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And he kisses me. Beautifully. Cradling the back of my head. Like I matter.
I melt into him, into the feel of his strong hands and the texture of his voice. I know it’s wrong, but I’m so deep into the pleasure of him I might need a series of decompression chambers to get out.
I don’t know what’s happening and I don’t even care. He could ask anything and I’d say yes.
I never dreamed I could feel like this with a guy. Like he’s waking up something in me that died a long time ago.
He starts undoing my buttons. He breaks the kiss, but he keeps going with the buttons.
My gaze falls to his fingers. Warmth blooms between my legs. I want to kiss his fingers but I don’t want him to stop. I love the way they feel. Feather-light brushes at my chest.
“So superior,” I say.
“When given complete control,” he says, all rumbly. It’s hot when he says that.
And then he pauses, midbutton.
Like he just thought of somewhere he had to be, or maybe he left the stove on.
He kisses again. He pulls back.
And he smiles.
And all the warmth drains out of me. It’s his fake smile. His billion-dollar camera smile. The smile he uses to charm and direct his minions.
He’s seducing me.
“Oh my god. So not happening.” I push him away.
He steps back, gaze on my face. “What?”
“What?” I echo. “Just another business problem with a business solution. And the solution is your magic peen? Is that it?”
I don’t wait for an answer. I grab my purse and sweep Smuckers up into my arms. “You’re not going to get your way by fooling me, and you’re sure not going to get it like this. Smuckers and I are so out of here.”
“Vicky—”
I put up a hand for him to talk to. It’s a bit 2003, but everything is relative.
Chapter Sixteen
Henry
Brett and I leave a late lunch meeting with some pension fund people. Only the most important people get lunch with the Locke cousins.
I do my best to impersonate a seasoned professional who is fully engaged in the discussion, but deep down, I’m still reliving that kiss, reeling from the way it tore through my body.
I tell myself the kiss was a good thing, that I’m expertly reeling her in. The good-cop charm thing is working, right?
Yeah. Working on me.
I want to explore every part of her. I want to taste her skin, to hear her come with my name on her lips. Fuck her down to her toes.
Know everything about her.
I keep going back over our conversation, wishing I’d learned more about what happened back where she came from.
What happened in that town? How did she survive so young and on her own with a kid in a place like New York? How did she think up the Etsy thing? It was hugely resourceful.
