Deep in the Heart of Me Ch. 01

He shook his head, still unable to fathom it. He climbed the stairs slowly, with each step his thoughts drifting between her reaction to him and the more practical matter of the conversation he'd been having with the technical developers downstairs. The building was pretty quiet, and when he paused to look out through the stairway windows he realised, with some surprise, that it was much later than he'd thought.

It didn't bother him. He actually preferred the silence of the long evenings. It helped him think. Kept him out of her path.

He pushed through the stairwell exit door into the short intersecting hallway, and nearly walked right into her.

The split second after recognition registered was long enough to notice that she hadn't even looked at him, muttering a generic, "Sorry," and continuing towards the Ladies' bathroom door.

Again, the split happened. The logic kicked in, assessing the space, her movement, listening for anyone nearby. The consuming madness took its own action. He'd only meant to stop her walking away. The hand that snaked out grasped her by her throat. As if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, he pressed her up against the wall, feeding off the shock in her eyes before witnessing the miraculous shift he saw there. It was as if something tuned in. Static morphed into to something flowing and coherent and they were instantly on the same wavelength. She was wide open to him and he could read everything. Everything.

She wasn't afraid of him. Startled, but not afraid. Her eyes darted up towards the ceiling, searching for the tell-tale black dome of the CCTV cameras. Somehow that logic part of him had already taken that into account. He would never even think of exposing her in that way. Exposing her in other ways...now that did consume his thoughts with frightening frequency.

"No CCTV here," he muttered to her, surprised by the roughness of his own voice. The smooth warmth of her skin was starting to get through to him, her pulse beating rapid but steady under his fingers. He moved his thumb against the heavy throb under her skin, catching the change in her eyes. What was that flicker he saw-?

The madness bubbled up, and he had her wrist in his hand, twisting it slightly behind her back in a desperate bid to keep her from running away. The regret from the bite screamed at him to stop. This wasn't what you were supposed to do to a woman. But looking deep into her eyes, he could only see the flare of something incredible as he tightened his grip on her. Defiance. Desire.

This was something altogether new. Uncharted territory. Another small experimental twist. Her eyes widened, her focus momentarily retreating somewhere deeper inside her.

"What? That hurts?" he breathed, shocked at the teasing in his voice, at his readiness to play such a dangerous game. Her chin rose imperceptibly, her eyes meeting his clearly, proudly. Full of wanting more.

He became aware of how tightly he was grasping her throat and instantly dropped his hand, wincing at the slight redness left by his fingers. Had he done that? Had she really allowed him to do that? But he was distracted by a new thought. The bite. His bite. Was it still there? He reached his fingers up, stroking first the silky dark hair that drifted along her neck, then pushed it back, eyes searching for any mark. All he could see was pale, smooth skin. It was gone. Nothing left of that moment the blinding connection of light had left a permanent mark on some inner part of him.

He could feel it now, touching on the edge of his consciousness. He was fighting it, blocking it. That darting thread of light that wanted to make contact. No matter how hard he fought it, he wanted it...wanted the brightness that shone out from her when he tasted that lovely skin and bathed him in brilliant, warming light. He watched himself, as if from a distance, his head dropping, leaning in to the beckoning shelter of her neck-

"No!"

He jerked back with soft grunt of surprise. Everything stopped. She regarded him with steady eyes and very amazingly said something he least expected.

"Not there...it shows."

Not there? Not...there. She tipped her head back, trying to look up at him, and he was practically cradling the back of her head in his hand. Warmth, silk-soft hair against his fingers. The scent of flowers. He contemplated her for a moment, his thumb resting against her neck absently, instinctively, where he'd first felt everything spin together in strange completeness.

Not there. Then where? He twisted her wrist a little more, causing her to yelp, more from surprise than pain. He noted how her concentration snapped back to him, enjoying the responsiveness, the blaze of heat in her eyes as he did it.

