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“I was planning to bring my A-game anyway, but now… I’m bringing my A-plus game.”
“What exactly does that mean, and should I be worried?”
Montez smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re in good hands.”
“Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” Desiree asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.
He should let her think he was still pissed, but what was the point? They had to work together. “I’m letting you off the hook, for now. Deliver on that Women in Marketing connection, and all is forgiven.”
A broad grin spread across her luscious lips. “Do a good job on Friday night, and I’ll have the list to you by Saturday morning.”
“Perfect.”
8
Montez parked outside Desiree’s apartment building and walked toward the front door.
They had talked a few hours ago, during which time she suggested they meet at the Stumptons’ home. He nixed the idea and pointed out that a boyfriend would pick up his girlfriend, especially for such an important occasion.
She came out when he was halfway to the door, and he couldn’t believe how incredible she looked. Damn near speechless, he stopped to observe her sexy figure in a black dress that hugged her curves all the way to her ankles. The sweetheart neckline showed off the soft rise of her breasts, and his mouth went dry recalling how much he had enjoyed kissing them and sucking her nipples. She wore her hair piled on top of her head, and the spaghetti strapped top exposed arms adorned with silver jewelry.
Shaking off his stupor, Montez swallowed hard, unable to draw his eyes away from her shapely form coming toward him. “You look incredible,” he said thickly and immediately cleared his throat.
“Thank you,” she said, with a demure downward cast of her eyes. She swept a stray strand of hair from her eyelash. “You look nice too.”
Nice? This woman was really bad for his ego.
He’d gone to Rooster’s—a men’s grooming center—and gotten a haircut, shave, and facial. He had changed his socks and shoes three times and cursed loudly and profusely when he couldn’t find his favorite pair of cufflinks. He still didn’t know where they were and settled on a pair that didn’t quite satisfy him but would have to do since he didn’t want to be late picking her up, especially after saying tardiness was his biggest pet peeve.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Your tie’s a little crooked.”
She reached up, and the scent of her perfume wafted into his nostrils. The same one she’d worn the night they hooked up. He knew it well. Baccarat Rouge 540, a pricy perfume that had gone viral online. The complex fragrance signature was sweet but spicy, with keynotes that included jasmine, amber wood, and cedar wood. He was close to salivating because of the memories it evoked.
“There.” Desiree stepped back.
“Thank you. Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
Montez extended his arm, and after a quick arch of her left eyebrow, she looped her arm through his. Walking side by side with her made him feel as if he had hit the lottery.
There was something about Desiree—something he couldn’t quite put a finger on—that made him not only very aware of her but also conscious ofhisreactions to her. He couldn’t simply chill in her presence and go through the motions. He was present, alert, and noticed everything she did and said. He also noticed the way his body responded to hers. He had held his breath when she stepped in close, and with their arms looped around each other, his muscles were tense. What he felt was more than physical attraction, and it—whatever “it” was—was going to be a problem.
He helped her into his Lincoln Navigator.
“Thank you,” she said, crossing one leg over the other.
He shut the door and walked around the front of the vehicle, using those few seconds to take a deep breath and calm down. Damn, this chick was fucking was his head. She made him feel gauche, like the nineteen-year-old kid he used to be who finally went on his first real date and desperately wanted to impress the pretty girl in the passenger seat of his car.
When he was behind the wheel, he pulled away from the curb and out into the street.
“I was thinking about tonight, and I should probably do most of the talking and answer the relationship questions if any arise,” Desiree announced.
Montez briefly diverted his eyes from the road and frowned at her. “How can I demonstrate I’m a good conversationalist if I’m not talking?”
“You can talk, but leave the relationship questions to me, unless they ask you something directly.”
