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It was enough to make me hard just thinking about it in passing while at work, while on my way home, while listening to the woman herself kindly but firmly boss people around my house over the next several days.
It was no use trying to avoid her, either. She was everywhere, seemingly handling ten different things at once. Even when I tried to shut myself into my office to keep away from her, not trusting myself fully not to reach for her again, to finish what we started in the pool.
Because it seemed like every twenty minutes or so, she had some reason to need to burst in to give me options, or for me to sign off on things.
The caterer, the menu, the drinks, the music.
And, invariably, she needed to discuss this with me while leaning over my shoulder. Her hair would always be tucked to one side, giving me the perfect view of her unconfined breasts that played peek-a-boo with her button-down shirt. And then there was her smell—rose and vanilla—that was impossible to ignore up close.
"Yeah?" I called to the familiar tap to my office door.
Wynn again.
Three soft fingertip taps.
That was her signature.
"Mr. Buchanan," she said. No, not said. She purred it. Or I just thought that because everything about the woman seemed to scream sexuality to me, intentional or not.
"Yes, Wynn?" I asked as I took a slow, steadying breath.
She looked unexpectedly worn-out.
She'd always been a hard worker, but she'd clearly been burning the candle at both ends if her eyelids looked so heavy, if there were slight bags under them.
She was wearing a simple dark green wrap dress instead of her usual button down shirt and pencil skirt. It was no less perfectly tailored to fit her, though, hugging every curve I now knew so well.
As she approached, quiet in her flat shoes, I could see the peaks of her nipples against the thin material of her dress, making my cock stir to life yet again.
That was all it took with her.
Her presence.
I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me.
"Alright," she said, sighing heavily as she rounded my desk, dropping that perfect ass of hers onto the top of my desk right beside me, her leg actually touching my chair.
It was then that she raised that ever-present notebook of hers, flipping to a page, and giving her notes a nod.
"I think we have covered most of it," she declared. "We will have to greet the florists and the liquor store employees the morning of the party, obviously. And I will handle the caterers and the band before I head out."
"You're staying." The words were out before I even got a chance to really think about them. But there was no taking them back. What's more, I didn't want to take them back.
"I mean, everything should run smoothly. But if you want me to hang back in the kitchen or what have you, I can do that."
"Do you have a dress?" I asked, my tongue just doing whatever the fuck it wanted without input from my head.
"I wouldn't need a dress to be in the kitchen," she said, brows furrowing a bit.
"You won't be in the kitchen. Not all night," I added.
"Al...right," she said, looking no less confused. "I will get a dress," she agreed. "There is one last thing..." she said, trailing off, tapping her pen on her notepad.
"What's that?"
"Blake," she said, giving me a knowing look. "He's... he's had a lot of input about the party. I just want to make sure you're aware of that."
I wasn't.
And I wasn't happy to hear that either.
"I will have a talk with him to make sure he knows it isn't a free-for-all party." He should have known that, but you could never tell with Blake either.
"Okay, well, then that seems to be everything," she said, putting her notebook down beside my laptop.
I couldn't help but watch as she rolled her neck for a second before reaching up and behind her head to undo her hair clip. It was a motion that made her breasts strain against the thin material of her dress. And when she leaned back a bit further to work a kink out of her back, the goddamn wrap part slipped ever so slightly, giving me an eyeful of the swell of her breast.
I'd seen the woman fully naked. I shouldn't have been hard as a rock over a hint of breast. But there was no denying it, either.
I had no idea what kind of hold this woman had on me, but she'd become all I could think about when I was awake, all I dreamed about when I slept.
It needed to stop.
A little, niggling voice in the back of my head, though, was telling me that it was never going to stop. At least not until we could finish what we'd started in the pool.
