Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

M ichael had been a ghost all week. No calls, no texts, and no sign of him in the office. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to talk, especially after I had tried to keep things casual. Yet his cold shoulder stung more than I cared to admit. I told myself it was just his attitude that upset me, but deep down, I knew better.

To distract myself, I threw my time into Slade. When he invited me to his Montauk home for the long weekend—three whole days of July Fourth relaxation—I jumped at the chance. He even asked a few friends along, so I invited Erika and her latest boyfriend, a guy who owned car dealerships. The weekend promised to be just what I needed.

On Thursday evening, Slade came over while I packed. He sprawled out on my bed, casually propping his head on my pillows. He looked devastatingly handsome with three-day stubble that added a rugged edge to his usual clean-cut appearance.

"Are you planning on shaving?" I asked, tossing a few dresses into my suitcase.

He grinned lazily. "Does it bother you?"

"It bothers me in certain spots."

Slade’s grin widened, playful and cocky. "You mean I gave you a rash between your legs?"

"Asshole," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "This is your fault, you know."

"My fault that you’re orally fixated?"

"No," I shot back, biting my lip as a smirk played at the corner of my mouth, "that you taste so damn good."

Slade laughed, a low rumble. "I’ve never been with a woman who tasted as good as you do."

I paused, glancing at him over my shoulder. "Is that supposed to flatter me?"

He shrugged. "It should. You know I’ve dated my fair share of women."

"I do," I replied, rummaging through my drawer, pulling out bikinis. "Still…"

His eyes followed my movements, then lit up as he saw one. "That silver one—bring it."

"The one I wore a few weeks ago?"

"Exactly. I loved it on you."

With a smirk, I tossed the silver bikini into my suitcase, along with a few in purple, pink, and white.

Slade raised an eyebrow. "Is that a thong?" he asked, pointing at the white one.

"It is. But it’s a little risqué."

"My beach is private, and you’ve got a sexy ass. Wear it.”

I snorted. "No one’s going to see my tanned ass, Slade."

"I will," he shot back, voice low and suggestive.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Why don’t I just sunbathe naked?"

"You could," he said, leaning forward, his tone suddenly serious. "I have a sundeck on top of the house."

I continued packing. "And let some jerk in a prop plane snap photos of me? No thanks."

Slade sighed in mock exasperation, running a hand through his hair. "They wouldn’t even notice you. You’re too paranoid."

"Maybe," I replied, tossing the white bikini in with the rest. "But I’d still be thinking about it the whole time."

"Fine," he grumbled, his lips twitching into a smile. "But bring the suit."

I packed in silence for a moment, until Slade broke it.

"I don’t have to work tomorrow. Can I stay over tonight?"

I paused, glancing up at him. For the past few nights, Slade had respected my rule of leaving before midnight so I could get a good night’s sleep. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he complied.

"You know my rule," I said, resuming my packing.

Slade groaned, throwing his hands up. "It’s a stupid rule. I want to be with you."

"Slade, I need my rest," I replied firmly. "This is a new job, and I can’t screw it up by showing up exhausted."

"I could fix that, you know." He sat up on the bed, his tone shifting from playful to serious. "Come back to Abbott. My father told me to talk to you."

I snorted. "Why doesn’t the great Keaton Abbott talk to me himself?"

"He would," Slade said, his brow furrowing slightly, "if that’s what it takes."

"It won’t work," I said sharply, closing my suitcase. "He should’ve given me the promotion, and we wouldn’t be in this situation."

Slade sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Are you seriously happy at Elliott? I heard Michael’s a bit of a dick."

His words made my blood simmer. I clenched my fists. Sure, Michael was being distant, but he hadn’t been a few days ago. Besides, it wasn’t all on him. I’d helped create the mess we were in.

"He’s not a dick to me," I shot back defensively.

Slade raised an eyebrow, smirking. "A pretty face must keep him on a leash."

My temper flared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think he’s nice to me just because he’s charmed?"

Slade sighed, running his hands through his hair. "That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You have a way of disarming men, even if you don’t realize it."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Disarming? You mean like the sexual harassment I dealt with at Abbott? Like the promotion I deserved based on merit but never got? Is that how I disarm men?"

