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Chapter Eight
Poppy
I tap away on the laptop, adding up the final column of figures I’ve prepared for Jensen. I have an idea about generating some revenue for the club, and I’m nervous about pitching it to him.
Much to my disappointment, Jensen has kept his word. He hasn’t so much as laid a finger on me since our passionate encounter—not that he’s needed to. Just working near him is enough to keep the furnace between my legs blazing like an inferno.
There’s no denying it—Jensen is the sexiest man God ever gave a penis to. And judging by the way it was pitching a gazebo in his pants the other day, it’s a monster. He only has to get within ten feet of me, and my whole body begins to tingle as if it senses him on some elemental level. My face flames now as I remember the delicious sensations he pulled from my body. He made me come so hard I thought I was going to pass out.
Then there’s his smile—the one that could melt fire-retardant panties - if such a thing existed. Safe to say, my sensible cotton panties are not Jensen-proof. Which reminds me—I need to go shopping for some sexy undies. Maybe a few pairs of crotchless panties for easy access.
I drop my head into my hands with a groan. What am I doing? Am I actually thinking about having sex with Jensen?
Yes! My rebellious vagina screams.
I’m at the mercy of my lust for him. I’ve never been with a man, so I don’t even know what it will feel like, but my imagination is more than capable of filling in the gaps. I want to touch him, feel him under me, sinking into me as I rock my hips against his in an age-old rhythm until we both explode.
But is that just lust? Or something more? No one has ever held me the way he did after the fantastic orgasm he gave me—like I was something precious and he never wanted to let go. And if I’m honest, I didn’t want him to let me go, either – I wanted to stay in his arms, soaking up the heat and comfort from his body until I was wrinkled and gray.
Somehow, he’s crept beneath my defenses and brought the light back into my life. Being with him feels easy and natural, despite the overwhelming physical attraction simmering between us. I’ve woken every morning this week with a sense of excitement and anticipation, knowing I’m going to see him. Not only am I emotionally invested in salvaging this business, but I’m also emotionally invested in Jensen.
I look up from my laptop as the object of my desires walks into the office.
“You still here?” he asks, moving to perch on the edge of my desk.
My eyes move over him helplessly, taking in his powerful thighs and broad shoulders. Every time I look at him, he takes my breath away. He has an earthy sexiness that has the hairs on my body standing up on end whenever he’s near.
I frown. “What time is it?”
“A little after six.”
My eyes widen. “Really? I got caught up with all this,” I say, waving a hand at the pile of papers sitting on the desk. “We can go over figures tomorrow if you prefer?”
“I’m happy to stay if you are,” he replies with a shrug, “but I don’t want to keep you if you have plans.”
I let out a very unladylike snort. “The only plans I have are with my PJ’s and a bucket of butter popcorn.”
“Butter, huh? I had you pegged as a caramel popcorn gal,” he chuckles.
“That’s my second favorite,” I grin.
He reaches out, rubbing his thumb across my cheek. “You have a smudge of ink,” he says softly, his fingers lingering against my skin.
My breath catches at the innocent touch, and the fire between my legs becomes a raging furnace. “I, uh, I had an idea. A fundraising idea, I mean,” I say huskily, clicking the laptop touchpad and opening up a document. “What about holding a one-night-only event where you open up the bar to non-members, offering them free drinks for their first round?”
Jensen purses his lips thoughtfully. “Seems like that would be a one-way ticket to going out of business.”
“You have to speculate to accumulate. Trust me, the customers aren’t going to stop at one drink,” I say, leaning forward eagerly. “Plus, opening up the club to non-members is great advertising and a good way to entice them to join up. Offer a ten percent discount on membership if they pay upfront for the year, which will inject some much-needed capital straight into the business.”
I turn the laptop to face him so he can see the spreadsheet I’ve prepared with the potential income the club could bring in during one night. “This is an estimate. It could be more or less than that.”
He falls quiet, pondering my words. “It’s a risk.”
I nod. “Yeah, but it’s a calculated one.”
“You think this club is worth that risk, huh?”
“Not just the club. You are too. Because whether you know it or not, you are The Lockhart Club. You’ve put your heart and soul into this place. You’re the one who’s kept things going for the last two years, often at your expense if these receipts are to be believed,” I say, indicating the folders stacked on my desk.
