Work For It (Naiad Novels Book 1)

I’m frozen as my heart starts to race, wondering if I’ve heard him correctly. There’s no way I have.

Invite me up.

We’ve been fight-flirting for half the night, but this is nothing short of a direct proposition—unless I’m reading him all wrong. Fuck, I could be, because the signals he’s throwing out are so far from what I’m used to with him.

I have to play this cool. I can’t bear the idea of embarrassing myself further if I’ve got this all wrong. And there’s a strong chance I do.

Up until tonight, Daniel has been nothing but a consummate professional in my presence, even if I don’t like his tactics. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head and I’m imagining this entire interaction. It’s not like he hasn’t starred in my dreams before.

But if I’m not hallucinating or reading into this wrong, if he really does want to come up…do I want that too?

The answer strikes me like a punch to the gut. Yes. I want to see if my burning anger can transition into something even hotter. I don’t need to deny myself that chance.

But there are rules. Rules that keep coworkers from doing less than savory things together. Rules that I would usually respect, but don’t have the capacity to care about at the moment.

Could this be our little secret? Do I trust him to keep it?

Hell no, I don’t. And yet, that doesn’t sway me.

“Don’t tempt me,” I tell him. It’s a warning and a question—a you want to try that again?

In answer, Daniel steps closer and grasps my waist with one hand as he dips his head to murmur in my ear. “Don’t be a coward, Selene.”

Holy fuck. Holy shit. I was right.

My head spins, torn between wanting to gloat and not being able to ignore his challenge. The pompous ass knows I won’t back down. And to call me a coward again? Oh no. He can’t be allowed to get away with it. But more than that, I can’t turn my back on an opportunity like this.

I want him in my bed.

And I’m going to get what I want.

Before I can second-guess myself, I grab his hand resting on my waist and pull him into the revolving door with me, his chest meeting my back. I drop his hand and push on the heavy door, wishing suddenly that the turnstile would malfunction. That we’d be trapped in here where I can relish the heat rolling off his body and the press of him against me. But the dizzying sensation is gone with a whoosh of air when our prison opens up into the lobby.

This time, he’s the one who takes my hand as we move past the front desk and the crowds of late-night guests. Only moments ago, he was calling me dramatic, and now he’s holding my hand, trying to get me upstairs to my room, where there’s no way all we’ll do is yell at each other. Yet, I’m compelled to go with it, consequences—of which I’m sure there will be plenty—be damned.

At the elevator bank, I jab the up button with my free hand and stand back. Daniel still has my other hand in his, now pressed to the hard planes of his stomach, and I shiver at the intimacy of it all. At the shock of it all.

“Keep yelling,” he insists, low and teasing. “I know there’s more you want to say.”

I try to yank my hand away from him, but he only tightens his hold. At his reaction, I’m rocked with a realization that I’ve been desperate to ignore.

I want to fuck Daniel Santiago. So very badly.

“It can wait until we’re in the elevator.” All the heat that’s been fueling me tonight rushes south. I want to keep it in my chest, to keep that fire of hate alive. And though the flames remain, they’re joined by heavy desire.

We don’t speak as we wait, Daniel stroking the side of my hand with his thumb. To those around us, we probably look like a couple returning from an evening out, tired and affectionate in the midnight hours. If only they knew the truth—that we’re practically strangers. Yet I lean into him like I’ve done this a thousand times. In an act of tenderness, probably the last for the night, he brushes his lips across my temple. I like it. More than I should. But that’s not what tonight is about.

We wait for the elevator to clear out, then Daniel gently pulls me into the space. He loosens his grip a little, giving me the opportunity to let go if I choose to. I don’t.

Despite how busy the lobby is, we’re alone for our impending ride to the eighteenth floor, and there’s a beat of thick silence as the doors close that leaves me wondering what comes next.

I don’t have to wonder for long.

As the elevator begins its ascent, Daniel moves, pressing his back to the wall and pulling me into him. Our hands are caught between our chests, our bodies not quite touching, but we’re close enough that with one small shift, they could be.

