Talking Dirty with the CEO

chapter Nine


Joseph opened his eyes and realized that the light shining through the curtains was actually sunlight. Irritated, he threw an arm over his face to block it out. Didn’t he have blackout curtains on his bedroom windows?

Then he remembered. He wasn’t in his bedroom. He was in Christie’s.

Where he’d spent a good portion of the day.

After getting home from the bike trails, they’d showered together. Which had then turned into an afternoon in bed together. Which had then turned into an exhausted sleep.

Sleep had always been somewhat problematic for him, so to fall asleep, in the middle of the day, in the arms of a woman, was something out of the ordinary.

The thought made the unease he’d been feeling earlier in the day deepen.

Restlessly he moved, sitting on the edge of the bed.

That little bubble of warmth was still trapped inside him. That weird emotion he’d felt out on the trails, watching her. The one he didn’t know what to do with. The one that made his chest feel tight. Like he couldn’t breathe.

Perhaps being with her for the whole weekend was a mistake. Perhaps he should go. Like now.

A pair of slim arms slid around his waist, a warm body pressing against his back.

Too late.

“Trying to escape?” Christie murmured against the back of his neck. “Is the prospect of being beaten by ten-year-olds too frightening for you?”

Ten-year-olds he could handle. One gorgeous, passionate, intriguing woman? Not so much.

He closed his eyes for a second. How could he leave now? While she had her arms around him? He was trapped.

Nice excuse.

Her hands spread out on his abdomen, stroking gently, and he could feel himself getting hard.

Of course it was an excuse. The truth was that he didn’t want to leave. And hell, a weekend was a weekend, right? It didn’t mean love and babies, for Christ’s sake.

“I thought you said you’d protect me?” He leaned back into her, feeling her hands sliding lower.

“Hmm, I’m not sure you need protection.” Her hands moved even lower. “You’re pretty well-armed already.” Cool fingers circled him. “I got the BFG 9000, oh yes…”

“I almost hate to ask.”

“You never played Doom? BFG stands for Big Fuc—”

The doorbell rang, shattering the moment.

Christie cursed in a very unladylike fashion. “Who the hell could that be?”

He laughed, turning his face to her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her. “I have no idea but I want to kill them.”

Her hand brushed down his back in a light caress. “I’d better get it.”

“No. I’ll go.” He pushed up and off the bed, reaching for his jeans. “That way if it’s someone you know, they’ll go away quicker once they see me.”

“Good point.” She rolled over onto her stomach and pointed a finger at him. “But don’t be long. I have plans.”

“Oh, believe me, so do I.”

Out in the hallway, Joseph pulled open Christie’s front door to find a courier standing on the other side of it. “Here,” the guy said, handing Joseph a very expensive-looking gilt-edged envelope. “Sign, please.”

Mildly curious, Joseph did so, then took the envelope back into the bedroom. “You can relax,” he began, “it was a courier—” And stopped dead.

Christie had arranged herself artfully on the pillows like a houri, a sultry expression on her face. “Hey, Love Machine,” she said throatily as he entered. “Is that a canoe in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

Gorgeous, ridiculous girl.

“This isn’t a canoe, honey,” he drawled. “This is a freaking ocean liner.”

Christie’s sultry expression broke into a grin, eyes lit up with laughter. “What is it with guys and size?” Then her gaze darted to the envelope in his hand. “A courier, you said?”

“Yeah.” He came over to the bed and sprawled beside her, holding out the envelope. “This came. It looks pretty important.”

She took it off him, her attention on the front where her name was written in a flowing, cursive script. Her expression changed, becoming pale and shuttered. Slowly he became aware that she’d tensed up, her posture hunched.

“No,” she said in a tight voice. “It’s not important.”

She made as if to throw it away but Joseph grabbed her by the wrist, frowning. What the hell was this about? All her earlier laughter and fun had drained away. Like a light had been turned off inside her.

“What is it? You’ve gone pale.”

“It’s nothing. Really. Nothing at all.”

His fingers tightened. “Bullshit.”