His expression darkened, guilt flickering in his eyes. "You should’ve said something about the harassment. Why didn’t you?"

"You know why," I snapped. "I didn’t want to make waves."

He shook his head. "But you put up with so much crap. It’s not right. It’s illegal."

"Right or wrong, it happens," I replied, my voice softening just a fraction. "To women in every industry. Just look at Samantha Stone. She got slapped with a harassment suit last year."

"That was different," Slade countered, his tone firm. "They said she was harassing men, taking advantage. The argument was that she hated men."

I threw my hands up in frustration. "That’s exactly the problem. When a woman’s strong and holds people accountable, suddenly, she hates men. It’s bullshit."

Slade stood and crossed the room, his gaze softening as he faced me. "I don’t think that. I never have," he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

I reached out, cupping his scruffy chin in my palm. “I know you don’t. The world would be a better place if more men were like you.” My thumb grazed over the roughness of his stubble, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.

With a gentle tug, Slade pulled me closer, nestling his head against my stomach as he wrapped his arms around my waist. His embrace was firm, his fingers resting possessively on my hips. I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, fluffing it gently. The memory of how I had been pulling at it only an hour earlier—when he gave me that mind-blowing orgasm—brought a smile to my lips.

His hands slid lower, cupping my ass. "I love you," he whispered, his voice muffled against my body. "Do you know that?"

I sighed, my fingers pausing in his hair. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him; I did. In the past few days, I’d felt those familiar flutters in my stomach whenever he called or showed up unexpectedly. That sensation, rare for me, had only happened a few times before—once in college, once with Michael, and now, Slade. But the deeper I got with both of them, the more precarious it felt. Right now, Slade was winning. Michael, in his current distant, brooding phase, wasn’t doing himself any favors.

“I know,” I said softly.

Slade looked up, his expression vulnerable. "When will you say it back?" His tone was almost pleading, a rare crack in his usual confident demeanor.

“Slade, please,” I replied, stepping back slightly to create some space. “I’m just... not ready.”

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’ve loved you forever, you know that? I had a little crush on you the first minute we met—over six years ago.”

I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh yeah? And when did that turn to love?”

He leaned back against the bed, crossing his arms as if thinking it over. "Not long after that. But you were always so focused, so out of reach."

“So why didn’t you ask me out?” I teased, tossing a couple of shirts into my suitcase.

“Because I’m a vice president. It would’ve been inappropriate.”

The irony of his statement hit me hard. I almost laughed, thinking about how I was currently involved with the CEO of my new job, Michael Elliott. If Slade thought dating his subordinate was inappropriate, he had no idea just how far beyond “inappropriate” my relationship with Michael had gone. The things Michael asked me to do in his office were... pushing boundaries, to say the least. But thinking of Michael only reminded me of his recent distance, and the thought made me step out of Slade’s embrace entirely.

“Something I said?” Slade asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” I replied quickly, heading back to the dresser. “I just want to finish packing.”

He watched me for a moment, his eyes following my every movement. “Bring a dress,” he suggested. “I might want to take you out to dinner.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Might?”

“Okay, I do,” he said with a grin. “How about lobster or crab? We can make it a fancy night.”

I shook my head with a small smile. “You don’t have to go through all that trouble. I can cook at the house.”

His eyes lit up. “You’d cook for me?”

I turned and laughed softly, walking over to the closet. “Seriously? I cooked for you last night.”

“That you did.” He nodded appreciatively. “And it was delicious.”

Just as I tossed another pair of jeans into my suitcase, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at it, surprised to see Michael’s name flash across the screen.

Can we talk?

I hesitated for a moment before typing back.

I’m busy right now. I have guests. Maybe tomorrow.

Michael’s response came quickly.

Are you upset with me?

I rolled my eyes. Duh. If he couldn’t tell, he really was oblivious. He’d ignored me all week, and now suddenly, he wanted to talk? Instead of responding, I silenced my phone and set it back down. If Michael wanted to discuss things, he could do it at work.

Pushing the distraction of Michael from my mind, I focused on Slade. We spent the rest of the evening cooking spaghetti together, the atmosphere relaxed as we laughed over glasses of wine. And when it came time for him to leave, I gave in to his request and let him stay the night.

