Resisting Mr. Kane: An Age Gap Office Romance (The London Mister Series Book 2)
Resisting Mr. Kane: Chapter 22

I’m in deep trouble.

Any sense of self-preservation or rational thought has evacuated my body, and I’ve fallen for Tristan Kane hard. Since our golf outing two weeks ago, I’ve had so many orgasms I’m concerned my face will freeze in a permanent contortion. Sexologists will study me.

Then there were the heated visits to Maria Garcia in prison. Tristan was accompanying us less these days, but on the two trips he did join us, I felt like the others could tell I was fucking the boss just from my face. Especially since I had just fucked the boss a few hours before.

On the second visit, he sat beside me in the meeting room, and his thigh touched mine for the entire hour. At one point, his hand went under the table and skimmed over my thigh, and I nearly yelled. Focusing on what the team was asking Maria took all my strength. In contrast to Tristan, who was able to conduct a full client interview.

I told him off after that meeting. Even if he is a skilled multitasker, he cannot be so overtly sexual with me at work.

Megan was right about the lethal body, face and accent combination, but for me it was not just about physical attraction; it never had been. The guy has the sexiest mind. Never mind trainees, established lawyers with years of experience would kill to be shadowing Tristan Kane on a case.

I shouldn’t have let things get so intense this quickly. The harder I fall, the more scared I am. I spent pretty much the entire two weeks holed up at his stately home being treated like a queen.

The cynic in me worries that it’s just a matter of time before my Anne Boleyn style fall from grace, since there are plenty of hot Jane Seymours vying to take my crown.

“Are you coming, Elly?” Amy asks, handing me a coffee.

I nod, and we step in line with Sophie and other lawyers from the Financial Services sector. Madison Legal’s annual conference is being held at the Business Innovation Centre, one of the only venues in London with enough capacity to accommodate the UK offices. Crowds move forward into the auditorium.

“This place is huge!” I gasp as we enter the domed amphitheatre with cinema-style seating.

There’s a loud hum of conversations as the 2000 Madison Legal UK employees cram into the theatre. A mixture of accents colour the room. People have flown in from the Scotland and Northern Ireland branches and other European satellite offices.

“Music events and theatre productions are held here as well as corporate events,” Sophie explains as someone ushers us down an aisle to our seats, halfway down the auditorium.

“I forgot my glasses,” I mutter. “This place is so big I won’t be able to see.” To see him.

“Don’t worry,” she says over the dull roar as we sit down. “The speakers will be on the big screen.”

Tristan has to talk in front of all these people? I feel a pang of panic for him, which is silly because he barely mentioned the conference last night. He even polished off half a bottle of wine with me.

“Our Managing Partner and CEO Tristan Kane will now open the event,” the Head of Events announces through the microphone.

Spotlights from above focus on the centre stage. Conversations peter out. Everyone is waiting for him.

The air in the room changes as he strolls onto the stage like a man who owns time, his tall, confident posture and smooth hand gestures showing no sign of nerves. When he reaches the podium, he gives the crowd a crooked smile, and everyone claps. Somehow, before he even speaks, he has total command of the room.

I sit on the edge of my seat, watching his projection on the big screen. The three tiers of seating surrounding the stage give all 2000 of us an exceptional view of him. He has so many eyes on him from all angles. How does he cope?

Is this the same man whose house I left this morning?

In his confident and controlled voice, he projects over every speaker, giving Churchill a run for his money. His crisp white shirt shows off his athletic figure. His sleeves are normally rolled up to his elbows, but today they are cuffed and tightened by cufflinks. I get a flashback of this morning when he was wearing nothing but his shirt, unbuttoned.

How lucky am I? There isn’t a chance in hell that every woman in this room isn’t dreaming about what he’s like in bed.

I bite my lip to stifle a smile. I try to concentrate as he tells us about the top achievements of the company this year and the long-term strategic vision. Who knew that the financial forecast would be so arousing? The only thing I can focus on is that mouth enlarged on the screen. The mouth that spent twenty minutes between my legs last night, making me moan.