Christie remained silent a long moment, her mouth as thin as a mouth like hers could ever get. Then she said shortly, “It’s probably an invitation to my brother’s engagement party. No big deal.”

“If it’s no big deal then why are you so pale?”

“Because I hate parties.”

“You hate parties that much?”

Christie let out a long breath. “Yeah. Particularly when they involve my family.”

Oh yes. The brother who could do every sport. The father who thought his daughter would never learn to ride. The hard-faced mother he’d seen pictures of on the Internet. “Why? What’s wrong with your family?”

She pulled her hand out of his but didn’t move away. Instead she gazed down at the creamy surface of the envelope. “The only thing my mother cares about is looking good for other people, and my dad and my brother are only interested in how much money you earn and what your golf handicap is.”

Ah. Interesting. He shifted on the bed, rolling onto his side, elbow bent, head propped on hand. “And you hate that.”

Christie fiddled with the envelope. “Yeah. It’s not exactly like I fit in.”

“You want to fit in?”

An expression of contempt crossed her face. “Me? Ha. No way in hell.”

“So what’s the big deal then?”

She turned her face away. “You don’t really want to know. It’s not very interesting.”

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t tell me what I would and wouldn’t be interested in, okay? I’m not asking you because I’m not interested. You make me sound like some shallow idiot.”

Christie’s shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t like talking about my stupid family.”

“They’re that bad?” How could they be worse than his? His father had been absent for most of his childhood and his mother had just been…absent.

The scattering of freckles across her cheek looked like gold dust against her pale skin. “They’re pretty awful. All they care about is the latest gossip, the latest party, and the size of your bloody bank account. They’re not interested in anything else.”

Joseph studied her, the tight lines around her mouth, around her eyes. “They’re not interested in you, right?”

A glossy russet curl swung over Christie’s shoulder as she turned away from him. “No,” she said in a muffled voice. “I don’t care about parties or gossip. I’m not some big success. I’m not anything according to them. Pathetic, huh?” Her fingers gripped the envelope. “But that’s okay. I don’t care what they think. I really don’t. And I’m not going to their party.” She tossed the invite aside without even bothering to open it.

She didn’t care? As if he believed that for a second. He wasn’t blind. And her family had hurt her, that much was obvious.

Abruptly he remembered the photo he’d seen on the web. Of Christie looking awkward in her party frock, with her mother standing by. Trying to fit in.

Oh Naughtygirl, I bet you tried. I bet you tried so hard. But you never quite managed, did you?

He decided he didn’t like her family. At all.

His fingers, already searching for something to play with, had found the envelope and were currently turning it over and over.

Christie noticed. “Here, give me that.”

But he didn’t. Curious, he opened the envelope and pulled out the invite instead.

“Joseph, give it back.”

He flipped it open just as Christie made a lunge for it, grabbing it out of his fingers.

But not before he’d seen the names written on the inside.

“So,” he said softly, “when were you going to tell me I’d been invited, too?”

…

Christie wanted to sink through the mattress, onto the floor, and then with any luck out the other side.

Failing that, tearing up her mother’s invitation into small pieces seemed a viable alternative. God, that was just typical for Helene to courier the stupid thing to her. And of course Joseph would have picked it up. And read what was inside.

He must think she was mad.

“You haven’t been invited, at least not really.” She scrunched the invite up. It didn’t crumple as satisfyingly as she would have liked.

“Yes, I have. That was my name on it.”

She could feel her cheeks beginning to flush for the fifty millionth time that day and she wished she could just unzip her skin and step out of it. Be free of herself for once. But there was no escape. There never was.

Christie held the balled-up invite in her hands, staring down at it for a second, gathering her courage. Then she looked Joseph in the eye. “Here’s the deal. Mum thinks I’m a loser when it comes to men. She’s always trying to fix me up with someone. Or even better, get back with my ex. I hate it. So I told her I already had a boyfriend.”

The expression on his face was unreadable. “Me?”

“Uh, no. I told her that before I met you. The night I asked you for a date.”

“And do you actually have a boyfriend?” Something dangerous gleamed in his eyes.

