I rub my temple.
“Wait.”
Courtney turns.“Sorry?”
“I’m going to drive you home.”
“Why would you do that?”Her brows shoot up.“You’ve pointed out that you’re not my friend.”
I grab my jacket and cell phone, then walk to the door.I stop a few feet from where she stands, towering over her and think what a shame it is that we didn’t meet in a bar.I could thread my fingers through her delicious red hair and bring those plush lips to mine.
I bet she moans beautifully.
“Because despite what you think,” I rasp.“I’m a gentleman and can see you’re upset.”
“I’m not—”
I shake my head.I’ve had enough of her little white lies.And perhaps a big one.I have no doubt that her husband will reveal it and play dirty in time.
What a shame she didn’t decide to speak up.
It could be her undoing.
She’s right about one thing, though.I shouldn’t be offering her a ride home.I keep a strong boundary between myself and my clients.Especially those I’d like to fuck.Yet, I place my hand in the small of her back and lead her down the hall, to the elevator, across the lobby and out into the cool Manhattan night air.
We don’t say a word to each other the entire time, and I like that very much.A lot of women fill the airwaves with stupid chatter because they’re lacking confidence.
Courtney holds her own with me, and that’s sexy as fuck.
By the time we reach the town car where Terrance stands waiting, the urge to take her hand, tug her to me and kiss her is growing stronger.
I never will.
The threat of being disbarred is a strong extinguisher of lust when it arises between me and any client.I’ve never felt anything like this, so thank God that barrier exists.
“Evening, sir,”
“How did the Yankees go tonight?”I ask Terrance.
He shakes his head and opens the door.“Not good, not good at all.Lost 2-4.”
Courtney glances between us and then climbs into the vehicle.
“Damn,” I slap his arm and slide in after her.
The interior is spacious, but I find myself highly aware of how close our bodies are and how tiny she looks against the white leather.
“Where to, sir?”
“Courtney,” I prompt.She seems to have drifted away, her face turned toward the window.I place my hand on her thigh and her head snaps around.Glistening green eyes meet mine in a fiery rage.
Not of anger...of something familiar.
Desire.
“Sorry,”
“No need,” I rasp, realizing we are way, way, way too close and that my hand is still on her thigh.
