King of Wall Street: a sexy, standalone, contemporary romance Read online

  “Taylor Swift?”

  I shrugged, unembarrassed by my Swift predilection. “I was going to say Stevie Wonder, but Taylor will do.”

  “You’re not pissed off by the noise?”

  Any other day I would be furious, but if I allowed myself to get irritated with my penthouse neighbors, I’d have nothing left. Work was so disappointing it left me hollow inside. All my excitement about the job had dissolved, and it had become just like my college bartending job—a means to an end. And now with Max in the building, the only place I felt safe was behind my front door. Surely my neighbors would stop pacing and turn down their music soon.

  “Tell me about your date?” I asked. “That’s why I called.”

  Grace had a thing for penniless musicians, artists, or really anyone who didn’t have their shit together. It meant there was always drama in her life, always someone to fix.

  “Ahhh,” she sighed. “He’s so talented. He just needs to find the right patron, catch a break, you know?” I’d forgotten what this one did. They all seemed to morph into one guy whose middle name was loser.

  “You think he’s got what it takes?” Grace liked the idea of finding a guy before they made it and being the one who was there from the beginning. Problem was they never made it. She just jumped from one loser to another.

  “I really do. This guy is the next Damien Hirst or Jeff Koons, I swear.”

  Oh, right. This one was an artist. I glanced up at the ceiling as the light fixture swayed even more violently.

  “He’s putting together an installation in New Jersey next week. You should come. You’ll love it.”

  I wasn’t sure New Jersey was the place to showcase the next Jeff Koons, but hey, it would get me out. “Sure. But when you say ‘installation’, what do you mean?”

  “It’s an interactive piece he’s working on. He won’t show me, but I’m sure it’s amazing.”

  Grace was so sensible and practical in every way but wanted to believe the absolute best of everything. It was kinda endearing, kinda annoying.

  “And he has a friend I want to introduce you to.”

  I groaned. “Grace.”

  “No, you’ll like this guy. He’s a suit.”

  Upstairs cranked up the volume. I didn’t know classical music, though my mom had a thing for Johann’s cello suites. Nice, but did it really have to be this loud?

  “I can dress my dog in a suit. It doesn’t mean I want to date him.”

  It wasn’t wealth that attracted me; it was drive. It didn’t matter if they wore a suit—although there was nothing like a man who could fill out custom-cut, navy wool as though he owned it. I might hate Max King, but Jesus, did he know how to wear a suit. And gym clothes, apparently. Seeing him in the gym hadn’t changed my mind that he’d clearly been in the front of the line when they were dealing out hot.

  “You don’t have a dog,” Grace said.

  “Not really my point.” I didn’t want to date anyone, didn’t want love to distract me. I’d seen a number of my friends doing so well in their careers and suddenly becoming less ambitious because they’d fallen for some guy, and then when they’d taken their foot off the pedal, the guy would predictably dump them. It had even happened to my mother. And I wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

  “This guy is successful. He does something in finance, or maybe it was architecture.”

  “Yeah, I can see how you’d get the two mixed up.” The very last thing I wanted was a man in finance. The industry bred men like my father and they were the worst kinds.

  Grace laughed. “You know what I mean. Will you come?”

  “If you promise not to set me up with anyone. I’m not interested.”

  “I’m not setting you up. But what can I say? He’ll be there; you’ll be there.”

  “I’m hanging up. I have to get my beauty sleep.” I pressed cancel on the phone and tossed it on the table. It was just after ten, but an early night would be impossible until my Bach-loving neighbors shut the hell up.

  Warm milk and a Benadryl would help me sleep, but I only had wine, and I was out of Benadryl.

  I poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir, climbed into bed, and turned on the TV.

  After forty-five minutes I could barely hear my TV through the music, and the thudding footsteps hadn’t lessened. What, was someone training to climb Kilimanjaro up there? My limbs began to twitch with irritation. Whoever was up there didn’t sound as if they were changing things up anytime soon, and I wanted to sleep. I’d been more than patient. Could I call the police? Wasn’t there something in the lease about not making noise after a certain time? Where had I put my lease?