We were lounging on the couch, my legs stretched across his lap, when he began massaging my feet. His hands were strong but gentle, kneading away the tension in my arches.

“Mmm, that feels good,” I hummed, sinking deeper into the cushions.

“I like this polish,” he remarked, lifting my foot slightly to examine the shimmering pink on my toes.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You like pink?”

He smirked. “It looks good on you. Very feminine.”

I playfully wiggled my toes, enjoying the attention. “So, are we leaving tomorrow or Saturday?” I asked.

“Whichever you prefer,” he said, his fingers still working magic on my feet. “I thought Friday afternoon might work. Didn’t you say you were getting off early?”

“That depends on Michael,” I said, trying not to let my voice waver. “He mentioned something, but it’s not set in stone.”

Slade raised an eyebrow, his tone casual but curious. “Elliott’s really putting you through your paces, huh?”

If he only knew. “He’s hard but fair,” I said, catching myself before I laughed at the double meaning.

Slade grinned. “I’m not hard, but I’m definitely fair. You should come back and work for me.”

“Slade...” I sighed. “It’s better this way. Michael pays me more, and it would look bad if I went back.”

“My father would pay you anything you wanted.”

“You know that’s not the point,” I said, shaking my head. “Your father never appreciated me like you do.”

Slade’s expression softened. “I appreciate you in more ways than one. You’re brilliant.”

I met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. “Did you finally get rid of Thomas?”

Slade’s jaw tightened. “He’ll be demoted after the holiday.”

“Demoted?” I raised an eyebrow. “He should be fired.”

“He was one of the men that harassed you, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, the memory souring my mood. “Yes. And there were others. I’m sure other women are dealing with the same thing. Eventually, there’s going to be a lawsuit.”

Slade looked troubled, his hands stilling on my feet. “That upsets me. No one’s reported anything.”

“Because it’s a boys’ club there,” I said quietly.

“I told my father we should start harassment training.”

I smiled at him. “That’s a good idea.

Slade’s fingers moved up my calves, kneading the muscles as I melted into the sofa. I closed my eyes, unable to stifle the soft moan that slipped out.

"You like that?" His voice had a teasing edge. "Should've said something sooner."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "I like all massages."

Slade chuckled, his hands never pausing their ascent. "I can massage other areas," he said, voice dropping lower. "With my tongue, maybe?"

"That too." I opened my eyes just enough to catch his wicked smile.

"What did you have in mind?" My question hung in the air as his hand trailed higher, massaging the muscles of my thigh until he reached the hem of my pink shorts. My breath hitched, heart thudding as his fingers slipped inside, brushing over the white lace of my panties.

His fingers found my wetness immediately. "You want me," he whispered, confidence oozing from every word.

"Don’t flatter yourself," I shot back, but my voice wavered, betraying me.

He chuckled again, stroking my clit with maddening precision. I shifted, my hips arching to give him better access as I gripped the cushions beneath me, my breath quickening.

"This would work better if you took everything off," he murmured, his fingers playing against me.

"Would it now?" I managed, though I was already losing control.

Slade leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Yes. I like when you’re naked."

I bit my lip, fighting back the wave building inside me. "I bet you do."

"Come for me, Morgan," he growled, his voice dripping with command.

A gasp escaped me as the tension coiled and snapped, sending me spiraling into my release. My body convulsed, my breath coming in ragged bursts. "Fuck!" I screamed, riding the wave until it finally ebbed. Slade’s fingers slowed, drawing out every last tremor before he pulled them away, slipping them into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured, eyes locked on mine. "I could use some dessert."

I leaned back, catching my breath. "I have to work tomorrow," I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

He grinned. "So? We can’t play before we sleep?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Can we play now?"

Before he could answer, the shrill ring of the lobby phone cut through the haze. I frowned, pushing off the sofa with wobbly legs. "Who the hell could that be?"

I answered the phone, hoping it wasn’t who I thought it was. "Miss Kincaid, we just received a delivery for you," the concierge said.

"A delivery? I’m not expecting anything. What is it?"

"Flowers."

Flowers? My stomach tightened. "From who?"

"It doesn’t say."

I sighed. "I’ll be down in a minute."