He pauses between sentences like he has all the time in the world. Every sentence is composed, eloquent, said with precision, and it’s the hottest damn speech I’ve ever heard. I know he’s accustomed to doing TedTalks. I watched a few of his talks that have over a million views last week, and I was ashamed of myself for not knowing who he was when we met in Mykonos.

Next up is the awards ceremony for the best talent. Lawyers wait their turn to receive awards and shake hands with him. Mara, the hot redhead who attended the intern welcome drinks, walks onstage. The men in the room visibly perk up as she is broadcast on the big screen. I feel a twinge of jealousy as the commenter lists her achievements for the year. She simmers towards Tristan, and he smiles broadly at her, whispering something inaudible to the audience.

Seeing his smouldering gaze on her, I wonder for the umpteenth time if I’m taking this too seriously. She’s already an established lawyer and gorgeous as hell. What’s he doing with me?

I don’t see much of Tristan after the awards ceremony. We had a packed schedule of breakaway groups all afternoon tailored to the different industry sectors. I’m wrecked, moving from talk to talk, so I can’t think what he must be like as the centre of attention all day.

After 6 p.m., one of the conference rooms becomes a bar.

Half the attendees have left, some to catch flights back to other parts of the UK, but hundreds of us are still packed into the conference area, accepting complimentary champagne and wine from circulating waiters. It’s the whole point of why we turned up. With no dinner and free drinks, the drunk level in the room increases a notch.

I’m talking to Juan, a senior lawyer at Sophie’s level.

“I work in Financial Services under Sophie,” I say, nodding in her direction, hoping to include her in the conversation. Juan is easy on the eye but is a bit too intense. Unfortunately, Sophie is just out of reach. “I’m also shadowing on the Garcia case. It’s an amazing learning experience.”

As he steps into my personal space, I retreat subtly. We continue to play this game until he has me backed into a corner.

“Under Tristan Kane?” he asks with a gleam in his eye.

“Uh-huh.”

“He must have a personal interest in that case,” he muses. “Do you know what it is?” His eyes search my face for inside information.

I shake my head. “I’m just there to shadow and support.”

Juan looks disappointed. “I’d love for us to go for a coffee some time,” he drawls, placing his hand on my lower back. “I’ve spent four years in Financial Services. I can give you some guidance.”

Now I’m in a dilemma. It should be perfectly routine for a senior lawyer to invite a trainee for coffee to discuss work at a work conference. It might even look unprofessional to turn him down. The ask is professional.

But I understand the language of flirt and a hand on your lower back translates as I want you on your back. I can tell by his look that he has no intention of remaining professional on our coffee date.

I smile, guarded. “Sure.”

A waiter passes, and Juan lifts two more champagnes from the moving silver tray and puts down my empty flute.

“Oh, I’m not sure if I want another…” My voice trails off as I see Tristan and Mara deep in conversation on the other side of the room. The other two people are listening in on their conversation, but it is clear that the discussion is mostly between them. Unease washes over me. Tristan is focused solely on Mara. He smiles intently at her, and she leans forward so that he can hear what she is saying.

Mara talks the language of flirt as well. Her head tilts up towards him, eyes sparkling. Gentle nudges, open mouth, exposed neck, hair flicking, the woman could write the flirt manual. And why wouldn’t she flirt? As far as everyone is concerned, he is single.

I turn back to Juan. His hand drops lower now, now a questionable line between lower back and upper ass.

“Actually, I will have another.”

Juan hands me the champagne and I take a sip. He looks delighted in the sudden mood shift as I clink my flute with his.

His hand curls around my waist.

My phone vibrates in my bag. “One sec,” I say, retrieving the phone. Terry flashes on the screen. My fake name for Tristan in case anyone saw his number at work.

“Excuse me,” I say to Juan with fake regret.

“Hello?” I answer the phone and turn to face him. His phone is in his ear as he leans against the bar out of range of Mara’s hearing. His face is taut.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I hear his voice as I lip-read him across the room while we stare at each other. “What?” Flinching, I move away from Juan so he doesn’t hear the angry tone through the phone.

“Lover boy is very fucking over-familiar, Elly.” His teeth are bared.

