Free The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) by Grace Marshall Page A

I go way back,’ he said, still not showing any emotion. ‘She’s a very talented girl, our Ms. Emerson.’ This time the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. ‘I doubt there’s anything she couldn’t do if she set her mind to it.’
    Ingrid certainly wouldn’t have called her a girl. Encouraged by the sudden shift in his humor, she settled onto the arm of his chair and leaned close. ‘Were you lovers?’
    He shrugged her off so quickly that she stood to keep from falling. Then he pushed back from the table and tossed the paper into the trash can next to the sofa.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Confusion escalated to something a little more alarming as he began to pace in front of the big window. ‘That was none of my business. I’m sorry.’
    He turned on her so quickly that she nearly tripped over the leg of the chair he’d just vacated trying to step away. But there was no need. There was a broad smile on his face, and he took her into his arms and smoothed her mussed hair. ‘Stacie and I did some business together,’ he said, one hand moving inside the robe to fondle her breasts while the other undid the sash. ‘And certainly for me, that business did involve some … pleasure.’ He pushed the robe off her shoulders and, in spite of all they’d done last night, she felt shy, but he only chuckled softly and gave her body the onceover the same way she’d seen him appraising the art at the gallery. ‘You have nothing to be jealous of, my dear Ms. Watson. While Stacie Emerson likes to be surrounded by lovely things, I prefer to possess them.’ He gave her nipple a pinch for emphasis and she flinched, feeling a flush of heat between her legs.
    He pushed her back until her bottom pressed against the table, then he lifted her onto it, rattling the cups and spilling coffee on the white linen tablecloth. With one hand he opened her legs and stroked her down there until she trembled with something more edgy than just arousal. With the other hand he opened his fly, eased out his erection, and pushed into her with no warning, no foreplay. She couldn’t help it, she cried out. It felt as if he had forced a battering ram up inside her. For a second, she couldn’t breathe; for a second, her eyes watered; for a second, she felt fear tangle and knot with the beginnings of arousal. But just before she could get truly frightened, his efforts calmed and he held himself still inside her, catching his breath, studying her face, her breasts, her thighs, the place where their bodies joined. The pain gave way to an achy, prickly, almost panicky sort of pleasure. He stroked her breasts, examining them like they were one of her sculptures, thumbing her nipples until they were raw and hyper-sensitive. All the while his gaze took in her body as though he were judging it, as though it fascinated him in an abstract sort of way.
    ‘But what’s most interesting about lovely things, Ingrid, is that lovely things need to be possessed. I believe that’s their sole purpose.’ Then he began to thrust, both hands moving to grip her hips and pull her tighter against him. ‘What do you think, darling?’ He held her face so she couldn’t look away. ‘Do you think that might be the case?’
    His thrusting grew harder and she wrapped her legs around his waist to steady herself. A coffee cup rattled off the edge of the table and shattered on the floor. He held her chin in a tight grip between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her with a kiss that threatened to smother even as it aroused her. When he pulled free, he still held her so that she couldn’t look away from him. The tension in his body told her he was about to come. ‘Not that it matters.’ His words were now breathless and forced from his throat. ‘I don’t have to have permission to possess what I want, Ingrid. I simply take it.’ And then he came with a hard thrust that forced the breath from her lungs and felt as though it would split her in two.
    Before