The logic waded in again, warning not long now. He needed another taste. Any moment she'd flow past him like water through his fingers and be gone. He needed to tie them together, stronger, deeper this time. But somewhere safer, she was right about that. He considered her blouse and its little row of ruffles. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up out of the waistband, freeing it. Blindly, he slid his hand underneath, making contact with the smooth softness of her skin. The arousal he'd only barely been conscious of hit him now with full force. Swallowing a groan, he let his fingers skim over her stomach. Nothing had ever felt like this. Never so intense or so consuming as this new heat that raged through him.

Not much time, the logic warned. Acknowledging it, he dropped into a crouch in front of her, his hand still measuring her breaths, absorbing her sweet warmth. As if it was some sacred act, he lifted her blouse, exposing her stomach. Just there...where her ribcage created a little hollow with each gasping breath. He leaned in, instantly hypnotised by her scent, his mouth hungry to taste her again.

He didn't mean to bite so hard, but it was incredible. She was incredible. The arching again, towards him, not away. The soft gasp as her head dropped back against the wall, her eyes closed, her body rising towards him. The light surrounded him, enveloping him its warmth.

Footsteps. Footsteps in the stairwell behind him. Swallowing a growl of frustration, and with enormous effort, he broke away, released her in one quick movement. The safety of the women's bathroom was right in front of them. Putting a firm hand at her back he pushed her through it before she could protest.

This time he could only escape to his car, down the stairs to the basement carpark two at a time. He didn't trust himself to stay in the building with her there.

* * * * *

Wasn't giving in to an urge supposed to be the best way to get it out of your system? Jarod lay spread-eagled, his sheets in a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed, an arm draped over his eyes. Apparently it didn't work that way. Not unlike several other occasions, he'd just woken from dreams...dreams of pursuing her. Through halls and corridors and up and down stairs. No matter how fast he ran, he never got any closer. Never reached her. He was just left, surrounded by the subtle scent of flowers and the image of her dark hair, flying behind her as she disappeared around the next corner and the next.

So he lay, trying to piece together all his memories of her so he could picture her whole, hovering in front of him, or rather, hovering on the inside of his weary eyelids as he lay, exhausted. Sleepless.

This need to possess...for her to belong to him, was foreign and troubling. With the various women he'd been with over the years he'd been only too glad when they asserted their independence. When they'd shove him out of their beds the same night or first thing the next morning, and didn't ask for anything more. He felt free then, not obligated or hemmed in. This was different. This was confusing as hell.

The first encounter, the first bite...it had only whetted his appetite for the second. And the second brought with it such an unexpected requirement for more. An all-consuming hunger to have it all. All of her.

He rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, grimacing at the time glowing at him from the bedside clock. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now. Pushing his fingers through his dark hair he sighed. Only thing for it. Punishing himself on the treadmill seemed the only thing to chase the dreams from his mind. The irony hadn't escaped him. Running and always running. Running and never catching up.

* * * * *

His waking thoughts were often occupied by the pale, smooth place on her neck where his bite had been. It must have shown for quite some time if her scarf-wearing habits had been any indication. He couldn't explain to himself the disappointment he'd felt at not being able to see it. It seemed pretty sick, didn't it? If you'd been hit by lightning, he wondered, would you really remember it? Or would you wonder sometimes you'd just imagined that it had happened? For his own sanity, he wanted...needed... proof that it had actually taken place.

The memory of how the warm curve of her stomach felt under his hands also featured highly in the drifting of his thoughts away from the job at hand. He only vaguely remembered seeing the pale swath of midriff before his teeth had found its mark. And there would be a mark left behind, surely. The more he thought about this, the more he knew he just needed to see it. See the bruise so he could stop the terrifying thought that he'd imagined the whole thing.

He tapped his thumbs absently against the edge of his desk, the gap-analysis documents lying forgotten in front of him. Short of corralling her in some dingy corner of the office and demanding she take her shirt off, what options did he have? His eyes drifted to his mobile phone. He had a work phone, but hated the little keyboard design and preferred the model of his personal one. It had a camera. The phone had...a camera. The seed of an idea grew and then blossomed.

