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I had not the first clue as to his feelings about his daughter, but I could only offer him some comfort, a little as it was. “Now that we know a little about what’s troubling Samantha, we can work with her. Children are very receptive to help when it’s tailored to their problems. We’ll help Samantha, believe me.”
“I have to,” he said. “I’m a fish trying to grow wings here.”
A soft snicker left me. “Don’t worry. You’ll be mastering both worlds very soon. You have an expert to help you, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” John replied, his tone slipping to sultry. “You’re gifted in many,manythings.”
Instantly, lust simmered through my veins, making me shift and squirm at the memory of how his face dipped between my legs and how his tongue worked inside me. The sudden change in topics was another thing that made me feel uneasy, but perhaps I was reading the signals wrong.
“Why, thank you,” I replied softly. “…Aside from the thing with Sam and the meeting, is something bothering you?”
“I have to fly out to Dallas tomorrow to meet with a large beef producer for an in-person meeting, and I’m stressing about it,” he groaned. “I’m told it's more of a pitch meeting with other big-wigs in the room, vying for his contract, and God knows I am not that suave in the boardroom.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really,” he echoed, “It's why I hired a million and one marketers and product managers to do those stuff for me, but now, I’ve got to put my big boy britches on and do it myself.”
“Do you know who you’re up against?”
“Nope.” He popped the ‘p.’ “They left that out in the welcome packet.”
“Well…” I pondered, “…I know pitches are made to sell a fantasy, to use a story to sell an idea, a dream, but I think…I think you should make your results work for you. Surely, you have some stats or graphs that show how better your product is than its competitors. Use the facts, John. Facts don’t lie. They’re not promises either; those are proven results.”
“Good strategy,” he murmured. “But I’ll be away for at least three days.”
“Oh, how will I do without you,” I teased.
“Prepare for a rough ride when I return,” John growled. “Your body is my playroom now, and I want to sample all the toys.”
I guess I had not misread the signs at all.
Heat rushed between my legs at the thought of his lips, rough, strong hands on my skin, and his turgid cock pressing into me. I was fucking helpless with that tone, so low it sent a shiver from the back of my neck to the tips of my toes. It was naughty, filthy, and so seductively dirty. The memory of our sex has my blood pumping and nerve endings begging for more.
His voice was a rough, low growl. “If I slid my hand into your panties right now, I’d find your delicious pussy soaking wet for me, wouldn’t I?”
His words hit me like dynamite, blowing my senses to smithereens. God knew I’d never, ever had anyone talk to me as dirty as he does, and my pussy was instantly throbbing for him. I couldn’t think straight. It was like I were a puppet, and he was pulling my strings. I sunk deeper into the mattress.
“I wish you were here in my bed, but I’ll have to suit myself with imagining all the ways I’m going to fuck you,” he said.
My back arched, and my hand drifted to my breast; my nipples were hard as rocks under my camisole. I was not wearing a bra, and the cloth was rubbing against me just right. The friction against my nipples was driving me insane. John could not see or touch me, but he would make me come with his voice.
“You’re a jerk,” I said. “Turning me on with no way to get me off.”
“Good.” John’s voice was a pleased purr like a big cat just waiting to pounce. “Now, you’re walking the thin line I am, and I bet you’ll be ready to take every inch of me when we meet again.”
This man…was going to be the death of me. I knew it.
ChapterSixteen
John
When the hired car pulled to the Twisted Twines ranch, I had to do a double take. The house looked so much like mine I wondered if I had turned around somewhere between the airport and the hotel and returned to Hill Country.
The enormous wraparound porch was familiar, but then I took in the sprawling three-story limestone and cedar-board house, with tall trees swaying in the background, and knew I certainly was not in Kansas anymore.
Grasping the briefcase, I stepped out and tugged my jacket down, my eyes flitting over the line of cars parked before the house, and one of them looked somewhat familiar. Who was it? I racked my brain for a moment, trying to remember who, but then I gave up. I had more important things to worry about.
A woman with neatly pinned gray hair came to meet me. “Hello, I am Alma Voss, Mister Portman’s housekeeper. I assume you are Mister John Maxwell? You’re the last to arrive, but please, let me show you where the others are. Follow me.”