Christie swallowed. “No, of course I don’t. I wouldn’t be here with you if I did. I just…pretended I had one so she’d get off my back about Greg.”

The dangerous glint remained. “Who’s Greg?”

“My ex.” She squeezed the paper in her hands. “My family loves him. In fact, I think they liked him more than they like me.”

The expression on Joseph’s face became forbidding. “He sounds like a prick. Did you ditch him?”

Christie bent her head, unable to bear the look in his eyes. Not wanting to admit what had happened with Greg. God, why couldn’t she lie? It would be so much easier. “Kind of,” she said thickly. “He ch-cheated on me.”

Joseph bit off a curse. “I knew it. He was a prick then.”

He sounded so savage, Christie couldn’t help glancing at him. The look on his face promised murder. And for some weird reason the stone sitting in the middle of her chest felt lighter.

“Anyway,” she went on, “your name is on the invite because my mother rang this morning and demanded a name from me. So I just said the first one that came into my head.”

Joseph stared at her for an intense minute. “And that was mine.”

Christie swallowed. “Yeah. It was yours.”

“So why don’t you take me, then?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I’m invited to the party. Bring me along.”

“But….”

“Why not? I’m rich. I’m successful. I’ve been told I’m moderately handsome.” His expression softened and he grinned. “Why not make use of that? Why not show your mum just how much of a loser you are with men?”

Her throat tightened. “But you’re not my boyfriend.”

“I could be, though.” Joseph reached out, took her hands, letting the invite, by now a damp ball of paper, roll away. “If you wanted me to.”

Hope, small and fragile as a new spring flower, unfurled inside her. She tried to ignore it. “For my mother’s party, you mean?”

“For your mother’s party. For the next week. For the next couple of weeks even.”

And damn that hope. It began to bloom in her soul, not just a flower but a whole bloody garden. “N-not just a weekend?”

He raised her hands to his mouth. Kissed them. “For as long as you want me.”

Christie couldn’t look at him.

So much for not wanting a man in her life. So much for being happy, carefree, and single. Funny how one afternoon could change things. One afternoon with a man who paid attention. Who made her feel good about herself in a way no one else ever had.

She didn’t want to give that up. Not yet.

“Well, Naughtygirl? What do you say? Would you like to be my girlfriend? Make your mother drop dead in a faint as she sees the awesome specimen of manhood you’ve managed to bag yourself?”

She laughed, finally meeting his blue eyes. He was smiling, that sexy, impossible smile that made her breath catch. That turned her heart over and over inside her chest.

The smile that suddenly made her very glad to be Christie St. John.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’d love to.”

…

Christie pulled a comb through her hair, cursing as it caught in some of the extra frizzy bits. Nausea sat in her stomach though she tried not to take any notice of it. Pathetic to feel so sick about a stupid family party.

For most of the week she’d managed to forget all about it. There had been Ben calling her into his office to tell her he was going to offer her a series of in-depth pieces on the future of gaming and where the industry was headed. That had been awesome. And there had been the nights with Joseph himself. Nights spent building her computer a bit more or introducing him to Zombie Force. Once he’d taken her for a twilight ride up on the trails and that had been magical. She hadn’t even fallen off, not once. Nights spent in his bed where they didn’t sleep…

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t dread at the party that was making her feel sick. Maybe it was just sleep deprivation.

She frowned at the pale woman in the mirror with the huge green eyes and the dark circles underneath them. Man, her mother was going to have a field day.

The nausea roiled in her gut in response.

Christie bared her teeth at her reflection.

Then the doorbell rang and the nausea vanished as if it had never been.

Joseph.

Christie tried a decorous walk to the door but it wasn’t fast enough, so she dashed madly instead, pulling open the door, excited to see him and not caring that she was excited.

And then there he was, and her heart did a full three-sixty in her chest.

In a beautifully tailored dark suit, the blue in his tie reflecting the color of his eyes, he looked every inch the successful businessman.

