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My face stiffens as my thoughts turn erotic. When her fingers rake her hair in a loving and caressing manner, I wonder if she’s doing this on purpose. Has she noticed how I can barely keep my eyes off her? Is this a sensual show to get me over the edge and proposition her, or am I allowing my thoughts to run wild because I yearn to take her to bed?
I’m so caught up in looking at her that I initially don’t notice when the waitress places a plate with a decadent-looking piece of chocolate cake in front of me. I look straight at the smiling waitress, who caught me ogling Hailey.
“This looks amazing,” Hailey mentions with a broad smile. “I almost feel guilty eating it.”
I keep quiet to stop myself from telling her she could always join me in working out in the mornings. The image of her bent over a bench pushes blood into my loins.
Oh, boy! I better call an end to this meeting before I make the mistake of asking her to go home with me.
I’m alarmed by how much I want her when I’m usually in control of my senses and the situations around me. How can I be shamelessly lusting after Hailey? What about her status as my employee and her age? How would I explain this to my daughter if it ever came out?
“I didn’t picture you as a dessert man,” Hailey comments a short while later.
Struggling to remain aloof, I shrug. “I have a sweet tooth.”
“Really? I thought you’d be more into savory dishes,” she remarks and takes a spoonful of the cake. The slow and sensory manner in which she relishes the cake with closed eyes has me arrested again.
Is she trying to seduce me? If she is, it’s working. I imagine rubbing the cherries across her firm, full breasts while I lick the chocolate off her nipples.
“It’s getting late,” I snap when she opens her eyes. I can’t take any more of this sensual torture. I’ll have to find a way to let off steam, even though the thought of having sex with someone else isn’t appealing at all.
“Oh,” she quietly replies. “I’ll take the subway home.”
“No. My driver will take you home.”
Her delicately carved brows rise. “But that’s not your route. Driving to Brooklyn and then—”
“Don’t argue with me. Besides, I’m not going home yet. He’ll drop me at the office and then take you home.”
“Oh.”
Silence descends between us. Sexual frustration has my temper on a short leash. I focus on my dessert and occasionally look at the other restaurant patrons. I am grateful when the waitress presents me with the bill. At least I have that to focus on.
“I’m ready,” Hailey informs me a few minutes after the waitress had brought back my credit card.
I nod and rise, and she does so, too. My eyes take in her figure in the wrap-around black dress. She doesn’t need to lose weight. Her curves are in just the right places. I know I should help her with her jacket but touching her will be a grave mistake. Twice I’ve experienced an electrifying effect when our fingers accidentally brushed.
As I walk behind her out of the restaurant, I enjoy watching her hair bounce across her shoulders. The sound of her heels on the floor turns me on. How would those legs feel wrapped around my waist?
Outside in the humid air, I help her into the back seat before sliding in and giving my driver instructions. Seated beside her, I breathe in her scent of peaches. What would she do if I drew her close to me and fastened my lips on hers?
She would either pull away and slap me or open her mouth for a deeper kiss. I’m not ready to find out. Chiding myself for acting like a teenager with raging hormones, I acknowledge that the only way I can get Hailey off my mind is to throw myself into work. It has worked for me in the past whenever I’m disturbed about something. Burying myself in a side project will help me to stop thinking about my twenty-five-year-old gorgeous cyber security expert with a banging body, eyes that can eat a man whole, and full kissable lips.
I almost throw myself out of the car when it pulls up in front of my office building. I answer a good night greeting from Hailey in a clipped tone.
Work will help me to stop thinking about her. Hopefully. When I get to my office, I try to delve into work, but my efforts are futile.
I reach for my phone and dial my daughter’s number. Talking to Amber always soothes me.
“Hello, Pumpkin,” I say as soon as she answers.
“Hello, Dad.”
I wince at her aloof tone. Sadness flows through me for a moment before I hastily push it away.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I’m trying to think of a project topic.”
