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When the silence became too frustrating, Dylan finally said, “That’s it? You’re not going to say anything?”
“I was just thinking about how great it would be to feel that with a woman.Realdoesn’t happen very often. Have you noticed that? Women are constantly seeing how we measure up. I swear they have checklists. Is he good-looking? Does he hold the door open for me? Is he successfulenough? Six figures or seven?” Carson shook his head. “There are days I wish I were poor and bald so I could tell if a woman liked me for me. I’d give my left nut forreal.”
“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “Good to hear I’m not crazy after all.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t go that far,” Carson teased. “But seriously, worst-case scenario? You fall for a woman who played you like a fiddle and you’re right back in the dating pool tomorrow.”
The only pool Dylan wanted to swim in was probably knee deep in texts and emails at that very moment.
TIFFANY SCANNED THE twenty-page endorsement contract for one of her newest clients as she rode the elevator up to her apartment, wishing one of the six office spaces she’d seen earlier in the day had panned out. How could it be this difficult to find suitable office space in New York City? She’d been looking for weeks and, granted, she might be pickier than most, but she often spent more than twelve hours a day in her office. She needed to feel comfortable there, which meant everything had to be perfect. She liked natural light, primarily in the late afternoon and early evening, and preferred to be no higher than the fifth floor, because business elevators got crowded and there was too much wasted time stopping between floors. She didn’t need a lot of space, which she knew presented an issue in some buildings.
She opened her purse and eyed the note Dylan had left taped to her apartment door that morning. She smiled as she read it for the hundredth time.
Summers, hope you’re ready for our date tonight. I know I am. Contact my friend Phoebe Nice. She’ll hook you up with a great office space. Your 10+, D.B.
His handwriting was bold and masculine, like him. At first she’d rolled her eyes at the smiley face he’d drawn at the bottom of the note beneath Phoebe’s phone number and email address, but now, as she looked at the two dots and crooked smile, it reminded her of him. He had a quirky sense of humor, and nearly everything he said was seductive or playful. Or both. She liked that about him. And she had to admit that his confidence was addicting. She’d had a long, tedious day traipsing through the city and had replayed their conversations in her mind all day and then repeatedly chastised herself for doing it. She probably wasted a good two hours thinking about Dylan instead of focusing on work.
Just like I’m doing right now.
She shoved the note back into her purse. She couldn’t afford to waste a minute, much less two hours, thinking about a man. Well, besides her father. At least he’d passed his kidney stones, and when she’d seen him earlier, he’d been resting comfortably and was glad to be home. Thank goodness for small favors. Although she’d felt a pang of guilt when she’d seen the flowers Dylan had sent her on her father’s dining room table.
The elevator doors opened on her floor, and she scrolled through her messages while she walked down the hall. Thankfully, the client who had threatened the paparazzi hadn’t been called out. One bullet dodged. She glanced up as she approached her apartment.
“Are you kidding me?” She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips as she neared the tower of gold Godiva chocolate boxes wrapped in a beautiful red bow. She needed to put an end to this sweetness.Sweetness?Nonsense, that’s what it was. Flowers? Chocolate? How much more cliché could he get? He was barking up the wrong tree.
Although you do have a deliciously sinful bark.
And he was very good at relieving stress. She’d slept like the dead last night, and woken up sweaty and horny from an erotic dream featuring none other than wickedly hot, filthy-talking Dylan Bad. She should march right upstairs and give him back the chocolates and put an end to this once and for all. She was not one of those shallow girls who fell for ridiculously overpriced gifts. Yes. That was exactly what she needed to do. The sooner she got him out of her head, the better, and if he kept leaving her notes and gifts, she’d never have a clear mind again.
She scooped up the boxes and carried them back to the elevator. Wow. They were shiny and pretty. Four of them, all different sizes. And they werebig. Her mind went directly south, to Dylan’s cock, and her mouth went dry.
Stop thinking about his cock.
Her stomach fluttered, and shivers raced down her limbs. He had a beautiful cock. It was thick and long and perfectly straight, like a G-spot-seeking missile. Great. Now her hands were shaking.
She blew out a loud breath and pushed the button for the elevator. Her heart was going crazy and she couldn’t get the sound of Dylan’s voice out of her mind.Open your eyes. That’s it baby, let go.
Jesus. The man gavehota whole new meaning.
Summers? You okay?
She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, willing her pulse to stop quickening. How was she ever going to concentrate again? Between the sexy seduction and his thoughtfulness, she was a lost cause.
She looked at the boxes in her arms and spotted a note dangling from a thin gold ribbon. She turned it over and read it.
Summer girl—Her heart stumbled over that. Why did his nicknames affect her so strongly?—Sweet, sinful, delicious. Just like you. I hope these hit the spot, just like we did several times last night. See you at 12:01. D.B.
She stormed out of the elevator on wobbly legs, too turned on to be angry, and annoyed with herself for falling for another cliché.
She banged on his apartment door, determined to hand over the chocolates, tell him this shameful stalking had to stop, and be done with it. The door opened slowly, and “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC found her ears before her eyes focused on the man standing before her wearing nothing but a tool belt and a pair of cargo shorts.Are you frigging kidding me? Dylan Bad in a tool belt?
A smile spread across his lips. “Summer girl. You’re early, and you brought dessert.”
Chapter Eight
TIFFANY PLOWED FORWARD, kicking the door shut behind her, and dropped the chocolates and everything else to the floor, freeing up her hands to grab the man who was creating chaos in her normally calm, cool, and controlled body.
“I’m not early,” she snapped, fumbling with Dylan’s tool belt. “We didn’t have a date!” The damn thing was stuck, and he was laughing, and she was too damn horny to care. “Take this thing off!”