A couple of weeks ago the sight of him would have made her want to turn tail and run. Now, as she met his gaze and he smiled, she felt like the moon had been delivered, neatly wrapped, straight to her doorstep. Inside, after he’d pulled her close for a breath-stealing kiss, he stepped back and surveyed her.

“Velvet Docs, Christie? Aren’t they way too upmarket?”

She looked down at her boots, her one concession to glamour. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing’s wrong with them. It’s the jeans and T-shirt I’m worried about.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them, either.”

“No, there isn’t. I’m just trying to figure out what it is you’re trying to prove.”

Christie scowled. “I’m not trying to prove anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

She scowled harder. “I don’t want to wear anything else. I’m not big on dresses.”

“You know I still dream about that black dress you wore the night we met, right?”

She blew out a breath. “An aberration.”

“Oh, sure. Come on, what’s wrong with dressing up?”

Plenty. A little nugget of defensiveness hardened inside her. Greg had done this to her once or fifty, tried to get her to wear dresses and heels. Made comments about her hair and how great she’d look if she’d bothered with makeup. It had been a subtle thing, different from her mother’s litany of criticisms so that she hadn’t been aware of what he’d been doing until later in their relationship. And it had hurt.

Yet another person she wasn’t good enough for.

“Hey.” An arm snaked around her waist, Joseph drawing her close. “What’s up? What did I say?”

The nugget hardened further. “I’ll wear what I bloody well want to wear. Don’t try to change me.”

“I thought you didn’t care about what your family thinks?”

Her brain didn’t. Her brain couldn’t give a toss. But there was no way she’d confess to the shameful need in her heart. The need for their approval. The need for just one word of praise.

The need to feel that she belonged. So pathetic.

“I don’t,” she said, trying for strong and certain.

But Joseph wasn’t fooled, not for a second. “Christie, you’re perfect just as you are. You don’t need a dress or makeup to make you beautiful. But we’re aiming to blow you mother’s head off tonight, right? Some dress-up wouldn’t hurt. Your kind of dress-up, though.”

The hard nugget inside her began to dissolve. Her kind of dress-up.

Yeah, why not? The only thing more satisfying than walking into the engagement party with Joseph on her arm would be walking into the engagement party looking awesome.

Christie took a breath. “Okay. Wait here and I’ll change.”

In her bedroom, she pulled open the wardrobe, shoving aside her moth-eaten duffel coat. Bronzy-green silk glowed in the darkness.

Once Marisa had dragged her out shopping for something to wear to a media awards dinner. She’d hated everything Marisa had chosen for her, but had been drawn to the color of this simple sheath dress. She’d left without trying it on, though, telling herself she hadn’t needed it.

Then the next day she’d sneaked back into the shop, letting the saleswoman convince her to try it. She’d stood in the changing room, looking at herself, feeling like Cinderella’s biggest, most ugly stepsister, hearing her mother’s voice telling her the dress was wrong for her, cataloging all her flaws, and she hadn’t been able to get it off fast enough.

Stubborn to the last, she’d bought it anyway, though it had stayed in the back of her wardrobe ever since. Until today.

She stared at it and realized with a funny shock that she wanted to wear it. And not for her mother. For him. For Joseph.

Getting out of her clothes, Christie pulled on the cool silk of the dress. She didn’t bother to check her appearance in the mirror but as she walked down the hallway, her nervousness grew so bad that she had to stop before the living room door just to get herself together.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She didn’t want to go in because she didn’t think she’d be able to hide just how much his approval meant to her. And if he gave her the same look her mother always did…

You know he wouldn’t. He called you perfect just as you are.

Christie took a breath and stepped into the room.

He stood over by her bookcase, running his fingers over the broken spines of her books, frowning. “You know, you should really take better care…” He turned around, his voice faltering as he stared at her. Then he said nothing at all.

Christie gave him a minute then put her hands on her hips and stuck her chin in the air. “Okay, so you don’t like it. That’s fine, I—”

“Christie.” His deep voice stopped her in her tracks. “I don’t like it. I love it.”

Warmth spread inside her, like a happy cat uncurling in the sun. “Y-you love it?”

