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Maybe a disaster was exactly what he needed.
“I’ll be waiting.” He clicked off and strode to his desk, snatched up his ledger, and went back out to the balcony. At least the galaxy still made sense.
…
Frenemies helping frenemies. Right. Past midnight. In a swanky apartment, all alone. As onboard as she’d been, actually kissing Cory on Monday had shown her that her good deed might just cause her to lose more than her panties. Because clearly the passionate encounter that had landed them both in the local gossip column—and started this whole ruse to begin with—hadn’t been enough warning.
A crush on the guy was one thing. He was hot. Criminally so. But falling for him, or even potentially putting herself in a position to make that easier…
She must be crazy.
Scratch that. She was crazy, for Cory and his mouth. If he’d use it on her again, she’d probably even be willing to listen to more of what came out of it.
Which was why it didn’t make sense that she’d avoided him all week. Why should she be afraid of where this might go? She was an experienced, sexually empowered woman. Whatever happened between them would be of her choosing. And she would enjoy the hell out of herself.
Kinky sex or not, she’d snapped on the Teflon guard around her heart and she was ready. She definitely needed a distraction after the night she’d spent with Bry. Her big brother was obviously suffering from his football injury more than he would admit and she was on the verge of climbing the walls from nerves. Worry was not her color.
The fancy doorman let Vicky into Cory’s phallic-shaped building and the man himself buzzed her upstairs. Really, she was barely nervous. Not even shaking or anything. Those goose bumps on her arms were from the fall chill, not abject fear at what might happen with Cory.
And what might not.
When Cory didn’t answer her knock, she tried the knob. The door swung open and she had to fight the sensation that she was about to enter the lion’s plush den. Gripping her hands together, she stepped inside.
Sconces high on the walls offered the only illumination, and the sounds of Beethoven streamed through hidden speakers. Thick bloodred carpeting swallowed her boots as she crept into his space. His pine-and-spice cologne lingered, teasing her nose. The rest of her was already on high alert.
Her gaze darted around the opulent surroundings, landing on the various paintings and sculptures and expensive, richly toned furniture before reaching the Frenc
h doors on the other side of the living room. Cory was leaning on the rail, wearing just a pair of low-slung black pants. His feet were bare, as was his torso.
Damn, damn, hot damn.
What a back he had. All ropy muscles and sleek golden skin. Thanks to his half-Italian heritage, he never seemed to grow pale. That bronzed body beckoned her forward, hastening her toward him like she’d been summoned by the Pied Piper.
His back looked like a solid wall of muscle, and God, she wanted to trace each individual coil with her fingers. With her tongue. While she drove her hands through all that dense, dark hair, she’d drag her teeth down his spine, not stopping until he shuddered. If he ever did. He had such unshakable control. What would break it?
He turned and the breath she’d been holding escaped. His corded abdomen and powerful shoulders proved exactly how much he worked out—and how much he hid behind exquisitely cut designer suits.
She didn’t mean to look down. Truly, she didn’t. But beneath the waistband of those silky pants she glimpsed the outline of the rest of his assets. And her breath stuttered all over again.
She’d suffered jolts of Cory Santangelo-inspired lust before. Now that she’d glimpsed—and felt in intimate detail—what he had to work with, she was in serious trouble.
That was the penis dreams were made of. Hers especially.
“See something you like?”
She didn’t realize he’d spoken at first. She was still staring and trying not to pant. Failing miserably. Eventually his sexy half smile blazed through the cobwebs of desire obscuring her thoughts. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No, but thanks for the concern.” She knew him so well that she could hear his amusement even when he wasn’t speaking. “Are you worried parts of me may freeze? Certain crucial parts?”
She didn’t flush, purely from sheer will. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You flattered me plenty with your expression.” His darkened sensuously. “I’ll be riding that high for weeks.”
“Show me a little more and we’ll work on months.”
If he thought she’d be deterred by his sudden veer into sexual no-man’s-land, he was mistaken. Shyness was not a word in her vocabulary. She’d be happy to yank down his pants and show her appreciation for his fine body in ways he would never forget.
But what if she was misreading things? Maybe he hadn’t been kidding about his extreme sexual requirements, which would’ve been dandy had they not had to work together on the magazine. The project mattered to her, and she didn’t want to jeopardize it. Or their weird quasi-friendship.
