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"I'm sorry, I just—your wife's marker—I saw it, on the hill—"
His eyes slide over, as if they're seeing through the walls. He hadn't forgotten about it, but damned if he wanted to discuss it right now. Least of all with her—either as a woman that he's seeing on the side, or as the owner of the business that's buying his property.
"Don't talk about my wife right now, Morgan. We'll sort out the details in the morning."
She nods. "But the number is fine?"
"Why, are you prepared to offer more?" He should have waited for the morning. He knew it, knew it before he'd even made the call. But he couldn't afford it.
"Not at this time."
"So I should wait a while?"
A smile worms its way onto his face, his amusement overcoming the pain of his splitting headache and his exhaustion.
She blinks, her eyes wide. "I should stop talking, shouldn't I?"
"Maybe, just this once."
"I'm serious, Philip. Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine," he says. And he will be. In the morning. "Especially once you've got that suit off."
Chapter Thirty-Six
It wasn't the first time that he'd seen her naked. It wouldn't even be the worst that he'd done to her. If she was going to get bashful all of a sudden… well, that ship had sailed.
And yet, as he sat down, his legs splayed out in a way that suggested getting down between them—even though it looked as natural as can be—something inside her burned. Was he really asking her to strip? Was she going to do it?
Her hands don't move, even when she tells them to, some part of her body sensing that she's not sure how serious she is about the instruction herself. She's not sure how serious he is.
Until he repeats the instruction. "Go on. Off."
She shudders at the sound of his voice, low and edged with a threat that she doesn't know for sure he won't follow through on. She's not sure what he's threatening her with, and she's not sure what she'd be the most afraid of anyways.
Maybe it would be something usual—but maybe it would be something real simple. Maybe she'd go home without the relief that her body had already awoken to the need for. She'd been worried about him.
Worried, and nothing more.
But now that she was there, now that he'd taken that tone with her, her body responded like a computer—he pushed the buttons, and she did as she was told.
Her hands move slow, like she's moving through water, but no matter how she tried she couldn't make it go faster. Her fingers worked the buttons on her suit jacket, slipping it back and off her shoulders.
He raises his hand an inch off his lap, but the movement was enough to stop her. "Slow down. It's not a race."
Morgan takes a breath and tries to get her hands to stop shaking. Tries to get her head on right.
She sways her hips side to side, moving to the rhythm of a song that neither of them can hear. She closes her eyes a moment. Her hands have no trouble finding the buttons on her blouse. She undoes the bottom one and holds the shirt open a little, showing a little peek at her belly button.
Then she does the next one, and the next, each one showing a little more of her soft skin. A minute later, her hips still swaying softly from side to side, her shirt slips down her shoulders, until she catches it as it falls and tosses it over the back of the easy-chair beside her.
She turns, her hips still swaying, and her skirt unzips easily. She bends down as she pushes it over her hips, giving him as much of a show as she can manage. It feels strange, foreign.
And yet, the possessive, aroused look in his eyes makes it all worth it. She tries to hide the pleasure that she feels at the way his eyes rake over her.
And then he's pushing himself up from the couch. She stands back up and turns.
"No touching," she says. He wraps his arms around her and draws her in close to him, hips-first.
