Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(26)

“I don’t want you to leave like this. I’m sorry it happened, but if you need to leave, I understand.”

I don’t want to leave. Suddenly, I find myself glued to his presence, craving that comforting touch again. One little brush of our lips and I’m already attached. Stupid, stupid Charlie.

“I’ll stay.”

In my head is a chorus of self-deprecation walloping my ego. Why would he want you anyway? Stupid girl. You really tried to kiss Emerson Grant. A handsome millionaire who could have anyone. Why would he want you?

My eyes are trained on the floor, my hands working anxiously as I let the words have their way, running through my mind until I’m on the verge of tears.

And suddenly, he’s touching my chin. And I glance up in surprise as he lifts my gaze upward until we’re staring at each other.

“It’s not because I don’t want you. Understand?”

It’s eerie how well he reads my mind. He’s just being nice, though. Solemnly, I nod.

Then his fingers gently stroke my chin for a moment as he seems to get lost, staring first at my eyes, and then my lips.

“You’re such a good girl, Charlotte.”

My shoulders relax, seeming to melt down at my sides as I gaze up at him, those beautiful words washing over me like warm water. Suddenly, I’m all gooey and compliant, like that one little phrase put me in a trance. He could literally do anything to me in this state.

And I sort of want him to.

Sadly, he releases my hold and moves to stand. “All right then. Let’s get back to work and pretend this never happened.”

And since I would do just about anything for his praise, that’s exactly what I do.





RULE #12: FOOT RUBS ARE SEXUAL.





Emerson





My palm has been itching for days. Every chance I get, I stare down at the lines that stretch from my wrist to my fingers and back again, thinking hard about what Charlotte said.

I’m destined for some great love. I laughed at it for the first day or two. Then, the idea began to settle in my mind. After Marie, Beau’s mother, I wrote off the idea of love. Truthfully, long before that. What we had was fun, vibrant days of sex and youth when forever felt possible until we had an unexpected pregnancy and had to face the reality of parenting and adulthood.

It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years since I gave love a good effort. That was a long time ago, and the idea of a relationship started sounding like more of a hassle than it was worth.

So, something about Charlotte’s little palm reading changed the course of my thoughts. And I can’t stop thinking about how she looked, lips parted and eyes dilated. The hope, the fear, the arousal on her face. Maybe a hint of excitement too, if I’m being honest.

Charlotte has had an effect on me since she started working here. And not in a good way. At least not if I want to get my son back and stay out of her pants. Although this plan is falling apart more and more each day. How can she be of any use to me if she doesn’t speak to him anymore?

While she’s out for lunch, I pull out my phone and dial his number again. Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail after only one and a half rings, which means he declined my call, again.

And this time, I do something I haven’t done yet.

“Hi, son. I was just talking to Charlotte…er, Charlie, I mean. I’m sure you know by now she’s working for me. She makes a great secretary, and she talks about you so much. It makes me miss you. I hope you’re well. Please call me.”

When I hit the red button, I sit in my silence. I sound so fucking desperate. Is this what he wants? For me to beg? To make a fool of myself for him, or does it make him lose respect for me?

A moment later, the front door opens and Charlotte carries in a bag from the deli down the street.

“It was so beautiful out, I decided to walk. I hope I’m not late.”

“You’re fine,” I mutter without looking up. When I finally do trail my eyes upward, I notice her cheeks are bright red, flushed from the cool wind.

Wait. She walked to the deli? It’s almost a mile and a half away. And it’s not nice out. It’s February and only forty-five degrees.

“Charlotte,” I bark out coldly as I stand. “Why didn’t you drive?”

Rushing toward her, I take the bags and touch her icy hands. My molars grind. Then I run my thumbs over her cold cheeks, and she shivers.

“I’m fine!” She pulls away, but as I peer out the window, I catch a glimpse of her car parked next to mine, and I let out a heavy sigh.

“Is everything with your car all right?”

She swallows, trying to get around me and walk to the kitchen, but I block her path. Gripping her chin, I tilt her head up to look at me.

When her shoulders sag, she gives in. “I think it’s the battery. I can have a mechanic come out to jump it, so it’s not stuck in your driveway, I promise. I’m sorry.”

Everything in me tenses as I think about her buried in her coat against the wind as she walked for over forty-five minutes in the cold, because she didn’t want to tell me that her car wouldn’t start.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“It’s fine,” she replies with a forced smile.

“Charlotte.” I take her by the arm, reminding myself to be more gentle than my instincts insist I be. My inner Dom wants to punish her for lying. I’d like to shake her, squeeze her until it hurts, perhaps even put her over my knee—