* * * * *

Once it was in his mind, it wouldn't let him escape. He kept a seemingly casual eye out for a lull in the office traffic before making his move. He forced his stride into a normal rhythm. Assembled his features into a neutral expression. Breathe, Jarod, he commanded himself.

He'd picked a good time. Only half of the other PA's were at their posts as he approached her empty desk. He could see she was engrossed with a task involving a lot of notes, post-its and her computer screen. When she didn't immediately turn towards him, he fought against the fleeting anxious thought that she was ignoring him, but it was the intensity of her focus, the hunch of her narrow shoulders, the lower lip held between her small, white teeth that told him otherwise. He leaned against the edge of her desk, attempting to look casual, but still able to observe her, waiting for her to notice his presence. His eyes were drawn back to that lower lip. He'd not specifically concentrated his thoughts on her lips before, but now wondered how he'd made such a staggering omission. Her bottom lip was a little fuller than the top one, but both were smooth and a delicate, deep pink. It was an expressive mouth. Sensual. Deeply dangerous to his sanity. He wrenched his eyes away, working hard to calm his breathing.

But he couldn't stand here forever, not without the nosy birds over at the other desks noticing how long he'd lingered at her desk. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and quietly dropped it onto the desk next to her.

From his vantage point he could see down the main corridor. The door to the boardroom had opened and people were pouring out, including Richard. Managing-Director-Richard. Damn it. He still had some figures he needed to analyse and send through for the executive committee. If he didn't get out of sight in the next minute or so, he'd be spotted.

He tapped his fingertips on the desk impatiently and kept his voice low, willing her to catch his meaning quickly. "I want a picture."

In his peripheral vision, he could see her staring up at him, those soft lips parted, the slight crease of a frown between her gently arching brows. Huh. He hadn't really noticed them before either. Focus, Jarod!

"What?" she asked softly, the confusion as clear in her voice as it was on her face.

The group of meeting-goers was getting closer, duos and trios still chatting quietly as they returned to their offices. He had to get on with it.

"A picture. You know...a photograph. Use my phone." Where? Where could she do that? His mind latched onto their last encounter near the stairwell. Of course. "In the bathroom," he added.

She just sat, rooted to the spot, indecipherable emotions flicking through her eyes as she looked around. Was she looking for help? Rescue from his demands? He didn't have time to waste waiting to find out. The phone sat in front of her, dark and uncompromising against the pile of papers. One last attempt to accomplish his quest for that irrevocable proof that he hadn't just dreamed the taste of her skin, not once, but twice. "Go," he told her with a growl before pushing up from the desk and walking away. Or had that command been for himself?

With some effort he kept his face neutral, his breathing slow and steady. Go talk to the other women, he warned himself, stay out of the Richard's eye-line. Make it look like you're just your usual bastard chatting-up self.

When he finally escaped to the safety of his own office, he couldn't shake a nagging thought. At what point had he stopped being his usual bastard chatting-up self?

* * * * *

The wait was just about to kill him. How many times had he looked to see if the phone was still sitting there on her desk, mocking him. Had she done it? Had she done as he asked? He hadn't been able to bear to watch her at first, closing his door and shutting himself in.

The second thoughts plagued him immediately. What had he been thinking? It would be her word against his at a disciplinary hearing, but what sort of sicko bites a girl and then asks for a picture? Did she think he had some sort of vampire fetish or something? Fuck.

* * * * *

Several hours passed. He opened his door, but only so he could keep an eye on her movements. Okay, so he could add stalking to his list of freakish behaviour. A therapist would have a field-day with him.

He had to get the phone back. He couldn't un-ask what he'd asked, but he could get the phone back. Then he'd just leave it at that. He'd block this whole mess from his mind. He'd move to fucking Siberia if that's what it took. End it, Jarod. End it.

