs, smiling softly.

“How? You don’t even know her.”

“No, but I know you.” He points his cheesy, pineapple-less pizza slice at me before taking a huge bite that he smiles through.

“Hardly.” I scoff and wave him off.

He finishes his mouthful, grabbing a napkin to wipe his fingers and mouth before he sits forward.

All amusement leaves his face as he nails me with those intense eyes.

“No, seriously. You’d be the perfect fit.

Sexual attraction aside, you’re perfect for it.

You’re strong, organized, driven, and a glorified workhorse.

You’d put your imprint before everything else, including your own health—which I disagree with, but from a business standpoint, that’s gold.

You can teach a lot of things, but work ethic, drive, confidence?

Can’t teach those things, and Chris would need to be blind and an idiot not to give the position to you. ”

Oh.

I clear my throat, shifting on my couch cushion, suddenly feeling like my clothes are sticking to me.

Is the heat too high? It’s hot in here. I change the subject to douse this compliment fire with a bucket of cold water.

I don’t know why having Caleb stare at me like he actually sees me and receiving his compliments makes it feel like I’m standing in the middle of MetLife Stadium naked. But alas, here we are.

“It’s whatever. I’m sure I’ll get it. Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of skepticism. Only makes me work harder, right?”

“Right.” I hear the smirk in his tone as we both continue to pick at the pizza.

I struggle to meet his eyes, feeling like the walls are suddenly too close and the room too hot with the attention on me in a way I usually have no problem with.

I hate feeling this kind of rawness. It’s why I spent so many years building the impenetrable fort around my mind and heart, so people couldn’t break through, so no one could affect me.

I am steps ahead of everyone because I don’t let things like feelings, emotions, or empathy affect my decisions or processes.

In the short amount of time I have decided to entertain the sex pest, that wall is getting harder and harder to hold up.

I never expected the ease in which he does it, and the complete and utter panic that courses through me at the prospect that someone might see right down to my soul, to the ugly and sad pits of it.

“What is it you want, Rosie?”

“What?” I nearly choke on my pizza at the directness of his question.

“What makes you want to work so hard? How did someone with a silver spoon coated in old, old money, who could want for nothing if she simply battered her eyelashes at Daddy, end up with a work ethic like yours, with a drive and a need to be in control. What do you want that makes you who you are?” I don’t like that he is looking at me like he’s almost figured me out.

I don’t like it because there is a tiny insignificant part of me that wants to spill everything…

Where the fuck did that come from?

“What makes you who you are, Caleb?” I throw back with more sass than I planned on. It’s transparent that I’m deflecting, but the exhaustion from this week is ruining my ability to hold up my mask.

What I don’t tell him is that it’s freedom I need as desperately as I need air.

It’s buying myself the time to live my life how I want to, for as long as I can, before the control is ripped from my hands and I’m stuffed into a god-awful church dress, made to join the apartment building’s society club and learn to bake muffins so I can make friends with the other girlfriends, fiancés, and wives.

No, I don’t tell him any of that, and his responding chuckle tells me he knows I’m keeping a hell of a lot to myself.

I also don’t tell him that I’m grateful he doesn’t push, instead, he plays along.

“I didn’t have much growing up. My story isn’t inspirational by any means, just your typical guy from the rough side of tracks who saw my father drown in two jobs trying to get by.

I made a promise to myself that I would work hard enough that one day he wouldn’t have to, that I’d be able to enjoy my life and the pleasures we are afforded without worrying if I’ll be able to pay my mortgage or have dinner that week.

” My eyes trail across his form, feeling like I’m seeing another part of him for the first time.

Between the scarce details about his mom and now this?

How he seems to be an open book without even really trying.

A little kernel of something sour warms my stomach, envy maybe?

That he can be so see-through, that he can drop his exterior and let someone in without any concern about being judged, ridiculed, or even hated.

He is just who he is and doesn’t care. Yeah, that’s envy, but also… pride.

He dips his chin toward his chest, I know he is waiting for reciprocation; he gave me a piece of himself, he wants one in return.

Unfortunately for him, he keeps trying to divulge himself in someone who doesn’t have the ability to take it on, or even return the sentiment.

How do I apologize for refusing to connect when all I’ve been taught my whole life is, in order to survive in this jungle we call life, you don’t form connections, and you never apologize for it.

So, I push through the exhaustion and pull tighter on my mask, tugging it firmly back in place.

“My mom always said I went for the boys from the wrong side of the tracks.” I let him see my eyes properly, and I make a show of dragging them down his form and lingering on his neck, that delectable piece of flesh that peaks through the top of his open, crisp white shirt, his Adam’s apple protruding and giving his sleek masculine form a touch of ruggedness.

I might not be able to connect properly with many people, or maybe I have maxed out my feelings tree with the branches for Addy and Casey, but I sure as hell can appreciate a delicious man and have my fun with him too.

He analyses me for a beat, his lips pursing in consideration before a playful smile beams across his face, almost like he just made a decision about something.

The heaviness from before fades as he discards the pizza box from between us and drags himself to my side on the couch.

Readjusting his position so his head leans on his hand, an elbow perched on the back of the couch, his front facing me completely.

I turn in his direction, and before I know it, our faces are only inches apart.

“You want to hide from reality, Rosebud?” He speaks low, almost a breath that brushes across my lips as his soul-crushing blue eyes search my entire face, burning a path from my eyes to my lips, where they linger.

“I can think of a few ways to help you do that.” He finishes the statement licking his lower lip, his fingers teasing their way from the couch cushion to my thigh.

“Is that right?” I tease back, my eyes hooded, delicately placing my fingers on top his, encouraging their exploration. I don’t know why I’ve been adamant about delaying sleeping with him again…I’ve already agreed to break my rule. Maybe I should just get out of my head and leap.

“Mm-hmm. I’m so good at distractions, the best even.”

“I’d believe it.” A giggle finds its way up my throat, his smile a little wider, and his eyes find mine again, but this time, locking in with a heated intensity.

“I have thought about you naked, on top of me, moaning, writhing, taking everything while I watch at your mercy since you agreed to our secret little playtime.” I can’t stop the breathy moan that leaves my throat in response.

“You’ve been so patient,” I whisper, shifting closer and using a delicate finger to push his usually perfectly styled blond hair from his forehead.

“I have, haven’t I? I’ve been such a good boy. Do good boys get rewards?” He drags his bottom lip between his teeth and it snaps the last string on my patience. Long game is over, I want him to have my entire body and work his godlike magic again.

Placing firm hands to his chest, I push so his back presses into the back of the couch. Throwing my leg over his lap, I straddle him. His eyes flare with heat, the blue deepening to something dark while his grip goes straight for my hips.

“Good boys do get rewards . This time , I won’t make you beg.”

“You want to see me on my knees, Rosebud? All you need to do is ask.” The smile that splits his face is devastating, I can no longer help myself. Grinding my hips down and planting my hands on the back of the couch behind his head, my lips slam hungrily onto his.