“Yes.” Joseph’s blue eyes burned into hers. “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The warmth began to spread, down her arms, down her legs, filling her up like the sun shining in a dark room. She blinked, her throat aching all of a sudden. “Thanks, Joseph,” she said thickly. “That means…a lot.” Then, to lighten the atmosphere. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

But he didn’t smile. “I’m not, Christie. I’m flawed, just like all the rest. Remember that.”

There was a shadow on his face, in his eyes. A shadow she’d once glimpsed the day he’d helped her rebuild her computer. She’d let it go then, all uncertain of herself and him. Now though, she was his girlfriend, wasn’t she? He could tell her stuff the way she told him stuff.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked hesitantly. “Because you can tell me. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Joseph shook his head, turning away. “Yeah, I know. But I’m fine. Shall we go?”

But he wasn’t fine, any fool could see that. He just didn’t want to tell her about it.

Pain took up residence inside her heart, though she tried to ignore it.

If he didn’t want to talk then he didn’t. They weren’t at the sharing-life-stories stage and maybe he wasn’t a big sharer anyway. Men weren’t as a rule, were they?

“Okay,” she said, trying to shake off the ache. “But I don’t have any shoes to match.”

He grinned. “Keep the Docs. Like I said, they weren’t the problem.”

…

Joseph kept snatching glances at Christie as they drove to her parents’ house in Remuera. She sat beside him in the car, playing with his very expensive car stereo, the green silk dress she wore leaving her legs bare to the thigh as well as exposing one white shoulder. She looked long-legged, slender, and delicate, her hair up in a messy bun. A pale, green-eyed fairy. And the purple velvet Docs only made her look even more interesting in his opinion.

She tapped a few buttons on the stereo, twiddled with the knobs, her face screwed up in concentration. Then she grinned. “Man, this head-unit is so cool. Where’s the preamp?”

Her pleasure was so endearing it made him want to smile. “It’s in the dash.”

Music played as she searched some of the radio stations, a fascinated grin playing across her face. “Oh wow, the sound is awesome. Should have brought my iPod.”

“I’ve got one in the glove box if you want.” He couldn’t resist a tease. “But there won’t be any Death’s Brotherhood on it.”

“Death’s Brethren,” she corrected. “That’s okay. I don’t have to have music now.”

He glanced over at her again, her hands now resting in her lap. “Where did you find the dress?”

“Oh, I bought it months ago and forgot I had it.” One shoulder lifted. “I’ve never actually worn it before.”

“Why not? You look fantastic.”

Color stained her cheeks, her teeth biting her lip. God, she was beautiful.

He didn’t regret offering to be her boyfriend the day she’d received that invite, he really didn’t. Even though he knew it was wrong. Even though he knew he couldn’t sustain the type of relationship Christie needed. But part of him wanted to help her show up her awful family. And another part, a larger part, just wanted her.

Yeah, so he was a selfish bastard. He liked being with her. Liked sitting with her and talking about circuits, and being killed for the fifty millionth time by ten-year-olds in online games. Liked watching her negotiate her first jump on the trails. Liked having her in his bed every night.

And he’d be damned if he gave that up just yet.

“Why didn’t I wear it before?” She looked down at her hands. “It’s silly, so don’t laugh, but every time I dress up, all I can hear is my mother criticizing my choice and telling me I look ridiculous. It gets boring.”

He decided he hated her mother. “You told me you didn’t care.”

“I don’t.” But the protestation sounded hollow.

“I think you do,” he said gently. “I think you care a lot about what she thinks. About what your family thinks.”

Christie didn’t say anything for a long moment. “They’re my family. And she’s my mother,” she said finally. As if this explained everything.

“So?” His own mother had left without even a good-bye. She meant nothing to him.

“What do you mean, so?”

“Why care about the opinions of people who don’t appreciate you?”

She turned to him, eyes dark. “They brought me up.”

His hands were clenched on the steering wheel of the car. “That doesn’t mean anything. Just because your mother gave birth to you doesn’t mean…” He stopped, realizing what he’d almost said.

