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Until he answers me—in a tone that ensures the creatures in the woods might be the least of my worries right now.
“Because I didn’t come to see her.”
But worried isn’t what he makes me feel either.
Worried is what I’m wishing for, compared to the rush of awareness that hits now. Awakening that’s beyond normal—or right.
Once more, I swipe at the frizz atop my head. Am terrifyingly aware of my basic attire. Not the jeans and sweater I was sorely tempted to indulge because of Blanca’s absence and a meetings-free day, but my turtleneck and tights, along with a basic mini from three years ago, still aren’t the snuff for a potential client like Darian Z.
And his relentless stare. And all the decadent meaning that it conveys right now.
“You’re seriously not…well…serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You want to take a look around and then try that answer again?” I gesture toward the walls of my glorified closet of an office, just to make sure the point sinks in. “Unless ‘barely junior agent’ somehow fires your vibe?”
He moves as if wanting to lean in the doorway, but the action isn’t quite that. At the same time, it’s more. Oh, damn it, damn it, damn it. He’s like the stuff of my steamiest dreams, in which Jason Momoa, Prince Aragorn, and the hot guy from BTS are magically melded. Wait, which one is the hot one again?
He’s not going to give me time to ruminate.
“Stella?”
She spins like a miniature monsoon. “Yes, Mr. Z? Whatever you need.”
“Just the room, please. I’d like to speak with Miss Lamarr. Privately.”
Sylvie swallows like he’s just proclaimed he wants to ravish me on my desk. I’d laugh but I’m gulping the exact same way. And ohhh yeah, everything between my thighs screams from the same message.
Not. Cool.My mind repeats it, hoping my body gets the message this time, refusing to note Sylvie’s meaningful glance while she backs out and shuts the door. Acknowledging her would mean admitting all my own anxiety. And…
Anticipation?
Oh, for the love of ice cream.
Too late, I realize it’s hissed from between my teeth. Luckily, it emerged fast enough to pass as a legitimate profanity.
Not that Darian Z noticed. Or will. While I’ve been attempting to evoke the powers of vanilla bean and pistachio nut, he’s been busy scooting around my desk. Yes, to my side of it.
Yes…right into my personal space behind it.
“Ummm…” I make a pact to start fining myself for any more of those. I’m uming myself into idiot territory. How I’m thinking about that, instead of Darian Z pressing in even closer, is beyond what I can logically trace. “Can I help you?”
Somehow I push out enough insult in the tone for the message to be received. Loud and damn clear.
But not by him.
“In quite a few ways, I imagine,” he replies to my syntax, every word as casual as a stock quote but every inch of his face set with another intent. A dark, decadent design. A purpose that makes my blood throb and my throat convulse. “But for the present moment…”
Weirdly but thankfully, a strange laugh spurts from me. “Just the present one, huh?”
He still doesn’t get the hint. He just hovers there, smelling like cloves and rain and winter woods. Not coming any closer but not shifting away either.
“The other ones can wait. For now.”
At once his gaze descends to my mouth and I’m back to forgetting my own damn name. His eyelashes are sweeps of thick, dark decadence. Jason, Aragorn, and the BTS babes will have to make some room, because Darian Z’s officially gained his own spot in my horny dream fests.
To my horror, I don’t make an effort to move either. But I’m able to keep my voice steady while countering, “So, for the moment, tell me what you need.” As soon as he brushes a thumb near the base of my right ear, I rush on. “From us. I—I mean from us. From Appacenter. We should be talking…about things…right?”
