Drawn to Mr. King (The Men Series Book 3)
Drawn to Mr. King: Chapter 6

“OPEN IT, OPEN IT!” Lydia claps her hands together, eyeing up the package that’s been delivered to my desk.

“Not now. It’ll have to wait until lunch.” I look over at Phil’s open office door as I put the parcel underneath my desk and push it to the side with my foot.

“Spoilsport.” Lydia pouts.

“Lyds, I was late for work this morning. I’m hoping Phil didn’t notice,” I groan as I recall sneaking in forty minutes late and trying not to look like I’d run all the way from the tube station.

“That’s not like you. Did you have company this morning?” Lydia’s eyes light up.

I wish.

“Not unless you count talking to God on the big white telephone, company.”

“You’re still sick? Girl, you need to get yourself to the doctor. Wait!” Her voice rises, and she wraps her hand around my forearm, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I stare at her like she’s grown another head. “What? No, of course not! I don’t have a sex life, remember?”

“Er, what about Mr Mysterious, blessed with a cock from the gods?” Her eyes widen as she looks at me.

He did have a great…

I shake my head. “Him? No, that was over a month ago. I’ve had a period since then.”

Lydia’s face falls, and she sticks out her bottom lip, thinking. “Maybe your body is telling you it’s sick of Phil’s bullshit?”

“That’s more likely.” I laugh.

As if on cue, Phil appears in his office doorway, hands on his hips as he calls across the office. “Megan, a word.”

I roll my eyes subtly at Lydia as I get up. “See you at lunch.”

Two hours later, when Lydia approaches my desk, tapping her watch, I tuck my sketchbook into the drawer. I need to get a new one, just for the White Fire sketches. I didn’t have time to grab one from the stationary cupboard this morning. I’ve been using my personal one to work on ideas instead.

“You ready to not eat lunch with me again?” Lydia grins.

I smile at her. “You know, I’m feeling better now. Maybe this bug is on its way out.”

“Either that or you’re growing immune to Phil’s crap. What did he want this morning?”

I blow out a breath and roll my eyes. “He wanted to tell me that if I was going to be late and not take this opportunity seriously, that he was going to give it to someone else.”

Lydia’s eyes dart toward Phil’s closed office door, and she shoots daggers at it. “That slimy toad. I bet he wants to give it to Ross. He’s always favoured the guys over the girls.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well, there’s not much I can do about it. He is the boss. He told me to work late tonight to make up for it.”

“Jesus, Meg. Today was the first day you’ve ever been late. He could have cut you some slack.”

I raise an eyebrow at Lydia. “This is Phil we’re talking about.”

She tilts her head to one side. “Okay, so onto more interesting topics before we head out for lunch. What’s in the parcel?”

I pick the dark grey box out from underneath my desk and place it on my lap. Occasionally we get sent thank you gifts from clients. It’s heavy, probably some golfing magazines, or… I shudder, haemorrhoid cream. I use some scissors to cut the tape and then lift the lid off. Inside, cradled in tissue paper, is a glass bottle with a stopper in. The type people use to store homemade lemonade. I lift it out and look at the golden liquid inside.

“Let’s see!” Lydia plucks the bottle from my hand and opens it, sniffing the contents. “It smells good, Meg. Is there a card?”

I peer back inside the box and pull out a small, dark grey envelope. There’s nothing written on the outside, so I lift the flap and pull out the thick, white card that’s inside. I jerk my head back in surprise as I read the elegant, loopy writing.

Try this. It might save some company property in the future. JK.

Lydia’s eyes zone in on my face and then drop to the card between my fingers.

“Are you serious? You almost throw up on The Fox’s designer Italian shoes, and he sends you his homemade ginger ale!” she shrieks, grinning from ear to ear.

I take the bottle from her and turn it around so I can see the label.

She’s right.

It’s written in the same elegant loops. This is homemade. Jaxon King sent me his own recipe? The pig who never called and looked like he would explode in anger last time I saw him sent me this?

The cool glass of the bottle is smooth in my hand as I read the label again.

“I don’t understand. Why would he do something nice like this suddenly?” I think out loud.

“What do you mean, suddenly?” Lydia asks.

I look up at her puzzled face. It’s time I told her.

“Come on, Lyds. I’ll tell you over lunch. You’re going to need food for this story.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.” She grins as we grab our bags and head out of the office.

Once we’ve settled at our usual table in the café, Lydia jumps right in, quizzing me between mouthfuls of cheese and ham toastie.

“Come on, then. What’s the story, Meg?”

I take a deep breath and look at her. “Okay, I’ll just come right out with it.”

“Yep, rip that plaster off!” She leans forward, giving me her full attention.

“So, Mr Mysterious isn’t actually that mysterious. You know him. You’ve met him.” I chew my lip.

Lydia holds a hand up, “If you’re going to tell me it’s Phil, then please wait until after I’ve finished eating. I don’t want to be the one being sick today. Then you’d have to share your delicious smelling ginger ale with me, and…” her mouth drops open as she stares at me. “No way! It’s him, isn’t it? You fucked the Fox!”

