Fall Into You (Morally Gray Book 2)

Still sunk deep inside me, Cole kisses my neck, then speaks in a voice so deep and raspy, it sounds like he’s swallowed gravel.

“Good girl.”

Panting, delirious, and still convulsing in pleasure, I cling to him as he kisses my jaw.

I’m not even really holding myself up. I’m balanced on one tiptoe, but Cole’s supporting almost all my weight in his hands. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m dizzy and shaking, my legs newborn-colt weak.

He takes my mouth. The kiss is deep and passionate, but not as rough as when he first burst through the stairwell door. He’s breathing as hard as I am.

When I open my eyes, his are already open. The look of adoration in them makes me weak all over again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers raggedly. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you are, baby. You’re a fucking work of art.”

He presses his lips to mine in a sweet, soft kiss that’s somehow even more breathtaking than his passionate ones.

I’m not sure I could speak even if I wanted to. So I remain silent as he gently withdraws from my body, steadying me when I wobble. I stay quiet as he fixes his clothing, pulling up his zipper and clasping his belt. He squats down to retrieve my panties, and I use his shoulders for balance as he pulls them up my legs. He stands, slides them up my hips and into place, and rearranges my skirt, smoothing the wrinkles.

Then he grasps my chin and looks into my eyes.

“Don’t clean up.”

I moisten my lips and shake my head, not understanding his meaning.

“Don’t wipe my cum out. I want you to sit at your desk all day, wet and sticky, thinking about me. Tell me you will.”

What is it about his voice that makes me want to roll over and do tricks for him like some obedient little puppy?

“Yes. I will.”

He smooths my hair, kisses my forehead, then takes my hand and leads me down the stairwell to the twenty-eighth floor. Our footsteps echo off the walls. The fluorescent lights flicker. I’m so disoriented, I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.

When we reach the landing, he turns to me and kisses me again.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I have no idea. What just happened?”

He pulls me into his arms and nuzzles his nose into my hair. “You know what happened.”

“I mean what does it mean? Ten minutes ago, you were insisting I walk away from you.”

He takes my face in his hands and gazes deep into my eyes. “And you should.”

When he doesn’t add anything else, I sigh. “Remember how I told you at the bar that first night that you were the most annoying man I’d ever met?”

His full lips curve upward into a smile. “I remember everything. Now get to work.”

Lowering my voice, I say, “What if someone asks me about Dylan? What do I say?”

“No one will ask about him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Oh, great. Could you be a little more cryptic? That wasn’t halfway mysterious enough.”

He kisses my forehead, then each cheek, then my lips, like some kind of formal Mafioso blessing from the movie The Godfather.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, baby. You don’t ever have to worry about anything again.”

He opens the door and gently pushes me through it. Then he turns away, letting it close behind him with a metallic clang.

I stand there listening to his footsteps recede up the cement stairs with that out-of-body feeling again, as if I’m watching this all unfold in a dream.

“You don’t ever have to worry about anything again.”

What could that possibly mean? It could be anything from forcing a lobotomy on me to paying off all my credit cards and my car loan.

The cubicle field is still empty. The clock on the wall reads six thirty, so I’ve got plenty of time before anyone else shows up. Unsteady, I head to the ladies room to fix my hair and makeup. Then I go back to my office and sit at my desk.

It’s now six thirty-seven, and I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day.

Deciding to get a cup of coffee, I head into the break room. I’m surprised to find Simone standing at the counter, making a cup of tea. Wearing a gorgeous emerald green suit that flatters her creamy complexion, she looks up and smiles.

“Good morning, Shay.”

“Good morning. You’re here early.”

“I like to get an early start on Mondays. How was your weekend?”

I freeze, then force a stiff smile. “Great. Yours?”

She shrugs, dunking the tea bag up and down in her mug. “Relaxing. I read, got caught up on Netflix. Puttered around in the garden. By the way, Dylan quit unexpectedly over the weekend, so you might have to take over some of his workload until we find a replacement. I’ll try to make it as little as possible. I know you’ve got your hands full already.”

