Trapped in Temptation

The blizzard hit London like a vengeful ex-lover—sudden, fierce, and completely unexpected. Samantha Brooks pressed her face against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the thirty-second floor, watching the snow fall in thick, relentless sheets that transformed the city into a white wasteland. "Bloody hell," she muttered, her breath fogging the glass. The meteorologists had predicted light flurries, not the arctic apocalypse currently burying the financial district. "Language, Brooks." The deep, amused voice behind her made her spine straighten. Rick Harrison. Of course he was still here too. She turned to face her colleague, the man who'd been a thorn in her side since joining Morrison & Associates six months ago. He stood in the doorway of the conference room they'd been using for their presentation prep, his designer suit still impeccable despite the fourteen-hour workday. His dark hair was slightly mussed—the only sign he was human. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Some supermodel waiting at home?" Rick's green eyes sparkled with mischief. "Jealous, Sam?" "It's Samantha. And hardly." She gestured toward the window. "Though you might want to call her. We're not going anywhere tonight." As if to emphasize her point, the building's intercom crackled to life. "Attention remaining staff. Due to severe weather conditions, Transport for London has suspended all services. Building security will remain on-site, but we strongly advise against attempting to travel. Emergency supplies are available at reception." Rick moved to join her at the window, close enough that she caught his scent—expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely masculine that made her stomach flutter traitorously. "Well," he said, his voice low and warm. "Looks like it's just you and me." Samantha's pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral. Rick Harrison was dangerous—not just because he was her main competition for the creative director position opening next month, but because he made her forget why that mattered. The way he looked at her during meetings, like he could see straight through her professional armor to the woman underneath, left her flustered and angry at herself for caring. "I'm sure we can manage to stay civil for one night," she said, moving away from his intoxicating proximity. "Civil?" Rick chuckled, following her back into the conference room where their presentation materials were spread across the mahogany table. "Since when have we ever been civil?" He had a point. Their working relationship had been combustible from day one. Rick was brilliant—she grudgingly admitted that—but he was also cocky, charming, and had a way of making her feel simultaneously challenged and completely off-balance. "I'm going to find those emergency supplies," Samantha announced, needing space to think. "Try not to mess up our presentation while I'm gone." "Our presentation?" Rick's eyebrows rose. "Last I checked, we were competitors, not collaborators." Samantha paused at the door. The Hartwell account was the biggest pitch of the year, and whoever landed it would essentially secure the promotion. She'd been preparing for months, but Rick's campaign was admittedly strong. The thought of spending the night in the same building, let alone the same floor, felt like torture. "You're right," she said. "May the best person win." The emergency supplies turned out to be basic—bottles of water, energy bars, and a few scratchy blankets. The security guard, a kindly man named George, apologized for the meager offerings. "Building's never been snowed in like this," he explained. "Been working here twenty years, never seen the like. You sure you don't want to try for home? I could call you a cab." Samantha glanced out at the swirling white chaos. "I think I'm safer here." When she returned to the thirty-second floor, arms full of supplies, she found Rick had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He'd also somehow procured a bottle of wine. "Executive stash," he explained, noting her questioning look. "Morrison keeps the good stuff in his office for client emergencies." "And this qualifies?" "Getting snowed in with you? Definitely an emergency." His grin was infuriating and irresistible in equal measure. Despite herself, Samantha felt her lips twitch. "Fine. But I'm not going easy on you tomorrow because we shared a drink." "Wouldn't dream of it." They settled into Morrison's plush office, the wine warming Samantha more than the scratchy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Rick had claimed the leather couch, while she'd curled up in Morrison's massive desk chair. The snow continued its relentless assault on the windows, creating an oddly intimate cocoon in the dim office lighting. "Tell me something," Rick said after they'd made surprising headway through the bottle. "Why do you hate me so much?" The question caught her off guard. "I don't hate you." "You could have fooled me. From day one, you've treated me like I personally offended your ancestors." Samantha studied