My cheeks flush with the heat of his sharp gaze. “So, it’s okay for you to talk to a colleague but not for me?”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” His voice is strained.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. My life doesn’t revolve around you, Tristan. You might be the boss, but you don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

We glare at each other, silently.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Make your excuses and meet me on the third floor. Take the stairs to your left and say you’re going to the toilet.”

The phone goes dead, and he returns to Mara and the two lawyers.

Moments later, he walks across the conference room, bypassing everyone trying to hijack him, and proceeds directly to the elevators. His eyes snap to mine with a flash of impatience.

“Excuse me, Juan,” I say distractedly. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Juan nods, his disappointment evident. “I’ll be here. In case we lose each other, I’ll give you my number.”

He puts his hand out to take my phone, and I hand it over. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tristan watching us from the elevator.

“There you go.” Juan smiles and hands me my phone back with his contact information.

I’m more breathless than I should be when I reach the top step of the third floor. How chivalrous of Tristan to give me the stairs option while he takes the elevator.

I see him leaning against the wall beside the door. He opens it, beckoning me to follow him.

I enter with slight apprehension as I try to figure out whether he’s angry, aroused or a bit of both. It’s a dressing room for the conference speakers.

The door is barely shut before he turns to me, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t like my employees touching you like that,” he says, growling through his teeth, his chest rising and falling. He closes the distance between us. “Are you trying to tease me, Elly? Because you’re doing a good job in pissing me off.”

“I wasn’t teasing you,” I snap. “Juan asked me to go for a coffee. It’s not my fault you employ handsy lawyers. Besides,” I snort “I’m surprised you noticed. You were too wrapped up in Mara.”

Furious, he takes another step forward. “So you thought you’d flirt with anyone that gives you attention? I’m not interested in women who play games.”

“How dare you!” I spit, narrowing my eyes into angry slits. I’ve never seen Tristan like this before. He must be high on his own glory. For the second time since meeting him, I want to slap him.

I turn to leave, but two hands grab my hips from behind and press them against his thighs.

He’s hard.

I freeze as he holds me in an iron grip. After what he said, I should protest, storm off, smack him…instead, I replace myself pressing into him so my ass is hard against his arousal. As he lifts up my dress in one fluid motion, I feel him grow even harder.

I’m wearing a black thong to prevent visible lines. My bare buttocks rub against him, straining against his expensive cashmere suit pants. A low guttural growl erupts behind me, and he slaps one of my ass cheeks hard. I yelp at the sting.

“Do you want me to teach you who’s boss here?” he breathes in my ear, sending a shiver from my ear the whole way down my body. I like this role-play.

“Two thousand of my employees here, and all I can think about is you,” he murmurs as he guides me a few steps forward to the dresser table, then bends me over, so I have to catch my weight with my forearms on the tabletop.

Behind me, I hear him whipping off his belt and the zipper of his trousers being yanked down. He pulls my thong string to one side and uses the other hand to run his hardness up and down my dampening slit.

I let out an involuntary moan. “Please.” I want him to own me. My arousal has been simmering all day ever since he took control of the stage; now it’s a pot ready to explode.

He lifts my hips and thrusts his cock deep into me. Once he’s in, he pushes me down onto the dresser, so I’m at a right angle, then he really gives it to me, his hips slapping against my thighs.

I practically convulse. This is angry sex, not tender. Crazed, urgent sex that makes me want to start an argument with him every day. As he pounds relentlessly, his hand curves around my hip and his thumb rubs circles on my clit.

“Ah!” I cry. The man can multitask.

He teases my clit faster with his fingers until my whole body is shaking.

I grip the dresser for control. “Tristan,” I moan. “I can’t take it. I’m going to—”

“That’s right, Elly,” he cuts in with a possessive growl. “You’re mine.”

Tristan, I groan over and over as his fingers massage me relentlessly. With one final thrust he releases into me and shudders so hard, a glass falls from the dresser.

Holy shit.

My breathing is out of control. “I think I might be going into cardiac arrest.”

Behind me, his touch becomes tender as he moves my hair to kiss my neck. I feel drops of his perspiration.

“You’re mine too,” I whisper, staring straight ahead.

He’s silent for a moment while he adjusts my thong and smooths my dress down past my thighs. “I’m yours too,” he repeats gently into my neck.