My breath catches. My heart skeps a beat, then starts to thud. I swallow nervously.

“Dylan quit?”

“Mmm. Left me a voicemail. Not very professional, but not all that surprising. He’s been having some issues for a while.”

My mind races. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act calm and collected when everything inside me is tumbling around in screaming turmoil, but I manage to eke out a word.

“Issues?”

She removes the teabag, wrings it out with a spoon, sets it on a small ceramic holder shaped like a four-leaf clover on the countertop, then picks up the mug and looks at me.

“Interpersonal problems with the staff. He wasn’t well liked. I’m sure he won’t be missed.”

Her voice is smooth, but her stare is pointed. She sips her tea, gazing at me over the rim while I try very hard to make my face an emotionless mask.

She knows.

Not only that, but she also delivered a fabricated story about him quitting over voicemail without batting an eye, which is impressive in several ways, but mainly because she can claim to have accidentally deleted it if anyone in law enforcement asks to hear it.

I concentrate on keeping my breathing steady. Holding eye contact with her is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. “I see,” I say quietly. “Well. I…I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

She lowers the mug and smiles. “Thank you.” Then she walks to the door, pausing briefly to touch me on the shoulder as she passes.

It’s the same brief touch Cole gave Chelsea Saturday morning at my apartment.

The acknowledgment of co-conspiracy.

I can’t decide if that makes everything better or so much worse.

In the copy room after lunch, I overhear two female junior accountants talking about Dylan.

“Thank God he quit. He creeped me out.”

“I know, right? Me too. He kept asking me out for drinks, even after I told him I have a boyfriend. He actually had the nerve to say my boyfriend didn’t have to know.”

“Michelle said he cornered her in the parking garage one night. Really scared her.”

“What happened?”

“She was working late. Came out to find him waiting for her by her car. Nobody else around, just him lurking there. He’d parked behind her, blocking her in. Had his passenger door open like he was going to push her inside.”

“No!”

“Yeah. I guess one of the security guards got off the elevator to do his rounds right then and it spooked Dylan. He got into his car and drove away without a word. Michelle felt silly after because nothing happened so she didn’t say anything to anyone, but when she found out this morning from Kayleigh that he tried the same thing with her, they both freaked out. Now everybody’s talking about what a perv he was.”

I keep my head down and my eyes on the copy machine as the girls walk out of the room together. When I pick up the stack of papers from the tray, my hands shake.

As I’m driving home that night, my cell phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Hi, baby.”

It’s Cole. I’m so shocked, I almost drive off the road. “Oh hi!”

“Why do you sound so surprised to hear from me?”

“I never gave you this number.”

“Did you really think it would be hard for me to get?”

“Riight. You being ruler of the universe and everything. I miss you.”

There’s a pause. Then he speaks again, his voice softer. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make my heart flip.”

Smiling, I check the rear view mirror before changing lanes. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Driving home. You?”

“Sending a text to my personal shopper.”

“You have someone who buys your clothes for you?”

“No, I have someone who makes my clothes for me. My personal shopper handles everything else. What size dress do you wear?”

“Woah, cowboy. That’s a very personal question.”

“You spent all day dripping with my cum. That’s pretty personal too.”

Remembering our tryst in the stairwell this morning, my cheeks warm. “Good point. Why do you need my dress size?”

“Because we’re having dinner tonight. I want to buy you something special.”

“We’re having dinner?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t recall being invited on a date.”

“Was my dick inside you today or not?”

“Yes, but your dick was inside me weeks ago at the hotel too, and I thought I’d never see you again after that.”

“You thought wrong. We’re going on a date tonight, and I’m buying you a dress.”

Grinning, I tease, “Maybe I’m busy.”

A noise like the rumble of thunder comes through the speakers. The king of red flags is displeased.

“Fine, I accept your noninvitation to dinner. And it’s very generous of you to want to buy me a dress, but you don’t have to do that. I have plenty of things to wear. I’m a bit of a clothes horse.”

