Eliza Ames - Something Special

Dedication

To my husband, for somehow managing to put up with me writing constantly.

Engagement Rate

Engagement Rate: An engagement rate is a metric that measures the level of engagement that a piece of created content is receiving from an audience. It shows how much people interact with the content. Factors that influence engagement include users comments, shares, likes, and more

Chapter One

Jackson

Recovering from jetlag by watching the most attractive woman Id seen in a long time doing pullups hadnt been a cure Id considered before. She was wearing a sports bra that did nothing to hide the curvy shape of her perfect breasts and exposed a toned stomach; her yoga pants outlining long, long legs that would look fucking amazing wrapped around me as I thrust into her.

But sleep deprived, jetlagged and travel-fresh wasnt the best way to be caught staring at a dark-haired mystery woman currently working out in the gym Id had installed in the basement of the law firm I was part owner of. I was a professional: a lawyer and a businessman. Or at least I tried to give that impression at first.

I kept a change of gym gear at work: trainers and shorts, but today I hadnt bothered with a vest I didnt think anyone else was likely to be around for an hour or so, unless Seph, my youngest brother turned up to train. Deadlifts, bicep curls, tricep extensions and a chest press too heavy to be doing without a spotter took my focus away from obsessing exactly how her long dark hair would look wrapped around my fist, and I realised how much Id missed this space in the past three weeks; the luxury of having my own base and place to be, without having to continually be a consummate professional and now head of the company. I focused on the music that was blaring out of the speakers and tried to stop staring at the woman who I should probably know. She was on the other side of the room, my main view of her via a mirror, the perfect place to creep at her, which I had had given up trying not to do.

Fuck me, she said, as she half collapsed to the ground from the pull-up bar, shaking her arms and adjusting her headphones.

I managed to bite my tongue, stopping myself from offering to do just that and I watched her as she began another set of pull-ups, waiting for her to realize I was there. She was tall, around 59, with dark hair, pulled into one of those messy bun things and all lean muscle and the best pair of tits Id seen for years. She was pretty: large blue eyes and high cheekbones, skin that my hands were dying to touch and an ass that was biteable.

I turned my back to head for the showers, needing to escape. I had no idea who she was Maxwell tore through secretaries like he did girlfriends only with less pleasure so she couldve been a temp or equally the marketing woman wed recently hired. Either way, she didnt need to know about the tent shed caused in my shorts.

Sorry, I heard her say and I turned back, my neck twisting like an owls and my brain trying to conjure up images of Granny Callaghan without her teeth in. I was oblivious to anyone else being in here. Sorry if you heard me swear like an Irish navvy. She massaged her hands and I wasnt sure whether it was a nervous reaction or they were hurting from the grip she had to use to do the pull-ups.

I shrugged, the images of Granny doing their job. Not like I never use those words. Im Jackson Callaghan. I dont think weve met before.

She stepped forward, beads of sweat glistening on her skin and I wondered what else would get her that sweaty. Vanessa Moore. Im from Cole Henderson. Claire said it was okay to use the gym down here She looked a little nervous, although I was pretty sure she knew who I was, though I looked a lot different half-naked than the photos on the website. Shirts and suits went a long way to covering up most of my tattoos and I generally looked more presentable when my hair was not tied up in a shitty man bun and my beard didnt look as if garden birds were nesting in there. She was the marketing consultant, I remembered and I gave myself a mental pat on the back that my brain hadnt actually stopped functioning completely.

Its absolutely fine while youre working with us. Howve you found the first few days? Vanessa seemed to have managed my grump of a mood even better than the weights. She was close enough now for me to see that she wasnt wearing a scrap of make-up, her cheeks red from the exercise and blue eyes bright. God forbid she was a morning person.

Good. Theres a lot to do to rebrand and get everything ready for your fathers retirement ball but the firms got a clear direction and ethos so its volume of tasks rather than having to come up with the creative. She tightened the ponytail and I sensed again that she was nervous of me. I didnt mind that at thirty-four I was young to have this sort of role, managing and directing an extremely profitable and noteworthy law firm so I didnt need anyone to think I was a soft-touch.

How about staff? I hope Kirstys been accommodating.

Vanessas eyes dropped to my chest and I couldnt resist the urge to very slightly flex my muscles. Her cheeks grew redder and I smirked. Also, at thirty-four, I was too much of a child to always be professional, especially when a pretty lady was standing in front of me. Its different for her. Shes not used to someone else directing. But shes got a decent skill set and its a case of trying to develop her a little more. Hopefully, once weve finished youll have a good employee.

This confirmed some of my concerns, especially around Kirsty, who was our marketing manager. Look, Vanessa, I didnt even bother with the formality of calling her Ms. Moore, partly because she could be married, partly because I had enough stuffy clients to be uber-polite to. Here probably isnt the best place for this conversation and I probably smell of planes as well as sweat. How about we get showers and Ill spot our breakfast. We can discuss your ideas and how they align with the brief so far.

I can do that, she said. Ill leave a note for Kirsty to let her know I might be running a few minutes late to meet her. There was a smile that turned into a grin, with, God forbid, a dimple. I have a huge appetite, by the way, and I dont do prissy food.

Noted, I said, shooting a smile back. I dont do prissy anything. See you at reception in 30 minutes? I wondered how much time she needed to shower and dress. Id had two longish relationships in the past, both ran their natural course and we grew apart, no fault of either party, and both women took forever to get ready.

Sure, she said and nodded, her eyes drifting down to my chest again and I struggled not to preen. She headed to the female changing rooms and I tried to casually walk away, my mind totally conjuring up images of her naked in the shower with water pouring over those tits and all the ways I could help get her clean.

And then dirty again.

I showered quickly, turning the temperature onto Baltic cold to get rid of any lingering hardness in my cock. I needed to focus on work and getting involved with a contractor was not good business practice. Yes, she was beautiful and probably intelligent given she ran her own business but Id need to find my relief elsewhere. Vanessa Moore was off-limits. So why the fuck was I taking her to breakfast?

I fucking hated mornings. It wasnt that I struggled to wake up: I just didnt like other people first thing unless they were female and in my bed. Other people irritated me, like little insects creeping over skin; never biting or stinging, just there. Mornings for me were like ugly, gaping wounds that really shouldve been covered. Before Id drank my body weight in coffee or had the early morning company of a good woman, I was a nasty fuckwit of a human. I didnt believe in having to try to be polite to other people before nine in the morning unless I was dealing with an especially important client. It was an area my siblings were trying to get me to improve on, along with about fifty other things. That was the benefit of working with family: you always knew your areas for improvement.