He went to pick up some fictitious printing from the printer near her desk. On his way back he was about to grab the phone, but that old battle-axe Angela was hovering nearby, instructing her underlings. Shit. Mind racing, he grabbed a pad of post-its and a pen and scribbled, "Thanks Stephanie," and signed it, taking the phone and leaving the note in its place as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. Maybe it would look like he had legitimate business loitering around the desk of a young innocent admin assistant.

Angela turned and made a point of scrutinising him over her glasses, frowning ominously.

He shrugged, swallowing the panic that surged up from his belly, and directed his best innocent grin at her. "My address book...such a mess." He gestured to Stephanie's empty chair. "She's very organised..."

He fled. As slowly as he could manage it, but he fled nonetheless from the ferocity of her suspicious glare. Or was it his own guilt that fuelled the churning in his stomach?

* * * * *

The rest of the day hadn't gone well. Even if he'd been able to concentrate on the conference call with the tech team in the US, there wasn't much promising news yet.

When he finally slid into the familiar comfort of his car he dropped his head back against the headrest, just breathing in the smell of the leather and trying with every ounce of his being to erase the day.

You have to look at it sometime, he reminded himself. He didn't know what was disturbing him most. The most likely fact was that there was nothing there...that she hadn't done it. This prospect was accompanied by a level of crushing disappointment he wasn't ready to examine just yet. Then there was the reality of what would inevitably come next if she had. The part of him that prayed for the end to the madness wasn't quite winning against the memory of those lips, that mouth.

He braced himself mentally, flicking the phone into life, forcing himself to check his messages first. His thumb hovered over the button, staring at the photos folder. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button.

The lighting wasn't superb, but there was no mistaking the shadowy curve of her stomach, the sweet hollow of her belly button. Or the spreading bloom of bruising that radiated from the place he'd bitten her. Oh fuck. Fuck. She'd done it...she'd really done it. Heat sped through him and he groaned as the reality of his body's reaction made itself known against the constraining fabric of his trousers. One photo and he was hard as a rock.

He closed his eyes, gasping, fighting the waves of desire. Desire for what? To bite her? No....to possess her. To be possessed by her more utterly and completely than he already was. If that was even possible.

He forced himself to look at the photo again, examine it carefully and think it through. Trying to order his thoughts was like wading through deep treacle. She'd actually done it. What did that mean? That she wanted more? That she felt something too? Was it a permission? It was something he would spend many sleepless hours pondering.

* * * * *

He'd woken early with a restless energy crackling through his limbs. A sort of excitement. He tried to attribute it to lack of sleep and his steady of diet of caffeine over the past week, but it was something else. It was the photograph.

He'd been unable to keep himself from checking the phone repeatedly. Checking to make sure it was really there. That he had the proof he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. It didn't change...it was the same photo each time, but every time he looked at it he remembered something different about their brief encounters. The look in her eyes. The soft silkiness of her hair. This thing...it was like a drug.

He drove to work on autopilot. He went through the motions of compiling the budget figures for the quarterly meeting. The numbers blurred on the screen in front of him, and he had to lock his mobile in the bottom of his desk drawer just to keep the temptation at bay.

Lunch hour finally approached, but so did the parade of office girls along the hall near his office. His eyes drifted up from the screen for just a moment, and there she was, walking with the gaggle of women past his office. The debate raged. Did he dare approach her openly? Could he do anything else but follow? The high he'd been experiencing ever since she validated the insanity in his mind carried him along in a glowing cloud of recklessness as he abandoned his reports and followed her at a distance. They were heading down the hall towards the stairs. As the girls ahead of him approached the small connecting hallway to the stairwell he thought he saw her pause, just for a second, before walking through. Was she remembering too? Him holding her against the wall while he-...

He seriously had to snap himself out of this. But oblivious to all else, he couldn't help but focus on the gentle sway of her dark ponytail as she descended the stairs ahead of him, the arch of her neck, her small hand grasping the railing. He stifled a groan at the images that burst into his mind just watching her, his body responding. And this was just watching her walk down some stairs!

He dropped back, pretending to check his shoelace until the group of women had emptied out into the cafeteria, taking a moment to compose himself. Deep breaths.