“Lydia!” I hiss, putting my hands to my cheeks as I glance around the café. “Keep your voice down.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. “But I mean… really? That fucking edible man is Mr Mysterious, giver of orgasms. Bestowed with a cock of perfect mathematical girth?”

I giggle at the look of pure delight on her face.

“Yes… okay. Jaxon King is who I spent that night with. Only I didn’t know it was him. I only knew his first name and never put two and two together.”

“No, you were too busy putting his dick and your pussy together,” she laughs, “three times!”

I shake my head and place a hand over my eyes. Lydia reaches over and peels one finger away so I can see her face with one eye.

“I don’t get it. He didn’t call, but now he’s sending you gifts?”

“I know, me neither. Plus, that day I was sick, I swear he looked pissed off being near me. I could almost feel the loathing seeping from his body towards me.”

I frown at the memory. He’s nothing like the attentive and passionate man I met that first night.

The realisation that maybe it was all just an elaborate act makes my stomach sink.

Lydia taps a finger against her chin as she stares at the ceiling.

“Maybe something happened after your night together that stopped him from calling. Then when he sees you at the office, all vulnerable and sick, his big alpha ego comes out, and he wants to take care of you. He sends you ginger ale, then plans to drag you back to his place by the hair to fuck you silly again.”

I snort. “You have a wild imagination. More like he’s highlighting how unprofessional throwing up in the trash can by my desk was.”

Lydia cocks one eyebrow at me. “By sending homemade ginger ale to you? Nope, I don’t buy it.” She shakes her head. “Besides, I’m not wrong, am I? He fucked you silly that night. Don’t deny it.” She winks at me.

Fucked me so silly I still hear his voice in my dreams.

“Maybe… a little,” I add as she stares at me with one eyebrow cocked.

“And now you have to work with him on the biggest project of your career so far.” She shrugs, turning her attention back on her toastie.

“Exactly.”

I take a bite of my cheese and pickle sandwich and force myself to chew. I feel better than earlier, but eating is still a challenge.

“How’s that going to work when all I can think about is what he looks like underneath those designer suits? Unfortunately, he’s one hot pig.”

“Sucks to be you.” Lydia laughs before she sees the pained expression on my face and sighs. “Look, Meg. You’re a brilliant illustrator. You’re going to do an amazing job. He won’t even be in the office that much. That Tina woman is heading up the project. He’ll only have to come for the big meetings. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, unconvinced.

“And, if he can explain his radio silence for that month and wants to fuck you on your desk…” she cocks her head to one side, “then go for it. Even better, fuck him on Phil’s desk!”

“Lydia!” I laugh, clapping a hand over my mouth.

She grins back at me.

There is no way that is happening. I would like to believe he has a reason for not calling, but it doesn’t explain why he was so abrupt. Nothing makes any sense right now. The best thing I can do is concentrate on my work. Stick to what I know, as one thing’s for sure, I know nothing about Jaxon King.

“Night, Meg,” Frankie calls as he passes my desk on his way out.

“Night, Frankie, see you in the morning,” I reply as I bend my head back over my sketch and continue working on it.

The next time I look up, I’m the only one left in the office, and it’s six-thirty. I’ve more than made up for being late this morning. I could have done these sketches at home, in my pyjamas, comfortable, chatting with my housemate, Rachel. But then Phil knew that. It’s probably why he insisted I stay in the office to work. He would rather I sit on the cheap office chairs that offer no back support than do the same work from my sofa at home.

Idiot.

When the company had a restructure last year, I prayed he would leave. Or be moved to another team, at least. No such luck.

I reach my arms above my head and stretch, sighing in pleasure as my back cracks.

“You should really get a better chair. That one’s terrible for your posture.”

I scream and swing around, one hand on my chest. “God! You scared me!” I take a second to absorb the sight in front of me. Charcoal suit, grey tie, dark, brooding eyes.

Him.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to.” Jaxon’s eyes crease at the corners as a small smile plays on his lips. His gaze remains fixed on me as he takes his time to study my face.

I sit still, like I’m under a spotlight, waiting for him to say something. But he just studies me, taking his time sweeping his eyes over my face. It’s completely different from the last time I saw him when he looked pissed off.

He seems different tonight, less… moody pig.

My cheeks heat, and I reach a hand around the back of my neck. He doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable about the growing silence between us as he stands with his hands thrust inside his pockets, studying me.

Why is he looking at me like that?

Well, if he’s not going to mention that night, then to hell if I am. I’m not giving him the satisfaction. I’ll let him think that I have passionate nights with strangers all the time.

I clear my throat, “can I help you with something?”

My question breaks his silent appraisal of me, and he swallows before answering, his Adam’s apple moving in his thick neck.

“I came to pick up some poster mock-ups. I meant to catch Phil, but my meeting ran late. He said he left them on his desk.” Jaxon’s eyes drop to my lips, and his forehead creases. All trace of the earlier smile vanishes from his handsome features as he frowns.

Moody pig… welcome back.

