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Heat flashed in his eyes before desire turned them a few shades darker. "Take off your pants and bend over this desk."
Biting down on her bottom lip, she glided her fingers across the waistband of her jeans, hesitating for the briefest millisecond on her top button before continuing across. "What about my panties?"
"We both know you aren't wearing any," he practically growled out the words as he held onto the chair's arms with a white-knuckled grip.
Close. He was skating right up to the edge of losing control. He loved having it and she fucking lived to watch him lose it in moments like these when the reward was the kind of orgasms that made the rest of the world disappear. Desire had her thighs trembling as she flicked her thumb and freed her top button but she didn't make a move toward the zipper.
"You want to fuck in the office during business hours?" She toyed with her zipper tab. "I used to be such a good girl before I met you."
"We both know that's sixty miles from the truth, Kitten." Taz's hands shot out and he grabbed her by the hips then spun her around fast so she faced the desk. In the next heartbeat she was bent forward, one of his hands pressing between her shoulder blades. "Now stop stalling and show me how wet you are already."
Being in that position didn't make it easy to push her pants over her hips, but when had she ever let that stop her from getting what she wanted? With a wiggle and a shove, the denim slid down her legs. Now the real fun could begin.
Chapter 8
Tamara
Isaac's hand lay on the small of Tamara's back, taking up too much space. It made it hard for her to breathe, hard to think, hard to remember that she had to keep her guard up with this man. He was temptation personified and she had sworn off that months ago. They walked down the block from the Devil's Dip Gym, stopping in front of a familiar jade green door. Satchiko was one of the most hard-to-get-into Japanese restaurants in Fort Worth. The wait list was long and the reviews gushing.
"You like sushi?" she asked as he held the door open and she walked inside the dim interior.
He laughed, the low rumble making her lungs tight. "You say that like I just admitted to licking toads for kicks."
Looking around at the gleaming walnut tables set along a spectacular wall painted in abstract style in bold strokes of gold, blue and green, she couldn't help but let the truth slip out. "It's not what I expected."
He leaned in close, dipping his head down to the shell of her ear and sending a jolt of electricity sizzling across her skin. "You'd figured bad Tex-Mex and cheap beer."
"Maybe." The flush of her cheeks even in the low light had to be enough to tell him just how much of a lie that was.
His hand slid from the small of her back to the curve of her hip, his thumb brushing a lazy circle on the indent of her waist. "When will you realize there's more to me than devastating sex appeal?"
Before she could come up with a smart rejoinder to minimize the uptick in her pulse, the hostess appeared, greeted Isaac by name and ushered them both to an intimate table for two set away from everyone else. He pulled out Tamara's chair and she sat down, trying to remember the protocol for a date. Sure, it had been a while but it should be etched into her bones. God knew she'd been raised to believe it was her only way to secure her future.
Her mother's voice filled her head before she could block it out. Tits and ass and class—that's how you land a man with money, Tamara Anne. You've got two and can fake the last one if you remember to make the conversation all about him, keep your knees together until he's giving gifts that are weighed in carats and seal your pretty mouth shut ninety-nine percent of the time.
"If I promise not to poison you, will that make it better or worse?" Isaac asked as he sat down across from her.
The question yanked her out of that dark place in her head where her mother's voice kept up a constant, whispered lecture and she replaced the exhausted worry on her face with a well-practiced smile. "I can see the pros and cons of both options."
She slid her napkin off her plate and smoothed it across her lap, willing her fingers to lose their nervous shake. Why did this man make her nervous? She'd been in the same position with billionaires, superstar athletes, and powerful politicians. None of them made her as aware of every nerve in her body as this man.
He grinned, making her stomach float and her heartbeat speed up. "And to think I left my arsenic at home."
Desperate to regain her equilibrium, she tried to picture his house. Probably lots of leather and wood and sports memorabilia—maybe with remote-controlled mood lighting or
an oversized painting of dogs playing poker.
"Now what's that horrified expression for?" he asked, laughing.
"I was picturing what your house looks like."
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's a pool house. Lots of flowers and wicker."
"Now that's something I can't even picture." Nope. Isaac was all testosterone and sinewy muscle and sly charm. A dude living in a luau he was not.
"It's temporary," he said, the low tenor of his voice taking on a softer tone. "My mom's had a rough time of it since the accident a year ago."
"What happened?" The question was out before she could stop it, breaking the number-one rule of hooking-a-big-fish dating—keeping things light and fun.