  I threw my covers off and stomped out of bed, then flung open the blanket box Grace and I had lugged up here when I moved in. The box of denial—it was where all my life admin went. Eventually I found the papers I’d signed just over a week ago, and I started to flip through the pages, almost ripping one in half. How could anyone be so selfish? Loud sex was one thing, but music and marching practice was another. I ran my fingers down the pages as I became increasingly impatient. Yes. It said I wasn’t allowed to disturb any other neighbor after ten in the evening. The people upstairs were breaching their lease. Clasping my papers, I scrambled toward the front door, grabbed my keys, and took the stairs one flight up. I glanced around. There was just one apartment door. Well at least I didn’t have to worry about disturbing the wrong person.

  I knocked on the metal, trying to swallow down the anger bubbling at the surface. It was all too much. First I found the perfect job for it to be ruined by the reality of Max King, then I couldn’t escape him in my building. Now my noisy neighbors were stopping me from sleeping. Everything seemed so unfair.

  I knocked again, louder this time. Did they not know how loud they were being?

  Who was I kidding? I was pretty sure I could hear these guys from the Hamptons.

  The stomping continued to go up and down, up and down. There was no one coming toward the door.

  I slammed my fists against the cold metal and screamed, “Open the fucking door.”

  Almost immediately the footsteps stopped, then changed direction. My heart began beating out of my chest. Had I gone too far? I might be knocking on the door of a serial killer or drug dealer with penchant for Bach.

  Locks began to clunk and I folded my arms, ready to give my loud neighbor a piece of my mind. I should have pulled a sweater on over my silk robe.

  The door opened wide and for the second time, I came face to face with Max King where I least expected to find him.

  And of course, he had to be shirtless.

  “Are you kidding me?” I bellowed, flinging my arms in the air in exasperation.

  His eyes were wide and trailed down my body. I followed his eye line; shit, my robe had begun to part. I grabbed the silk and pulled it together, trying to ignore the fact I was almost naked in front of my boss.

  His eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling and he reached out. “Get in here,” he said as he pulled me by the elbows. “You’re not dressed.”

  I tried to stand firm, but he gripped me with such force I went crashing into him, and we stumbled backward into his apartment.

  “Jesus, Harper,” he growled, and he pushed me away but didn’t let go of my arms. I realized it was the first time I’d heard him call me by my first name. He normally called me Ms. Jayne. He closed his eyes and with gritted teeth, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Max

  Being close to her like this made me crazy. Because I’d done such wicked things to her in my head, I was always concerned I’d be over familiar with her in the flesh. And now I had hold of her, I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I didn’t want to let her go.

  “What are you doing up here?” She tried to hold up some papers, but I held her arms firmly by her sides, pushing her up against the wall. “My ceiling is caving in from all the thumping.”

  My brain wasn’t able to function. W
hy was she in my apartment? Why was she shouting?

  Seeing that mafia boss lookalike at the gym hit on Harper had taken away the shock of realizing she was a resident of my building. I’d wanted to lift him up and kick him out on his ass. Then when he left I noticed her workout clothes stretched over her body so tight she might as well have been naked, and I’d bolted out of the gym, running away from the twitching across my skin that told me I had to leave before I embarrassed myself.

  And now she was against my apartment wall. Enraged. And only partially dressed.

  I was speechless.

  She was always so cool and in control at work. It was odd to see her so … agitated. I clearly didn’t know her well, probably because I barely gave her the time of day, too desperate to keep as much distance between us as possible. I’d hate for her to guess what was going on in my perverted little brain, for her to know all the things I imagined doing with her.

  “And the music. Anyone would think you had the New York Philharmonic up here. What the hell is going on?”

  My hands burned from being wrapped around her arms. I loosened my grip, but couldn’t let her go entirely.

