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Fletcher dug through his drawer for a pen, idly thinking.
Procrastinating.
Delaying.
He did want her.
He wanted, if he had to, to drink cheap wine with her and feel her body under him again this weekend. And probably the next. Then he wanted to take her to his favorite restaurant and introduce her tohiswines.
Because he wasn’t a masochist and there was only so much punishment he could take.
He wanted her in his bed, on his sofa. He wanted her up against his shower wall and to hear her scream. Then wake with her in his arms.
He had to find a way to convince her it was safe to spend more time with him so they could enjoy what they had until it naturally fizzled out.
Because it would.
He didn’t do serious long-term relationships. Marriage wasn’t for him. Just because Daniel had fallen, it didn’t mean he and Hunter would do the same.
Olivia was an incredibly beautiful and sexy woman. She was oblivious to her sexuality, and it was that quality, plus her bright, quick mind, that had his cock hardening when she’d slip on that damn raspberry lip-gloss.
Fletcher loved talking to her and watching her break into a laugh when he teased her.
Shit.
These were the thoughts that had kept him awake all last night.
She was beginning to feel important.
This was supposed to be purely sexual. An office romance of forbidden lust. Fun, sexy, naughty.
“Hey.”
His head shot up and, in his doorway, stood the woman to whom he appeared to be losing his mind. Even while he was playing tennis with Hunter on Sunday, visions of her body arching under him, her mouth crying out as quietly as she’d been able, until he'd slammed his lips over hers, had distracted him.
He'd lost the tennis match.
Hunter had smirked and shaken his head, as if he knew what had thrown him off. Fortunately, he hadn’t said anything.
Watching Olivia now as she stood in his doorway, recalling the way they’d said goodbye early Sunday morning before her daughter woke, triggered something within him.
Something primal and raw.
He’d asked her to spend the following weekend with him. Sammy would be at her fathers and there was no reason they couldn’t enjoy a couple more days together.
She had said no.
Firmly.
He didn’t know why it had bothered him so much. Yes, he wanted more of her body, but her rejection hurt.
Which was ridiculous.
He was Fletcher Dufort, Playboy of Manhattan.
So, he was torn.
Part of him wanted to break down her defenses and destroy Simon the fucker. The other part of him knew he should let it go—let her go—and go find someone else to play with.
