The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

He’s not married, so why is he wearing a ring?

Senator Allan’s Wikipedia page, his Instagram, a Forbes profile from two years ago — none of them mentioned a wife. No wedding announcement, no photographs with anyone who looked like a partner, yet his thumb hadn’t left that ring since we sat down.

"I’m not sure I want to get that car, Wolfe," the senator said, leaning back in his seat. His bodyguards loomed behind him, scanning the empty restaurant with hawkish eyes, looking like a cross between James Bond and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

"It’s a little too sporty for me."

Outside the restaurant windows, rain poured hard, streaking the glass in long silver lines, blurring everything out there. The Thursday afternoon traffic was only a blur of headlights through the windows.

Good thing I thought to bring umbrellas. I glanced at the two that leaned by the door of the restaurant.

"The VTD engine is the most significant advancement in the automobile industry in the last decade, Senator." Finnegan supplied, leaning forward over the table.

His arm brushed mine when he did, and I made a very conscious, very professional decision to feel absolutely nothing about it. I pressed my lips together and tried to remind myself that three days ago, he had threatened to fire me.

"A pre-order before the car launch positions you ahead of every name on that list before the launch even happens. Come on, Allan. You’re a collector, you know you want to."

Senator Allan grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides. His silver hair was swept back, revealing the old wrinkles on his forehead. I glanced back at the Wikipedia page on my phone. Sixty-five years old and not married?

"Mr Wolfe." I murmured. "May I?"

He turned to look at me, those emerald green eyes steady on my face, then gave a short grunt.

"Senator Allan," I smiled across the table. "I think your wife would love this car."

Senator Allan’s finger stopped moving, but to his credit, he didn’t blink or bat an eyelid. Damn. Politicians really did go to the school of poker faces. "I’m not sure where you got the impression that I am married, but I am not."

"The way you’ve been touching your ring all afternoon," I said gently. "My grandfather does exactly the same thing when he talks about my grandmother." I nodded toward his hand. "Whoever she is, she’s clearly very loved."

There was a long pause. Mr Wolfe’s eyes bored holes into the side of my face and I prayed to every god I knew that I was right, because this was going to flop very badly if I wasn’t. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Thankfully, Senator Allan sighed and a warm smile tugged at his lips. "We’ve been married thirty-eight years," he said quietly. "She doesn’t like the public eye so we keep her completely out of it." He glanced down at the ring with a small smile. "And yes, she would absolutely love this car."

"Then perhaps," I goaded, giving him a wink. "the decision isn’t really about your style."

He laughed and pointed at Finnegan across the table. "Where did you find her? I need someone as observant as this against my competitors. Can I borrow her?"

Finnegan’s arm brushed mine as he reached for his glass, holding it to his lips. "No."

"I’m afraid I belong to Mr Wolfe alone, Senator. He has needs only I can fulfill," I chuckled, using his words back at him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Finnegan’s jaw tighten. Good.

He turned to glare at me. I held his gaze, cocking my brows up at him.

"Smile, boss. We don’t want the Senator bailing out on us before the launch," I whispered, pretending to itch my ear.

"I guess it’s a done deal then, Finnegan." Senator Allan was already reaching for his pen. I tore my eyes off my boss and beamed at the senator ahead of us. "Now what the hell do I do about this blasted rain?"

Five minutes later, we stood at the entrance of the restaurant watching Senator Allan and his bodyguard move across the parking lot with my umbrella. I eyed the pouring rain nervously.

We had one umbrella left and since I had been such a good Samaritan, the next option was walking through the rain to reach Wolfe’s car.

I held out the umbrella to him. "You can go ahead, Mr Wolfe—"

He took it straight out of my hand before I even finished my sentence. I curled my lips, trying not to glare at him, when his hand wrapped around my wrist and he tugged me under the umbrella with him.

Oh.

Ohhhhh, okay, do not freak out, Abigail.

I gasped as he pulled us forward into the rain. The umbrella was built for one person, and it didn’t help that Finnegan had shoulders as broad as my wardrobe and I wasn’t exactly a dainty person either, so the rain found my left side immediately, soaking through my blouse.

His arm was warm and solid against mine, his cologne threading through the smell of rain, filling my head and pulling me back to the night on the plane.

Then the sky decided it hadn’t made its point yet and doubled down entirely, and even with the umbrella, we still got soaked.

"This isn’t working," I mumbled.

"I’m aware," Finnegan snapped the umbrella shut. His hand closed around mine and I screamed as he pulled me forward, running through the rain.

My heels hit the wet pavement, his grip pulled me forward, the rain came down so hard it was almost funny.

James had the door open by the time we reached the car and I tumbled into the backseat laughing, breathless, water streaming down my face and my hair completely destroyed.

"Oh my gosh. What was that? I haven’t done that in forever," I pushed the wet hair out of my eyes as Finnegan slid in beside me, slamming the door shut.

His face was right there, so close, and the laughter died in my throat at the burning look in his eyes.

His gaze moved over my face then dropped. I glanced down at what he was looking at. My cream blouse had gone completely transparent, clinging to every curve, my black lace bra on full display, nipples peaked and pressing against the sheer wet fabric.

Two cold fingers touched my cheek, tilting my face up.

"You’re freezing." He murmured, then leaned back and the moment was gone. "James, turn the heat up."

"Yes, Boss."

"I’m fine —"

"You’re shaking, Abigail."

Abigail. Not Miss Kellerman.

I licked my lips, trying to ignore the happy thrills shooting up my spine at the sound of my name in that deep, steady voice of his.

"You did well noting Allan had a wife," he said, his face turned to the window, looking all cold and composed.

"I was just doing my job, Mr Wolfe," I replied, and to that he gave a nod.

"Still. You did well. Thank you."

My lips fell apart. "Could you say that again? I want to make sure I heard correctly, and possibly record it for personal use."

The corner of his mouth did something that was almost, almost a smile.

"Don’t push it."

I filed that away for later. The heat came on as James started the car and drove us back to Wolfe Corp.

** ** ** **

I had never been more grateful to have spare clothes in my desk drawer, particularly after my first-day disaster.

I was in the bathroom, drying off with a towel before changing into dry clothes, when an unknown number called my phone.

"Abigail Kellerman?"

That voice sounded very familiar. My eyes widened and I squealed.

"Mr Lewis?!"

"My dear! You have no idea how mad I was to hear you weren’t working with Morgan anymore. I’ve been trying to reach you for months!"

Arthur Lewis was a sixty-year-old businessman and my ex-boss Morgan’s best client. He was quite dramatic, but I supposed when you’d lived to the good old age of sixty and seen a lot of things, you’d earned the right to be dramatic.

I liked Arthur, and he had always been quite fond of me while I worked for Mr Morgan.

"I got your number from Sasha. I hope that’s alright, dear. I was devastated to hear you’d left Morgan’s firm. Devastated. Struck me right in the heart."

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. "It’s so good to hear from you, Arthur. How are you? How’s the arthritis?"

"Oh, same old misery." He grumbled. "We have to catch up, dear. It’s been quite a while. I’m having a few friends at the estate Saturday evening. Think you could make some time for this old man?"

I couldn’t say no to a sixty-year-old man, could I?