Hanging up the phone, I slid on my flip-flops, the post-orgasmic bliss quickly turning into frustration. Michael. This had to be him, showing up uninvited after ignoring me all week.

"Everything okay?" Slade asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Just a delivery. I’ll be right back."

I slipped out of the apartment and headed for the elevator, my mind racing. Once in the lobby, I was handed a long, white box, heavier than I expected. Balancing it awkwardly, I nearly lost my grip when I felt someone step up behind me—his presence.

"Can I help, Miss Kincaid?" Michael’s voice was low and familiar, sending a shock through me.

I almost dropped the box, startled, but Michael steadied it, his hands grazing mine. He looked too good, even in something as simple as jeans and a black polo, and for a second, my brain short-circuited. His ice-blue eyes bore into me, and I felt that familiar pull I always did when I was around him.

"No, you can’t," I snapped, pulling the box tighter to my chest. "I don’t want to talk to you. You’ve ignored me all week."

"That was a mistake," he said, voice smooth and unapologetic. "Can I come up with you?"

My heart raced. "NO!" I blurted out, louder than I meant to. I couldn’t let him upstairs—not with Slade in my apartment. Michael’s expression faltered, his surprise flickering across his face.

"I’m sorry," I added, more quietly now. "I’m still entertaining my guest."

His gaze sharpened. "I see." His tone was flat. "And I’m disturbing you."

"Yes, you are," I replied, my voice firm. "We can talk tomorrow."

Michael hesitated, eyes searching mine for a moment before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. He lingered, his breath warm against my skin, before he pulled back. "I guess it’ll wait, then," he murmured, and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me frozen in place, the elevator doors wide open behind me.

“Miss Kincaid?” The concierge called out. I pulled myself back to reality at the sound of his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I glanced at Michael who looked tortured. His face contorted and jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth. I knew I was hurting him but he hurt me first.

“Very,” I said distractedly as I stepped inside the car and hit the button to close the doors.

When I reentered my apartment, Slade was no longer in the living room. I called his name.

“I’m in bed,” his raised voice came back.

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you.”

“I’m not presuming anything, I’m tired.”

“I’ll be right in.”

I hunted through my cabinets and found a large crystal vase. I filled it with water and arranged the nineteen white roses and one red in the bunch before I pulled the card off the box. Slipping the cream-colored cardstock out of the envelope, I read what Michael had written.

Morgan,

I’m not good at relationships. I tend to brood, but you already knew that. I’m afraid I’m falling for you. I think I love you. The white roses are for an apology, the red one is for my heart.

Michael

I read the card again, each word sinking deeper into my thoughts. His sentiment lingered, stirring something in me that I couldn’t ignore. I was in trouble, real trouble, because I think I was falling for him. But the problem wasn’t just him. I think I was in love with them both.

I left the flower box on the counter, my mind spinning, and headed to the bedroom. The soft hum of the television filled the quiet space, but Slade was already asleep, sprawled on his side. I paused in the doorway, staring at him. Could I see a future with this man? Was he the type to settle down, to build a life with?

Slade was kind, thoughtful, always attuned to my needs—both in and out of bed. He listened when I talked, cared about what I thought, and would protect me without a second thought. There was a warmth to him, a stability that made me feel safe. He’d make a great father, I was sure of that.

But then there was Michael. He was unpredictable, his moods shifting like a storm—exciting one moment, frustrating the next. He challenged me, pushed my boundaries, especially in bed. There was something electric about the way he demanded control, how he always knew exactly what I needed, even before I did. He was more of a mystery, though. What did he really want? Could I trust him with the future, with forever?

My thoughts were a tangled mess as I stripped off my clothes, slipping into one of Slade’s discarded white t-shirts. The fabric was soft, comforting, carrying the scent of him as I climbed into bed. The moment I tucked myself into his body, he instinctively wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer in his sleep.

"Slade?" I whispered, testing the silence, but he didn’t stir.

I sighed, switching off the television and plunging the room into darkness. As I lay there in his embrace, his steady breathing against the back of my neck, I couldn’t help but wonder—was this enough? Was I looking for something more, or was I chasing the thrill of uncertainty?

I closed my eyes, my mind still racing, but one thought hovered above the rest: How could I love them both, and how long could I keep living with this secret pulling me in two directions?