“Doesn’t mean what, Joseph?”

Christ, he didn’t want to talk about it. His shitty family life. But back at her place he’d seen the hurt in her eyes as he’d told her he was fine and turned away. He hadn’t been fair back then. He knew that. He just hadn’t wanted to get into his general uselessness as a relationship prospect, not then, not when she had her family to meet.

But he had to give her something. And what did it matter if he told her? It wasn’t a secret, was it? And he didn’t care. Not these days. He had his company. He had his success. He had everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d been denied as a kid.

“My mother left when I was thirteen. One day she was there, the next she wasn’t. No good-byes. No nothing. And my dad blamed me for it. So just because they brought you up, doesn’t mean they deserve a thing from you.”

Silence. Shit, why had he said anything? It was all in the past. He’d gotten over the anger years ago. Hadn’t he?

“Oh, Joseph,” Christie said softly. “I’m sorry. That must have been so hard.”

It had been. But he’d held it together for Jude. For his little sister who adored him, even if his mother had been sick of the sight of him. Even if his father had blamed him for making her leave. As if you could blame a kid for the bad behavior of an adult.

“It happened. It’s over,” he said dismissively.

But Christie didn’t seem to hear the warning in his voice. “Why did she leave?”

“How the hell would I know? It wasn’t like she popped back to tell me.”

A small silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to p-push.”

The stutter was back. He’d noticed it came out when she was either nervous or stressed, which meant he’d hurt her. What a prick. “Don’t apologize, honey. It’s not your fault. Anyway, it’s all in the past. Old news. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

She remained silent a moment, then nodded and changed the subject, asking him something about his business. They chatted for a while about their jobs and he enjoyed hearing her talk about hers.

“So what made you decide on writing rather than working in the electronics industry?” he asked as they turned down the road to her parents’ house. “Because you know that job offer in my R&D department is still open.”

“I always liked writing. I’m much better at it than talking, at least. And I liked playing with new technology. So working in tech journalism seemed like a great way of combining the two things I like to do best in the world. “ She grinned. “But I have to say that job offer is very tempting. Would I get to play with tech all day?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And do the boss every night?”

He laughed. “Okay, that does it. You’re hired.”

“What about you? Why technology?”

“Because it’s always changing. Always moving forward at such a fast rate. There’s always something new on the horizon, new ideas, new advances.” He glanced at her and grinned. “And it’s something I’m good at.”

“You are. Hey, I just had a thought with the Arkon. There’s a bit of the motherboard that—” she stopped. “Oh. We’re here.”

Joseph slowed the Tesla Roadster outside the huge, white, two-story villa mansion clearly visible through the trees. With manicured lawns, trees, and a huge “don’t bother me, I’m too important” gate, the place reeked of money and entitlement.

Christie’s tension only got worse as he announced them at the intercom and the gates opened, allowing him to drive up a long driveway lined with stately oaks.

“Right,” he said as he parked in the turnaround outside the house. “So what’s the plan? How would you like me to act?”

Her jaw looked tight, her shoulders set, a bitter look in her eyes. “Just…” She took a breath, staring at the big house in front of them. “Just don’t make a big deal of anything my mother says, okay? I hear it all the time and arguing with her makes it worse. I’d prefer to walk in, stay an hour or two, then leave.”

She was as guarded as he’d ever seen her. As if bracing herself for a blow.

“Hey,” he said, reaching over to take her hand, curling her cold fingers in his. Wanting to help her in any way he could. “There’s something I want you to remember.”

She didn’t pull her hand away, her gaze coming to his. “What?”

“I want you to remember you’re strong and brave and beautiful.” He tightened his fingers around hers, warming them. “I want you to remember that you, Christie St. John, are perfect. Okay?”

Like the edge of dawn showing in a cold, dark unforgiving night sky, her mouth curved and her face lost its tight, drawn look. Her fingers squeezed his back. “Thanks, Joseph.”

He smiled. “Good. Now, let’s go in and kick your family’s butt.”

Christie laughed and for the first time in weeks, Joseph felt like he’d finally done something right.