“This.” I waved a hand up and down his length. “Is far too distracting in a work environment.”
“I find that rather illogical.”
“I am nothing if not illogical.”
He laughed, the warm sound singing across the waves of conversation, briefly dimming it. “I am going to enjoy pursuing you, dear Hanna.” He picked up his glass and raised it. “Here’s to our relationship being an interesting one, for however long it lasts.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, and lightly tapped my water glass against his.
The conversation moved on from there. We discussed all manner of things, from movies to politics, the conversation never going too deep and yet never straying into being boring. Before I knew it, the waiter was giving us the side-eye to leave, and most of the other patrons had already done so. I insisted on paying for my share, which he allowed with some reluctance and only when I declared it was a business expense.
Once the waiter returned with the receipt, I tucked it into my handbag, slipped from the booth, and led the way from the restaurant, every small hair on my body standing on end in response to the sheer force of sexual energy suddenly washing from the man behind me.
The night had indeed cooled, though I was anything but cold. I couldn’t be. Not in the presence of this man. I stopped and slung my handbag over my shoulders, then clasped my hands to stop myself from reaching for him. Because I really did want to.
“I’m parked just across the road,” I said. “What time are we meeting tomorrow?”
“If my contact agrees to see us, then around nine fifteen, as she rarely gets up before nine.”
Another “she.” Did he not have any male contacts? Which was a really bad omen for just how badly Iwasn’tin control when it came to this man. But then, how could I be, given the waves of heat that continued to roll from him? The urge to run was definitely in place, but it was almost swamped by the desire to swim into that ocean and simply drown.
I licked my lips, saw his gaze follow it, felt the waves become a blast furnace, and took a hasty step back. “I’ll see you on the morrow, then.”
He didn’t reply, but as I stepped around him, he caught my arm, his touch sliding lightly down to my fingers, leaving a burning trail in its wake and setting the rest of me alight. His gaze held mine, intent and passionate, and deep down, fires burned to life, fires that I hadn’t felt in a long,longtime.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. It was little more than a brush of lips, but it caused a tidal wave of chaos and desire. In that moment, he could have taken me, and I wouldn’t have cared.
And he knew it, damn him.
Without releasing my hand, he took a step forward, then leaned close and whispered, his warm breath brushing the tip of my ear, “You, my dear Hanna, are utterly divine, but the next time you wear a dress like that, I will rip it from your body and seduce the fuck out of you.”
With that, he stepped back and, with a nod, turned and left.
Leaving me a weak puddle of raging hormones that barely even made it to my car. How I ever managed to concentrate enough to drive home, I have no idea.
By the time I’d parked in my usual spot in the next street, the inner flames of desire had at least cooled, and some semblance of normality had returned. I locked the car, draped the wrap around my shoulders to ward off the night air, then walked briskly along the footpath to our apartment.
Only to discover a wretched black cat with a half-torn ear and a mangy tail sitting outside the apartment’s door.
Atticus.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Pleased to see you, too, he replied, his posh English tone filled with sarcasm.
I was never sure if that tone was real or not. While he’d claimed multiple times that, before he’d passed and become a familiar, he’d been a lord and the owner of a vast estate in England, he utterly ignored any question involving the name or location of said estate.
“I told you I didn’t need your help.”
And I disagreed. So too did the fates.
“You are many things, Atticus, but you are not a prophet, and you certainly do not talk to the gods. That is beyond even your skill set.”
You have no true idea of my skill set or the vastness of it.
“Perhaps, but I’m thinking modesty is not part of it.”
Open the door, wench.