  “Answer me!” she yelled. “I have to put up with you ignoring me in the office, but you don’t sign my paychecks here. You’re breaching your lease.”

  I’d had an inkling there was more under her professional exterior than I normally saw. She’d hinted a couple of times that she thought I was an asshole. It was a relief, because if she hated me it made things easier. It made the distance wider.

  But nothing was easy now, not with her right here, almost naked in front of me. Her smooth skin, hot under my fingers, wasn’t helping. The scent of musk and sex seeping through my body and going straight to my dick. The way her nipples poked at the silk of her robe. None of it helped. I closed my eyes, trying to claw back some kind of control over what I was feeling.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  I wasn’t. I could hear she was upset, but I couldn’t process what she was saying. My senses were too overloaded.

  She tipped her head back, exposing her long, creamy neck, and sighed, exasperated. Before I could stop myself, I released her arm and stroked my index finger across her jaw and down her neck. She gasped, but I couldn’t hold back. I trailed my finger lower, into the dip at the base of her throat. She was like a drug. Every hit I took of her made me want more. I was chasing the high—her high.

  “What are you doing, you asshole?”

  Her words brought me up short. Asshole? I froze and looked up. Shit, I did things like that to her in my imagination, not in person.

  “I … I’m sorry.” I let her go and stepped back, pushing my hands through my hair. What was I thinking? I was a father. A businessman. Nothing else mattered.

  She paused and frowned at me. “You’re vile to me in the office,” she said, her voice quiet and questioning.

  I nodded. “I know.” It was deliberate.

  I fixed my stare on her full, pouty lips. All the things I’d imagined those lips doing … She was right. I was an asshole.

  “And you think I’m stupid,” she said.

  “Stupid?” If that were true she wouldn’t be quite so alluring. Yes, she’d still be beautiful, but there were plenty of beautiful women on this planet. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

  “Then why do you treat me like shit?” She pointed at me; her voice got louder. “You act as if I don’t exist.” She jabbed her finger into my chest. It was as if she’d pressed a button with the word “cock” on it. My dick pulsed in response to every touch from her.

  I grabbed her finger, forcing her to stop pressing her skin against mine, and froze, not wanting to let go, and she didn’t pull her hand away from me. Instead we just looked at each other, not knowing what happened next, needing answers from the other. Was she done yelling? Could I keep my hands to myself a second longer?

  To my surprise, she dropped her papers, took a step forward, wrapped her free hand around my neck, and pressed her lips to mine. Relief rolled through my body, and instead of pushing her away, I snaked my greedy tongue into her mouth. She groaned, the sound reverberating throughout my body. She touched me as if it were practiced, as if she’d been thinking of it as much as I had.

  I pulled back for a second and a look of confusion passed over her face. It was just the encouragement I needed. I pushed her against the wall and dropped my lips to her collarbone.

  “I hate you,” she whispered.

  She wasn’t acting as if she hated me, wasn’t trying to get away. Had I read her wrong? I glanced up and she frowned.

  “Don’t stop,” she said.

  I grinned and bowed my head. She wanted this. “Don’t stop?” I asked against her neck. She threaded her fingers into my hair with one hand and smoothed the other over my shoulder. It was my turn to groan. A single touch from her and all my worst fears were confirmed—I wanted this woman. No, it was more than that. I’d found women attractive before, but I’d never had an overwhelming desire to be close to them, all the time. Not when I barely knew anything about them. Never found myself thinking about a woman when I was meant to be concentrating on a conference call or presentation. Never wanted to make them smile, find out all their secrets. I kneed her legs apart, and she ground her hips against my leg.

  This girl could end me.

  I’d suspected it the moment I saw her. Known it the moment I’d seen her work.

  Talented. Beautiful. Sharp. Sexy.

  I wanted it all.

  There were so many reasons this couldn’t happen. She worked for me. I only had sex with women; I didn’t do relationships. I’d recited them silently again and again.

  I pulled back and she looked up at me, mouth open. I placed my hands against the wall on either side of her head.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m your boss.”

