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…
Cory’s lips were on hers. Softly molding, gently pressing. His tongue, tasting of fruit and mint and him, twisted around hers, toying with her flesh the way she now wished he’d play with her tightly beaded nipples. And between her legs? Complete forest fire, no extinguisher needed. She’d brought her own moisture, thank you very much.
Holy fracking fuck, she wanted him.
Then the jerk pushed her back and rubbed his wrist over his mouth. It was an oddly sensual gesture, the way he brushed her taste away while his smoldering silver eyes told her he wanted to taste every part of her. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until she died from the pleasure.
She was already halfway there.
Still, she knew better. Cory might be as delicious as sin and twice as hot, but he was also a workaholic who thought being emotional meant springing for a Hallmark card on holidays. Even though she wasn’t some spineless chick who was looking for a man to prop her up, she still had feelings. She waged a daily battle against the ghosts of her past that wouldn’t quite stay gone, and she was mostly winning, through lots of hard work and attentive self-care. That meant minimizing contact with disruptive influences.
Like Cory Santangelo. His wavy dark hair, gunmetal gray eyes, and sinfully sexy body added up to a lethal package. His cunning brain and razor-sharp wit only magnified the potential destruction.
Getting involved with a guy like him—even just sexually—was a one-way ticket to a train wreck, especially for a girl with mommy issues and a desire to be in a relationship with
a guy who…actually knew how to have a relationship. And that wasn’t taking into account potentially jeopardizing their work relationship if they hooked up.
Though, seriously, she’d never been smart before about men. Why start now?
Vicky stepped forward, her only intent to get more of him. He held her back with two fingers lightly pressed between her breasts. Which he looked at, his gaze as heated as a caress, for a moment before he spoke. “Victoria, no.”
What was she, a bad puppy? His clipped tone nearly killed the desire kindling in her belly. She forged on, pushing against his hand, smiling in triumph at the brush of his fingers against the side of her very appreciative breast. At least until he chilled her to the bone with his impervious expression.
She might be horny, and so might his dick, but his head? Nope. Not engaged. Despite the fact that he was still breathing hard from their kiss, he didn’t want to want her, so to hell with the dictates of his body.
Well, screw him then.
She gripped her purse and turned away. “You know what? Never mind. We’ll just forget this ever happened. Your virtue will be safe from any further breaches from me, I promise. Now I bid you good-night.”
She’d made it two and a half steps before he locked his hands around her waist and whirled her back to face him. For one startling instant, he stared down at her, a wild kaleidoscope of emotions ranging over his face. Fury, concern, amusement. Lust. Definite lust, overriding everything else. Now that he’d unleashed its full power, it practically emanated from his pores right along with his richie-rich cologne that made her eyes cross every damn day.
Not that he deserved to know that she’d kind of had an underground thing for him since high school, in the sense that one had a thing for Bradley Cooper. Hot, utterly doable, but never gonna happen. Cory was her Brad Pitt, during Legends of the Fall days. Her—
—ass was in his hands. Both of his hands. He had a full handful in each, and he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
She didn’t want him to.
“Better?” he whispered against her cheek, pulling her up so that every part of her lined up just right with every part of him. The important ones, anyhoo. She let out a sound caught between a moan and a sigh at the thick length of his erection. She couldn’t think for the hazy longing that clouded her brain.
“Much.” Her lips twitched as she looked up at him. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. Maybe you’re drunk.” He glowered down at her and his chest rose and fell in those heavy heaves that reminded her of a runner’s after a series of laps.
His head dipped closer, so close she could smell the strawberries on his breath from dessert. She’d passed on the beignets and fruit, choosing instead to drown her sorrows in pricey champagne—sorrows about her impending visit to her mother in the group home and her worry about her football player brother’s injured knee. But it looked like she’d get to taste summer’s bountiful splendor right now. If he’d just lean in…
“You’re a horrible tease,” he said. “How haven’t I noticed?”
“Because I never teased you. We have a very somber, serious relationship.”
“Except when you’re chucking priceless artifacts at my head.”
Ah, the memories. “Stop arguing with my choices so much and we’d get somewhere. You, suit. Me, designer. My role doesn’t stop with picking out a pretty coffee table. You not only wanted me to set up the room shots, but also coordinate the articles that went with the layouts. As I understood it, my job was to create a lifestyle magazine without you having to oversee the placement of every cushion. You wanted to step back. So, yanno, do that.”
“You tried to foist green furniture on me.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore his body pressed against her. Suggest one nontraditional sectional couch to the guy and you never heard the end of it. “It wasn’t green. It was olive.”
“Whatever, it was ugly,” he said, not so subtly backing her toward the railing and the padded bench that ringed it. Her knees bumped the wood and she lost her balance, throwing her hands back against the railing to catch herself. She was about to stand up again when she caught the intensity of his expression and realized just how erotic a picture she made. Bent backward, breasts thrust high, straining against her bodice.
Totally at his mercy.