Instinctively, I lick my lips in case there’s something on them. His jaw tenses, and a muscle twitches in his cheek before he looks back up at my eyes. They’re deep and mesmerizing. If I’m not careful, I will get sucked back into them. Sucked into the pretence of a promise—just like that night. A promise I now know means nothing more than two strangers, champagne, and a whole lot of sexual attraction.

I’ve never been one for one-night stands. This awkwardness I feel now, under his gaze, knowing how I let go in front of him, how I bared more than just my naked flesh to him—I don’t know what I was thinking that night.

“I can get them for you,” I offer, putting on my best professional voice as I get up.

He doesn’t move back, and for a few uncomfortable seconds, I stand facing him, unable to go anywhere else. He’s close, too close. His eyes drop to my lips again before he clears his throat and takes a step back, gesturing for me to go first.

I turn my head and talk to him over my shoulder as I lead him into Phil’s office. “Phil’s desk can be a bit of a mess. But, once you get to know him, you get used to it.”

I lift stacks of paper and look underneath them, moving a couple of day-old coffee mugs out of the way.

“Ah! Here you are,” I say, bending to pick up the tube marked ‘White Fire poster mock-ups’ from the floor underneath the desk.

Jaxon’s eyes snap back to my face as I turn and hold it out to him. I swear he was just checking out my ass as I bent over.

“You know him well then, do you?” His voice sounds gruff, an edge of irritation threatening to spill out.

“What do you mean?” My eyes run over Jaxon’s jaw, tracing his five o’clock shadow up to his sideburns. I remember how they felt under my fingertips—rough.

Rough against my thighs, too.

“You said that once you get to know Phil, you get used to his mess. You found these,” he holds up the tube, “in amongst all of this.” He gestures towards the mess on the desk. “So, I take it you know him well?” His eyes bore into mine.

I fight to stop my jaw from dropping open. Does he seriously think something is going on with Phil and me? The idea is ludicrous.

“I pay attention, that’s all. What are you implying?” I snap.

I can’t believe the nerve of this man. I’m the girl who shies away from confrontation, but not right now. Not with him. He seems to have a gift for rubbing me the wrong way. I cross my arms and glare at him, waiting for him to answer.

He says nothing and instead takes a step towards me, his brows knotted in deep concentration. The scent of his aftershave reaches out and draws me in, and without thinking, I lean closer to inhale. It’s the same one he wore that night—leather and musk, mixed with something woody, cedar perhaps? Whatever it is, it’s got me captivated, like I’m under a spell.

I feel something shift in my body as my pulse beats out a steady rhythm, which I can feel in my core. All my anger is gone, just like that—pouf! Replaced by something else. Something raw and primal. Something not at all unpleasant physically, but something I also know after that night together, is perhaps more trouble than I want to handle again.

I raise my eyes to his, and he stares back at me, his eyes dark and intense underneath his hooded lids.

“That was rude and presumptuous of me, Megan. I apologise,” he murmurs, his eyes burning into mine as he takes a step closer.

He closes the distance between us so much that I can feel the warmth of his breath leaving his lips as he speaks. The scent of mint mixes subtly with his aftershave, and I’m once again transported back to that night together.

That incredible night.

Because, as much as he seems to have not thought about it, or me, since, I haven’t been able to forget.

I could never forget.

I thought physical pleasure like that only existed in stories and films. Until he proved otherwise.

And God did he prove it… three long, delicious, toe-curling times.

I suck in a small breath and open my mouth to speak, but before I can register what’s happening, he’s taken hold of my chin.

My breath catches in my throat as his strong fingers tilt my head back. I’m frozen to the spot, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as my mouth grows dry.

“Megan,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, his brow furrowing deeply as his eyes drop to my lips.

He drags his thumb over the bottom one, pulling it back, and then slipping it between my lips, grazing my teeth with the pad of his thumb. I should push him away, but I can’t. Instead, I stand frozen to the spot, staring into his face, heat firing in my core as that night comes flooding back to me. The way he kissed me, all-powerful and commanding. The feel of his rough hands on my skin, the sound of his breath as he whispered in my ear, as he groaned my name when he came inside me. The way I let myself go and had the deepest and most all-consuming orgasms—on his cock, on his tongue, on his cock again…

Oh yes, I remember.

I clamp my thighs together underneath my skirt, all my earlier resolve dissipating as I allow myself to be consumed by lust—lust and memories.

I want him to kiss me. I want him to—

He groans, deep in his throat, and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s like a cloud passing over his handsome face, ending the moment as quickly as it began.

He releases my lip, dropping his hand to his side as he takes a step backwards.

“I need to leave,” he says, opening his eyes and looking into mine one last time before tearing them away from my face.

I glance down at my hands, my face burning with confusion. What’s going on? Why has he just looked at me with such… was that desire in his eyes? But the shine they had after, the glassiness… regret?

What the hell is going on inside his head?

“Thank you for the ginger ale,” I whisper through tingling lips, finally plucking up the courage to raise my eyes to him again.

But he’s already gone, leaving only the smell of cedar behind.