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“It was nice to see you. Goodbye.” Her gaze falls to my lips. Her façade is laughable, and in an effort to prove it to everyone at the table, I lick my lips slowly, watching intently as her stare follows the trail of my tongue. She’s imagining what I could do with this tongue, and I am desperate to demonstrate. I nearly drop to my arse again when she reciprocates. Whether it’s intentional or not doesn’t matter. It was natural.
“Nice?” I lift a little and lean in, getting as close as I can, my eyes closing. “I could think of lots of words, Ava.” Pure bliss. Total gratification. Earth-shifting. Universe shaking. “Niceisn’t one of them.” Her cheek is millimeters from my mouth. Her leg inches from my hand. It’s an opportunity I’m not prepared to pass up. “I’ll leave you to consider my question.”
I press my lips to her cheek and inhale the goodness, my hand falling onto her thigh. “Soon,” I murmur, certain of that. She’s exhausted. Exhausted from maintaining this pointless, annoying resistance. Good. So next time I call her, she’ll answer. “It was nice to meet you, Kate.” I surrender my touch and rise.
“Hmm, you too.”
I smile at Ava’s friend’s pensiveness and stride away, heading for the men’s room at the back. I need to splash my face with cold water. I’m hot.
And hopeful.
By the time I’ve gathered myself and once again recalled every look, every word every touch from another encounter with Ava O’Shea, I’ve lost half an hour. I blow out my cheeks, blink my dry eyes, straighten my suit, and head back to my car, so fucking curious about what was said after I left. I ignore a call from Sarah and dial Ava. I want her back at The Manor.
I don’t know whether to be surprised or irritated when she doesn’t pick up. After what just happened, she’s not seriously still playing this game? Not after licking her lips and clenching her thighs. I try again. And again. And again.
And again, and again, and again.
Nothing.
I growl under my breath as I reach my car, slipping behind the wheel, but not starting the engine. I’m not averse to going into her office and giving her a recap of our lunchtime meeting. The way she looked at me. Her body was screaming so loudly, begging me. It was impossible to ignore. Or not so impossible for her, it seems. I growl again as I hammer out a text, my frustrated fingers working fast, but I force myself to be reasonable.
...ish.
Being rejected isn’t very nice. Why won’t you answer my calls? Jx
I give her thirty seconds to reply. Of course, she doesn’t. “Damn fucking woman,” I mutter as my phone dings. Ah!
If you need to discuss your requirements, you should be calling Patrick, not me.
I scoff, my thumbs a blur as they hammer their way across the screen. “If I want to discuss my requirements?” I mutter. “Don’t try and turn on your professional switch now, Miss O’Shea.”
My requirement is to make you scream. I don’t think Patrick can help me there. I’m gagging just thinking about it. That’s a thought...
Will I need to gag you? Jx
I smile as I click send.Cheeky, Ward.Very cheeky. But the alternative was swearing my motherfucking head off and demanding she stop it. Just stop it. She’s sending me crazy. One should question what the fuck I’m doing. I could go back to The Manor, snap my fingers, and have a dozen women fall at my feet. But all that will achieve is numbness. I might feel like I’m going crazy right now, but at least I’m feelingsomething.
I quickly pull up my emails and send one to Patrick Peterson, insisting on having Ava working my project.And working something else, hopefully.I’m covering all my bases. Then I read my message to her again, biding my time, waiting for a reply. I bet she’s laughing. Is she laughing? Or is she horrified? My face bunches. I hope not. A few suggestive, cheeky texts are nothing in the grand scheme of things.
After ten minutes of waiting and trying her mobile again, I resign myself to the fact that I’ve blown it. Again. Fucked it up. “Bollocks,” I breathe, pulling up Google and finding the landline for the company.
“Good afternoon, Rococo Union.”
“Don’t hang up,” I blurt, every inch of me tense, waiting for the line to go dead. It doesn’t. She doesn’t hang up. I exhale, reaching for my forehead and giving it a soothing rub. I’ve never had a headache without the assistance of alcohol before. It’s something else new, yet this Idon’tlike. Because there appears to be only one fucking cure, and she’s refusing to share the antidote. “Ava, I’m really very sorry.”
“You are?” The surprise in her tone is warranted.
“Yes, really, I am.” A little.More for me than you, though, lady.“I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.”And worked my nuts off for nothing, it seems.“I’ve overstepped the mark by a long shot.”Like, miles.“I’ve distressed you.”And myself, because damn if your resistance doesn’t only make me want you more. Make me wonder more. Make me ache more.“Please accept my apology.”Please, please, please.I reluctantly admit it’s time to wipe the slate clean. Start again. Go back to Plan A. Woo her. Is there an online course for that kind of shit?
“Okay,” she eventually murmurs. “So you don’t want to make me scream or gag me?”
My eyebrows jump up.More than anything I’ve wanted in a long fucking time.“Ava, you sound disappointed.”
“Not at all.”
I smile. She’s a terrible liar. “Can we start again? I’ll keep it professional, of course.”
“Mr. Ward, I’m really not the right person for this job. Can I transfer you to Patrick?”
