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I say nothing as he pulls me into himself for a hug, but it’s hard not to moan. He smells amazing and he feels even better.
“But, what you said,” I start to protest.
“I was being serious, though I know it wasn’t very professional of me. It’s just that you’re so…well, look at you. You’re beautiful.” His eyes turn dark as he drinks me in, soaking up every inch of me with his steely gaze.
I don’t look down at myself.
I only look up into his eyes.
I only see myself reflected in his vision.
Every part of me is screaming that this is wrong, that he’s just saying this to save face, that he doesn’t really have an interest in me.
But when his mouth comes crashing down on mine, his tongue swirling into my mouth, I forget everything I was ever afraid of. His grip on my waist is firm and commanding as his lips bear down on mine, stealing a soft moan from me.
I’m making out with Nathan Thompson.
I’m making out with the most eligible bachelor in the city.
And judging from the hardness pressed against my stomach, he’s enjoying it every bit as much as me.
Finally, he pulls away, catching his breath, watching me.
“Nathan,” I start to say, but he quiets me with another kiss. I feel my worries begin to melt away as he slides his hand up my waist to cup my breast.
His touch is everything I’ve been hoping for, everything I’ve been needing, everything I’ve been wanting.
And more.
"What are we doing?" I finally manage to break free of his kiss, free from the way he's looking at me, free from the gentle touch of his hands on my body.
"Whatever we want," he tells me.
Then he takes my hand and leads me back to the desk, where he sits down and continues talking about the catering job as if the mini make out session didn't just happen.
"I was thinking of a light tasting menu,” he comments, looking over some of the brochures I brought with me, “rather than a full supper. What do you think?”
Caught off guard by his suddenly nonchalant attitude, I nod, struggling to find words.
“Absolutely. That sounds perfect for an afternoon or evening party, Mr. Thompson, and will ensure that your guests leave plenty of room for dessert.”
The conversation continues, completely platonic, and by the time I leave, I wonder if I imagined the entire thing.
*
I soon forget all about kissing Nathan because his party quickly expands from 200 to 300 guests, which multiplies the amount of work I have to do before the big day. My assistants and I work around the clock, making sure we have enough cookies, perfecting the recipe for the cake, and trying each item on the tasting menu at least a dozen times to be sure it’s good enough to serve at this type of function.
By the time the day of the party arrives, I’m so worried about executing my menu without a hitch that I completely forget just how handsome Nathan Thompson really is.
So when I see him waltz into the ballroom with a tuxedo on that seems to be perfectly fitted to his body, I swallow a small gulp.
Damn.
And his lips were on mine.
I catch his eye from across the room and he motions to the mountains of food I slaved over. Then he shoots me a thumbs up and a huge grin, letting me know that he loves it.
Of course he does.