“I wasn’t asking permission. Tell me.”

Gauging by the tone of his voice, I know I won’t win this, so I relent and tell him. When he asks for my shoe size next, I tell him that too. Then I laugh. “And my ring size is six, cowboy, in case you were wondering.”

When that joke is met with stony silence, I cringe, mouth Fuck, and change the subject. “So where are we going to dinner?”

Over the car speakers, his voice is velvet soft. “Do you want me to buy you a ring, Shay?”

Time number two of almost driving off the road. I swerve so close to the car in the next lane, the driver honks his horn and screams at me. I better end this phone call before I cause an accident.

“Um. Um.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I mean…it depends what kind of ring. If you’re thinking like a chastity ring, the answer’s no.”

He chuckles. “Got it. No chastity rings. Not that I’d ever give you one of those anyway. Fuck, you’re adorable. I’ll be at your place at seven to pick you up.”

He disconnects without a goodbye.

My apartment in Mar Vista is a thirty minute drive from downtown. By the time I arrive, I’ve gone over our conversation in my head about four thousand times. I also called Chelsea to further deconstruct it, but only reached her voicemail.

I’d call Jen or Angel, but after last Friday night, Chelsea’s the only one I’ll talk about Cole with.

And I already know there will be a lot to talk about.

I park, rush inside, and shower. As I’m putting on lipstick, my doorbell rings. When I open the door, lo and behold, it’s the same mystery man in a black suit with the peekaboo neck tattoo who delivered the Balmain blouse to me at the hotel weeks ago, the hottie with the British accent.

I’m so surprised to see him, I blurt, “You!”

He must be used to women reacting to him in strange ways, because he simply smiles that secretive smile of his and holds out the long black garment bag he’s holding.

I take it from him, hold it to my chest, and look him up and down.

Despite his expensive suit and tidy buzz cut, he’s got a macho swashbuckling pirate thing going on. He seems like the kind of man who could drink ten other men under the table and still have enough strength for a sword fight and a lusty romp in bed with a saucy wench. All he’s missing is a little silver ring in one ear and a tricorn hat with a jaunty feather.

I compose myself and offer a more reasonable greeting. “Hi there.”

“Hullo, miss.”

“So you’re the personal shopper?”

He inclines his head. That looks secretive too. There’s something so interesting about this guy, but at the same time, he’s more than a little scary.

“Do you have a name?”

“Axel, miss.”

“That’s a pretty badass name.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“I’m Shay.”

“I know who you are, miss.”

“Of course you do. And you don’t have to keep calling me miss, not since we’re on a first name basis now and whatnot.”

He tilts his head, clasps his hands in front of his crotch, and considers me so intently, I think he might be mapping the neural network of my brain.

“Out of curiosity, if I ask you what else you do for Cole besides deliver women’s clothing, would you tell me?”

“No, miss.”

“Of course not.”

“Will you tell me what that tattoo is on the side of your neck?”

“No, miss.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Have a good evening, miss.”

“You too, Axel. Try not to kill anyone with your pinkie.”

“Never with my pinkie, miss.” He smiles, then turns and melts into the night.

I really want to introduce Chelsea to this guy and get her take on him. I bet she could crack his code in five minutes flat.

Hurrying back inside, I lay the garment bag on my bed and unzip it. Inside is a stunning red crepe dress. I peek at the label.

Valentino.

Breathless, I remove my robe and toss it onto the bed, then carefully take the dress off its padded hanger. It’s sleeveless and low-cut, with exquisite beaded detailing around the hem. When I slip it on and zip it up, it hugs my body like a second skin. I turn and look at myself in the full-length mirror next to my dresser.

Simple yet effortlessly glamorous, the dress hits mid-thigh, showing off my legs.

I love it.

Just as I’m stepping into a pair of strappy champagne heels, my doorbell rings. I glance at the clock on the nightstand to check the time. He’s five minutes early.

I close my eyes for a moment and inhale a deep breath to calm my nerves before heading to the front door.