his face in the low light. Without his usual cocky smirk, he looked almost... vulnerable. The wine was definitely affecting her judgment. "You want the truth?" she asked. "Always." "You scare me." The admission slipped out before she could stop it. Rick set down his wine glass, his attention completely focused on her. "How?" "You make this job look effortless. You waltz in here with your perfect campaigns and your charm, and everyone loves you instantly. Do you know how hard I've worked to get where I am?" Her voice grew heated. "Do you know what it's like being the only woman in most rooms, having to prove yourself over and over again?" "Sam..." His voice was soft, understanding. "And then you show up," she continued, the wine loosening her tongue, "and you're brilliant and talented and—" "And what?" She met his eyes across the dim office. "And I can't stop thinking about you, which makes everything infinitely more complicated." The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. Rick slowly stood and moved toward her, his green eyes never leaving her face. "You think about me?" he asked, his voice low and rough. Samantha's heart hammered against her ribs. This was dangerous territory, but the wine and the storm and the intimacy of their isolation made her reckless. "Constantly," she whispered. Rick reached her chair and slowly turned it to face him, his hands gripping the armrests as he leaned down. "Good," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Because you've been driving me absolutely mad since the day we met." "Rick..." His name escaped her lips like a prayer. "I've wanted you from day one, Sam. In meetings, watching you tear apart campaigns with that sharp mind of yours. During presentations, when you get that fierce look in your eyes. Every bloody day in this office, pretending to be professional when all I want is to find out what you taste like." His words sent liquid heat straight through her core. This was madness—they were colleagues, competitors, completely wrong for each other. But when he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, all rational thought fled. The kiss was everything she'd imagined and more—hungry, desperate, full of months of suppressed desire. Rick's lips were firm and warm, his tongue teasing hers with skillful strokes that made her moan softly into his mouth. "Christ, Sam," he groaned against her lips. "Do you know what you do to me?" She could feel exactly what she did to him as he pulled her up from the chair, his hard length pressing against her hip through their clothes. The evidence of his desire made her bold, and she nipped at his lower lip, satisfaction flooding through her when he groaned. "Show me," she whispered. Rick's control seemed to snap. He backed her against Morrison's massive desk, his hands tangling in her hair as he kissed her with renewed intensity. Samantha's world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on hers, his hard body pressed against her, the desperate need building between her thighs. "Are you sure?" he asked, pulling back to search her face. "Because if we do this—" "Stop thinking," she interrupted, reaching for his tie. "For once in your life, Rick Harrison, stop being so bloody rational." He laughed, the sound rich and warm. "You want irrational? I'll give you irrational." In one fluid motion, he lifted her onto the desk, scattering papers and sending Morrison's paperweight rolling to the floor. Samantha gasped at the sudden movement, then moaned as Rick settled between her thighs, his hands skimming up her legs beneath her skirt. "I've fantasized about this," he confessed, his fingers tracing the edge of her stockings. "About having you spread out for me, making you come apart." "Just fantasized?" she teased, though her voice was breathless as his thumbs traced circles on her inner thighs. "Oh, I've done much more than fantasize." His green eyes were dark with desire. "I've imagined every sound you'd make, every way I want to touch you." His fingers found the edge of her panties, and Samantha's hips bucked involuntarily at the contact. Rick smiled wickedly and hooked his fingers in the lace, slowly drawing the scrap of fabric down her legs. "Beautiful," he murmured, his gaze reverent as he took her in. "You're bloody beautiful, Sam." Any response she might have made was lost as he lowered his head and put his mouth on her. The first touch of his tongue made her cry out, her hands fisting in his dark hair as pleasure shot through her system. Rick was as skilled with his mouth as he was with words, alternating between gentle teasing licks and firm pressure that had her writhing on the desk. He explored her thoroughly, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her thighs tremble around his head. "Rick, please," she panted, so close to the edge she could barely form words. "Please what?" he asked against her sensitive flesh, his breath making her shiver. "Don't stop. God, don't stop." He redoubled his efforts, his tongue working magic while his hands held her hips steady. When he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, Samantha