“Tell me your next grievance,” he says. A command.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, patently ignoring the steady pulse that’s started between my legs now that I know he’s as into this as I am. “You made me look incompetent in front of a big-name author. In front of Tory Mancillotti. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

He chuckles, and there it is again, my anger back in full force. “I remember. You had a full fangirl meltdown.”

“All because you didn’t tell me she would be in that meeting,” I retort, jerking my hands away from him. “I wasn’t prepared and I looked like a fool.”

“You did,” he agrees.

He lets me go, but not far, because before I can take a step back, he snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. In protest, I slap my hands to his shoulders to push him back, but then he moves his hips forward and—

Oh, fuck. There’s no longer a single doubt in my mind that he wants me. Part of me is surprised, though the other part can’t help but think he better fucking want me.

His dark slacks and whatever he’s wearing underneath them do little to contain his steadily hardening cock. And Jesus, it’s big. Undoubtedly. It presses against my stomach, and all I want to do is stand on my tiptoes and feel it lower. Better yet, I want it inside me.

Daniel grasps my chin and tilts my head up so I’m forced to look at him. It’s only then that I realize I was ogling him.

“Distracted so easily,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down my throat. “Real hate isn’t so easily dismissed.”

Once again, the fire burns brighter. “I do hate you.”

His mouth finds my ear, sweet rum on his breath. “I don’t believe you.”

I turn my head, forcing his lips to fall away. “Believe what you want.” But then, spiteful, I press closer, trapping his cock between us, and rub against him.

When he groans, a sick bolt of pleasure surges through me. He can torture and tease me all he wants, but he won’t be the only one playing the game.

“Now I believe you,” he says, tightening his hold on me so I can’t move like that again. “I think I like how much you hate me. Show me more.”

Desire curls in my belly at the thought of doing exactly that. I’m tempted to do it here in the elevator, but right on cue, it comes to a stop and the doors slide open.

He releases me so I can step into the dimly lit hallway, but the second I cross onto the plush carpet, I’m knocked back with the reality of what we’re doing.

He’s my coworker. And even though romance and sexy stories are what we do, this crosses about a thousand different lines.

“Don’t we have a policy against fraternization?” I ask, pressing my back to the wall next to the elevator.

Daniel moves in front of me and meets my eye. There isn’t a shred of hesitance in the way he surveys me. “Do you care about that?”

“No,” I admit. The second I took his hand, I was ready to break the rules. “Do you?”

He palms my waist again, then slips lower and drags my hips toward him. “I wouldn’t have let you feel how hard my dick is if I did.”

Before I can stop it, a laugh slips out, but I quickly stifle it by dipping my head. It’s too late though; Daniel’s already heard it.

“Twice in one night,” he muses. “If I can make you laugh, I wonder what else I can make you do.”

My humor fades as lust takes over once again. I pull my shoulders back and lift one brow. “I dare you to find out.”

“Ten cuidado, Selene.”

In defiance, and without breaking eye contact, I let my fingers drift down his chest, then his abs, until they’re resting on the waistband of his slacks. “This isn’t going to lead to a sexual harassment suit, is it?”

“Not from me.” His hands roam over my hips, down to my ass, and squeeze. It almost feels like he’s been waiting to do that for a while. “You going to come after me for this?”

“No,” I say, succinct. There’s no room for misinterpretation with something so serious. “I want—” I cut short, afraid to say it out loud. Afraid to show my hand. Because as much as this man infuriates me, I want nothing more than to beg him to fuck me.

Before I can finish, a man and woman round the corner and head in our direction. Daniel steps back but keeps a hand on my hip as he nudges me into moving again. When we pass the couple in the narrow hallway, he pulls me in front of him—mostly to keep us from running into each other, but no doubt to hide the impressive bulge in his pants as well.

An eternity passes before we reach my room, and I fumble in my coat pocket for my key. Daniel looms behind me, waiting, his presence heavy in the quiet. With the card in hand, I bring it to the sensor, but before the indicator light turns green, his hand slides around from my hip to my stomach. My breath catches at the feel of his broad palm splayed out over me, at how his fingertips span the breadth from above my navel to my mound, just centimeters away from more sensitive places.

My first thought is How would those fingers feel inside of me?

My second thought? How many could I take?

The third is How quickly can we make it happen?