  “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, I’ll be filing my sexual harassment claim in the morning.” She reached into my pants and wrapped her fingers around my hardening cock. “You might as well make this count.”

  I smirked. She was going to keep me on my toes.

  As I pulled open the tie of her robe, the silk slipped from her shoulders. Sweeping my hands across her skin, I avoided her breasts, then trailed down her stomach to her neatly trimmed pussy. I paused.

  She arched her back, pushing her body toward me, wanting more.

  “But you hate me,” I teased.

  “Let’s see what you can do to change my mind.” She pressed her hand against mine, pushing my fingers into her dampness.

  She had no idea what I had planned for her and how long I’d been planning it.

  An almost transient afterthought, I slid my lips against hers. And despite my fantasies, I found myself sliding to my knees. I needed to know I could make her as crazy as she did me. I tried to pull her leg over my shoulder but she resisted, encouraging me to stand up.

  “Did you forget who’s the boss?” I asked.

  “In the office, maybe.”

  Forcefully, I pushed her back against the wall and lifted her leg. I knew once she felt my tongue she’d relent. And I was right. I always was. She thrust her hips forward and slid her leg down my back as my tongue flicked over her clit, once, then twice. If she thought I wasn’t the boss in the bedroom, she was sorely mistaken.

  I curled a hand around one hip and with the other pressed my palm against her flat stomach as I licked from her clit down to the source of her wetness, enjoying her sweet taste. There was so much of it. As if she’d been wet for me since we first met. Her nails dug into my scalp as her pussy pulsed against me. I couldn’t remember the last time I went down on a woman, and right at that moment, I couldn’t remember it ever tasting this good, this warm, this wet.

  Despite my holding her, she seemed to be having a hard time standing up straight.

  “I can’t,” she cried out.

  I got the feeling there was nothing Harper couldn’t do if she put her
mind to it, but I wasn’t about to argue with her. I stood and she looked at me, half dazed, half disappointed. Before she had a chance to tell me again how much she hated me, I hoisted her over my shoulder and carried her into my bedroom.

  I tipped her onto the bed, her chestnut hair splaying out around her. I grabbed her by the legs and parted her firm thighs, pushing my fingers into her while my tongue circled her clit. She cried out, lifting her hips off the bed. I grabbed her waist and pulled her toward me. She wasn’t going anywhere without an orgasm to remember me by. Jesus, just a few minutes ago I’d been coming up with strategies to spend less time with her and now here she was naked on my bed, coating my hand and tongue with her juices.

  She let out small whimpers and incoherent sounds about noise and neighbors and chandeliers. I couldn’t follow what she was saying. All I cared about was her sweet, hot pussy around my tongue. Her breaths grew sharper and her whole body began to shudder, her movements becoming wild before she cried out, “Max!” Hearing my name on her lips while she climaxed pierced a hole in armor I didn’t realize I wore, and suddenly I didn’t care that I was her boss or that I had a reputation to protect, a family to focus on. I was so overwhelmingly attracted to her and right then it was the only thing that mattered. I nearly came right with her.

  Her panting slowed and she reached out. I should ask her to leave, stop this before it was too late, but instead I took her hand and climbed up next to her.

  I rolled to my back, needing to focus on something other than the swell of her tight breasts, the way her body sank against my bedsheets, on my bed, in my apartment.

  She was here. Exactly where she shouldn’t be.

  “Oh my God.” Her arm flopped onto my chest. “Forbes was right when they said you were talented.”

  I couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose from my throat. I turned to see her rolling to her side, apparently oblivious of how bizarre this scenario was. She kissed my jaw, and I tried not to look at her, afraid I’d never be able to look away.

  Her fingers wrapped around my still rock-hard cock. Jesus. So much for me telling her to leave. She dragged her hand up over the crown. There was little hope of me getting rid of her, not while she was so expertly squeezing and pulling. I gave in and glanced over to find her staring back at me, studying me as if she was trying to work out a crossword clue.