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I’m nearly passed out from pleasure but can’t take my hooded eyes off his cock still buried to the root. “I’m yours.”
“Hi there.” The familiar, deep voice snaps me back to reality.
Standing before me, in all his brooding glory, is the asshole from Vegas.
The man who's haunted my dreams—and is still the subject of my every fantasy.
Chapter three
Peter
A Few Minutes Later
She remembers.
I’m sure of it.
Well, sort of sure of it. The distinct flush on her face briefly gave it away before she caught herself and smoothed her expression into a mask of professionalism.
Either way, I remember our night and I’m hard as a fucking rock. There’s no hiding it.
The woman before me is perfection. She wears a black-leather corset, clearly custom made by the way it cradles and pushes up her unbelievable tits. Barely five feet tall, her legs are long and lean in tight black jeans stuffed into thigh-high black suede boots. Blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. Peaches-and cream skin adorned by the most colorful, dimensional flowers winding up and down her arms. A dusting of freckles across her nose. Huge green eyes. Pillowy lips.
It wasn’t hard to track her down, considering her brother’s the drummer for LTZ, the biggest band out of my hometown.
“Jordan Deveraux?” Her name rolls off my tongue, though my skin prickles with anticipation of hearing her voice.
I wonder…does she remember me?
“Yes. And you are?” Jordan’s pleasant smile gives nothing away.
WTF?
“I’m Peter Vander. I have an appointment today. A new sleeve on my left arm.” Smiling broadly, I extend my hand toward her, knowing my name will jog her memory.
Jordan places her dainty hand, tipped with blunt, groomed nails, in mine. Electricity sparks as I knew it would. Her eyes flick up to mine briefly before she withdraws her grip, spins on her heel and makes a beeline for the reception desk.
She taps into a tablet and glances in my direction. “Oh…right, you’re the guy with a Roman Empire fixation. The design you approved is quite the departure from my usual art, what made you decide to book with me?”
Ahhh. She's gonna play it like this.
Interesting.
“I’ve heard you’re the best.” I flash her the same wicked grin that led to the greatest night of my life all those years ago. “For the record, the design is inspired by Florence not Rome. It’s got special meaning to me.”
Unmoved, she hands me a clipboard. “You’re a little early. Please fill out this release form while my assistant finishes up your stencil.”
My mind races. There were a million ways our reunion could have gone, but I didn’t count on this.
I fill out the form and sign the release. “All done.” I hand the clipboard back to her.
“So, you’re an architect?” She scans the sheet without looking up. Like I’m any other client. Like I haven't been inside her body.
“Yeah. I run VA/VT. We specialize in green building designs and technology.” I wonder if tossing in the reference to my specialty will jog her memory.
I don’t get a chance to find out. A tall man with long cornrows wearing a jumpsuit made of various types of buckles emerges from the back. “Jordan, your stencils are done.”
“Thanks, Merc.” Jordan takes the folder from him. “Mr. Vander is early.”
