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“Dr. Vaughn,” he said politely, his voice a quiet rumble that dove right down into the depths of my core.
I stared at him for a long moment, losing myself in the sea of thick mahogany curls on top of his scalp. Unlike the men in my city state, his chin was covered by a beard, giving him a rough aura that made my stomach leap with excitement. With his entry came the muted scent of whiskey and citrus. My thoughts stuttered for a moment trying to identify it.
Cologne. He was wearing cologne.
At a towering six and a half feet tall, he would stand at least a foot above me. Despite his roughness, his attire was professional. A light gray button-up shirt and a pair of black slacks covered his body, but neither piece of clothing did anything to conceal the sheer mass of muscles lying beneath them.
This man was strong. Very strong.
The sudden image of him holding me down just like the bride in the picture for a spanking overcame me, burrowing into my vision and refusing to leave. I shook my head.
I was losing my mind.
Maybe I shouldn’t have looked after all. Maybe that was why it was forbidden.
I swallowed hard, finally remembering myself in the overwhelming veil of silence.
“Yes. I’m Dr. Naomi Vaughn,” I replied. Too quickly. My words seemed rushed.
I prayed he couldn’t tell what I was thinking.
“My name is Ryker Gates. Pleased to meet you,” he answered. I was embarrassed to realize that I was hanging onto every word that left his mouth. I glanced at my computer screen, trying desperately to keep my gaze from ogling his body up and down like he was a tall drink of water in the middle of a radioactive wasteland. Looking at my massive spreadsheet calmed me, but only a little.
To his credit, if he noticed he said nothing.
I glanced at the clock, noticing that it was past four-thirty. The museum would be prepping to close in the next twenty minutes or so.
“How can I help you?” I asked, sitting back as I folded my hands in my lap. He leveled his gaze directly on me and I couldn’t help but feel the heat from it. My pussy clenched as if it was calling for him and I lifted my chin, hoping he couldn’t see me blush.
“The council gave me your name. They said your knowledge and experience would be very useful to my needs.”
His accent was slightly familiar. I couldn’t place it, but one thing I was sure of was that it wasn’t from New Englandia. He was from somewhere else.
“Your needs?” I asked.
Did those needs include using those big broad hands?
Christ. I was really losing my mind.
“May I?” he answered. He gestured to the armchair in front of my desk. I nodded quickly, glancing at the crate beside me anxiously. There was a small corner of the wrapped wedding dress hanging out of it and I blanched a little on the inside, doing my best to cover it up so that he didn’t see.
He took a seat in the armchair in front of me. He didn’t even glance in the crate’s direction, which was a relief, at least somewhat.
“I’m a tenured member of the Pacifica Council. My role is acquisitions and development with a specialization in weaponry development.”
So, he was a foreigner after all.
Pacifica was a younger city state that had been established more than a century ago. Initially, they had kept to themselves, but they had begun to rise in power through the past several years. They’d struggled for a long time to gain a footing in the modern world, mainly because they’d supported policies that my home state, New Englandia and our close allies did not. They were based in the northwest corner of North America and had kept to themselves for a long time. It was rumored that they were making leaps and bounds with their military, and especially with weapons technology.
Much of this was conjecture and whispers I’d overheard in the hallways, but for some reason him sitting here seemed to give credence to the gossip. For the first time, I genuinely started to believe it.
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Gates,” I began.
“Please. Call me Ryker,” he beamed. There was a disarming quality to his features, a certain easygoing manner that struck me. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I was safe with him.
“Ryker,” I acquiesced, smiling thinly. His grin widened at least tenfold.
With a nod, he settled into the armchair. He folded his hands together in his lap and I couldn’t help but glance down at their roughened surface.