shattered, her climax crashing over her in waves that left her boneless and gasping his name. Rick kissed his way up her body, his hands gentle as she came back to herself. "Okay?" he asked softly, brushing damp hair from her face. "More than okay," she managed, surprised by how wrecked her voice sounded. She reached for his belt, eager to return the favor, but Rick caught her hands. "Not here," he said. "I want you properly, Sam. Not a quick fumble on Morrison's desk." "Then where?" she asked, though she was already sliding off the desk, her legs unsteady. Rick's smile was pure sin. "The executive lounge has a rather comfortable sofa." The executive lounge was a level of luxury Samantha rarely accessed—rich leather furniture, a full bar, and floor-to-ceiling windows that normally offered stunning views of London. Tonight, they revealed only swirling snow and the glow of streetlights far below. Rick poured them each a finger of expensive whiskey, and they stood at the windows, watching the storm rage outside. The alcohol burned pleasantly down Samantha's throat, mixing with the afterglow of her orgasm and the anticipation of what was to come. "Tell me this isn't just the storm," she said quietly. "Tell me you'll still want this when we're back to normal." Rick set down his glass and turned to face her fully. "Samantha Brooks, you brilliant, infuriating, gorgeous woman—I've wanted you every day for six months. A blizzard isn't going to change that." The sincerity in his voice made her chest tight with emotion. This was territory she hadn't expected to navigate—actual feelings mixed with the lust that had been simmering between them. "I want you too," she admitted. "More than I should." "Then stop thinking about should," Rick said, echoing her earlier words. He reached for her, pulling her against his chest. "Just be here with me." This time when she reached for his belt, he didn't stop her. Her fingers were surprisingly steady as she unbuckled the leather and worked open his pants, pushing them down along with his boxer briefs. Rick groaned when she wrapped her hand around his length, stroking him slowly while she relearned the feeling of a man's weight in her palm. "Sam," he breathed, his head falling back as she worked him with increasing confidence. "I want to taste you," she murmured, already sinking to her knees on the plush carpet. Rick's answering groan was deeply satisfying. She took him into her mouth slowly, savoring his sharp intake of breath, the way his hands tangled gently in her hair. He was thick and hard and tasted like salt and Rick, and she lost herself in the act of pleasuring him. "Christ, your mouth," he panted, his hips moving in small thrusts. "Sam, you have to stop or I'll—" She pulled back with a wet sound, looking up at him through her lashes. "What?" "Come down my throat if you keep that up," he said roughly. "And I want to be inside you when I come." The crude words sent fresh heat between her thighs. Rick helped her to her feet, his hands already working on the buttons of her blouse. Soon they were both naked, their clothes scattered across the expensive carpet. Rick's body was even better than she'd imagined—broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that flexed as he breathed hard. There was a scar along his ribs that she traced with one finger, making him shiver. "Rugby injury," he explained, then groaned as she leaned down to kiss it. "Later," he said, guiding her toward the leather sofa. "I need you now, Sam. I need to be inside you." He sat down and pulled her astride his lap, his hands stroking her thighs as she settled over him. They were both breathing hard, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. "Protection?" she managed to ask. "Wallet," he gasped, reaching for his discarded pants. He produced a condom with hands that shook slightly, and Samantha took it from him, tearing it open and rolling it down his length with care. "Now," she whispered, positioning herself over him. Rick gripped her hips as she sank down, both of them groaning at the sensation. He filled her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way. For a moment they just held still, adjusting to the connection. "You feel incredible," Rick murmured, his forehead pressed to hers. Samantha began to move, rolling her hips in slow circles that made them both moan. Rick's hands roamed her body—cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples, trailing down to where they were joined. "That's it," he encouraged as she found her rhythm. "Ride me, Sam. Take what you need." The storm raged outside, but inside their cocoon of warmth and desire, there was only the sound of skin against skin, breathless moans, and whispered endearments. Rick met her movements with thrusts of his own, hitting spots inside her that made stars dance behind her eyelids. "Touch yourself," he commanded roughly. "I want to watch you come apart on my cock." The dirty words made her clench around him, and she obeyed, her fingers finding her clit as she continued to ride him. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, and she felt her second orgasm building quickly. "Rick," she panted, her movements becoming erratic as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. "I've got you," he assured her, his hands helping guide her hips as she chased her release. "Let go, beautiful. Come for me." His thumb replaced her fingers on her clit, and the orgasm slammed into her like a freight train. She cried out his name as she came, her body clenching rhythmically around him. Rick followed her over the edge with a strangled groan, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside her. They collapsed together on the sofa, sweaty and spent, their hearts hammering against each other's chests. "Jesus," Rick breathed after a long moment. "That was..." "Incredible," Samantha finished, surprised by how right it felt to be wrapped in his arms. They dozed fitfully on the sofa, wrapped in each other and the blankets from the emergency supplies. When Samantha woke hours later, pale dawn light was filtering through the windows, and the snow had finally stopped falling. Rick was already awake, watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Morning," she said softly. "Morning." His hand stroked down her bare back. "How are you feeling?" It was a loaded question. How was she feeling about what they'd done? About what it meant for their working relationship? About the fact that in a few hours, they'd be back to competing for the same promotion? "Confused," she admitted. "But not sorry." Rick's smile was warm and genuine. "Good. I was worried you'd regret it in the morning." "Do you?" "Not for a second." They made love again as the sun rose over snow-covered London, slower and sweeter than the desperate coupling of the night before. Rick worshipped her body with his hands and mouth until she was begging for him, then joined them together with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. Afterward, they shared energy bars and water for breakfast, talking quietly as London began to dig itself out of the storm. The spell of their isolation was breaking, and reality was creeping back in. "What happens now?" Samantha asked as they reluctantly began getting dressed. Rick paused in buttoning his shirt. "What do you want to happen?" "I don't know," she said honestly. "This changes things." "It doesn't have to change everything." Rick moved to her, cupping her face in his hands. "We're still us, Sam. We're still brilliant at our jobs. We still want that promotion." "So we just... compete and sleep together?" "Why not?" His grin was playful. "It could make things interesting." Despite everything, Samantha laughed. "You're insane." "About you, yes." The sincerity in his voice made her chest tight again. This was happening too fast, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Rick Harrison had gotten under her skin in every possible way, and there was no going back now. "One condition," she said. "Anything." "May the best person win. No going easy on me because we're... whatever we are." Rick's kiss was thorough and possessing. "Deal. But I should warn you—I play to win." "So do I." Three weeks later, Samantha stood outside Morrison's office, smoothing her skirt and checking her presentation materials one final time. The Hartwell pitch had gone better than she'd dared hope, and Morrison had asked to see both her and Rick separately to discuss their future with the company. The door opened, and Rick emerged, his expression unreadable. He paused when he saw her, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped. "Good luck," he said quietly, his fingers brushing hers as he passed. "Samantha, come in." Morrison gestured her into his office—the same office where she and Rick had first kissed three weeks ago. The memory made her skin flush, but she pushed it aside and focused on the conversation ahead. "Excellent work on the Hartwell account," Morrison began, settling behind his desk. "They were impressed with both presentations, but ultimately, they chose yours." Samantha's heart leaped, but she kept her expression professional. "I'm pleased they were satisfied with the campaign." "More than satisfied. They want you personally heading their account going forward." Morrison leaned back in his chair. "Which brings me to the creative director position." This was it—everything she'd worked for. "The job is yours, if you want it," Morrison continued. "You've more than earned it. There's just one small complication." Samantha's stomach dropped. "Sir?" "Rick Harrison. He's a valuable asset to this company, but I'm not sure there's room for both of you in the creative department. The tension between you two is... noticeable." If only he knew, Samantha thought wryly. "I'd hate to lose either of you," Morrison continued, "but if working together is going to be a problem..." "It won't be," Samantha said quickly. "Rick is... we work well together when it matters. I'd like him to stay." Morrison looked surprised. "You're sure? This is your department now, Samantha. You'll be his boss." The thought of that particular dynamic made her pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with the way Rick looked at her when they were alone together. "I'm sure," she said firmly. "Rick brings out the best in my work. I'd like to keep him on my team." An hour later, Samantha found Rick waiting by her car in the underground garage. The snow from three weeks ago was just a memory now, replaced by the typical London drizzle. "Congratulations," he said as she approached, and she was relieved to hear genuine warmth in his voice. "Morrison told you?" "He offered me a position in the New York office. Apparently, he thinks we're too 'volatile' to work together." Rick's grin was wicked. "I turned him down." "Why?" Rick stepped closer, backing her against her car. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Samantha Brooks. Besides, I hear you're going to be my boss now. That has interesting possibilities." "This is going to be complicated," she warned, though she was already melting into his touch as he cupped her face. "The best things usually are." Rick's kiss was soft and full of promise. "Besides, we work well under pressure." Samantha thought about the storm that had brought them together, about the way they'd challenged and pushed each other to be better, about the way her heart raced every time he walked into a room. "Yes," she agreed against his lips. "We really do." Six months later, Samantha sat at her new desk in her new office, reviewing campaign proposals when Rick knocked on her open door. "Got a minute, boss?" The title was formal, but his tone was anything but. "What is it, Harrison?" she asked, not looking up from her papers. "I was wondering if you'd like to discuss my performance review over dinner. I made reservations at that new place in Covent Garden." Samantha finally looked up, taking in his perfectly pressed shirt and the boyish smile that still made her stomach flutter. They'd been together for six months now, and he still affected her like a teenager with her first crush. "That depends," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Have you been a good employee this week?" Rick's grin turned predatory. "I've been very, very bad. I think I need some... correction." The heat in his voice made her pulse quicken. Even after all this time, the desire between them hadn't cooled. If anything, it had deepened, complicated by genuine affection and what she was beginning to suspect might be love. "In that case," she said, standing and moving toward him, "I think dinner can wait. Close the door, Rick." "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, obeying immediately. As the lock clicked shut, Samantha reflected that getting snowed in had been the best thing that ever happened to her career—and her heart. Outside her office windows, London bustled with its usual energy, but inside, wrapped in Rick's arms as he kissed her senseless against the door, Samantha had everything she'd never known she wanted. The storm had passed, but what they'd found in its wake was worth weathering any tempest. "I love you," Rick whispered against her lips, the words surprising them both. Samantha's heart swelled with a happiness so intense it took her breath away. "I love you too," she whispered back, meaning it completely. Sometimes the best things really did come from the most unexpected storms. EPILOGUE One year later, Samantha stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Morrison & Associates, watching snow begin to fall over London again. The weather service had issued warnings about another potential blizzard, and most of the staff had already left for the day. "Déjà vu?" Rick's voice was warm and amused as he appeared beside her, slipping his arms around her waist. "Just thinking," she said, leaning back against his chest. "About?" "About storms. About how sometimes they bring exactly what you need." Rick's laugh rumbled through his chest. "Are you getting sentimental on me, Ms. Brooks?" "Maybe a little." She turned in his arms, noting the mischievous glint in his green eyes. "Why? What are you thinking about?" "I'm thinking," Rick said, lowering his mouth to her ear, "that we still have Morrison's office all to ourselves. And that executive lounge sofa hasn't been properly christened since they reupholstered it." Despite herself, Samantha felt heat curl in her belly. "We can't. We're professionals now. Respectable." "Respectable is overrated," Rick murmured, his hands sliding down to cup her bottom. "Besides, I seem to remember you mentioning something about performance reviews..." Looking into his eyes, Samantha saw their future reflected back—challenging, passionate, complicated, and absolutely perfect. The storm outside raged on, but she wasn't afraid of it anymore. Storms, she'd learned, sometimes brought the most beautiful things. "Close the blinds," she whispered. Rick's answering grin was brilliant. "With pleasure, boss." As the snow continued to fall and London settled in for another wild night, Samantha Brooks and Rick Harrison proved once again that the best partnerships—in business and in love—were worth weathering any storm.