Chapter 5 #3
“What?” I sputtered and tried to swallow. “Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Other than you swallowing your tongue as soon as she walked in here, you mean? She sent you so many nice emails too. My favorite was ‘your brother is cuter than you.’”
“She did not say that.”
“Okay, that’s true. She said your brother was sexy. Didn’t mention you at all.”
Since my cock was now fully deflated, I turned back and glimpsed the twinkle in Colleen’s green eyes. “You’re not the least bit funny.”
“Sure I am. You’re just too twisted up to appreciate it right now.
” Colleen rose and sauntered to the door.
“Computer’s fixed by the way. You’d toggled the notifications back on just for mail somehow.
Should be good now. Catch you later. And good luck with your hottie.
” At least she lowered her voice for the last part.
As soon as she left, I returned to my client notes. It wasn’t long before a knock sounded at the door once more.
Shockingly, Ryan did not wait for my approval to enter.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Deliberately, I didn’t look up from my notes.
Between phone calls and texts and emails—including ones not from Ryan, imagine that—I’d thus far gotten approximately no work done today.
This was the last Monday I should be jetting off for lunch with a woman I’d yet to spend more than three minutes with in the flesh.
But fuck, I was hungry. The smell of that fritter coming from the bakery bag was making me lightheaded.
Or it was those damn night-blooming florals wafting from Ryan’s skin. Probably both.
Dammit, she was poking at the bag yet again, toying with the fritter she’d purportedly gotten for me.
“Well, you’re not eating it,” she said when I pinned her with a look.
“I’ve been busy. Unlike you. See anything good in Cosmopolitan?”
She gasped. “Why that traitor. She broke the code of the sisterhood.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Then I stuck out my hand. “Give me some of that.”
She held the bag against her chest. I almost warned her about grease transfer before shrugging it off. At least I couldn’t see her cleavage that way. “You don’t really want it.”
I arched a brow. “Do you want me to beg?”
Ryan eased a hip on the corner of my desk, the one with the mile-high slit. “Do you ever? Seems improbable.”
“If I were to start, I doubt it would be over an apple fritter.”
“It’s really good.” Almost gleefully, she took a large bite, and apple filling spilled across her lip. I wanted to lean in and lick it off. See what she tasted like mixed with the fruit. Would she be tart or sweet?
All over.
But I already knew. She would taste like a Granny Smith green apple. A quick tang followed by that delicious finish that made you crave even more.
She was still nibbling and shamelessly licking her fingers, openly enjoying the pastry she’d proffered for me and stolen away. Almost daring me to grab it out of her hand.
Instead, I sat back in my chair and crossed my ankles, watching her without restraint. “Going to leave me a crumb?” The question was lazy, as if I wasn’t the slightest bit invested in the outcome.
“Well, you don’t want to spoil your appetite.”
“No danger of that happening.”
She edged her painted nail over a flaky section of crust. “You never answered. Is she your girlfriend?”
“Who?” I was so consumed with watching her fondle that fritter that I truly had no recollection.
“The pretty brunette. Her hair is a shade away from cinnamon.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Are you blind?”
“No. I see you quite well. Give me that.”
Committing the most unwise act in the history of off-limits office gestures, I rose and leaned forward, planting my hands on the desk. And rather than snagging that purloined bit of pastry with my fingers, I grabbed it with my teeth.
Stunned, she stared at me while I chewed, our heads entirely too close for workplace propriety.
She had a crystal lodged in her belly button. Or freaking close, because yes, her summery dress dipped nearly that low.
The stone was clear. Shimmery. An icy chip against her bronze skin.
“Good?” That husky question made me think many thoughts, and not one of them was about the fritter I’d just swallowed with a damn near orgasmic groan.
“It’s buttery,” I managed.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Flaky.”
“Definitely.”
“Just the right amount of caramel coating the apples.”
“Moist apples,” she agreed, delicately licking the corner of her mouth.
“The moistest.” Was that even a word?
Were we still talking about apples? I suspected not. But it had been so long since I’d done this particular dance that my moves were rusty.
What wasn’t rusty was my eager cock, threatening to split a seam in my Hugo Boss trousers if she so much as commented on sticky juice.
“Since you’ve waited so patiently,” she licked her lips, “you can have the last bite.”
I started to argue. Foolishly, since I really wanted that fritter. It was surprisingly good and would have been even better if I’d been able to eat it off her thighs.
Apparently, that was the body part I was fixated on today.
But she shut me up before I even got going by dangling that last piece over my mouth then sliding it between my lips. Slowly. Like nothing had ever been slid into my mouth before.
At least that I could remember, which wasn’t saying much considering I was pretty sure my name was now John Doe.
“What do you think?” She placed her hand close enough to mine on the desktop that our pinkies touched. “Should I pass along your appreciation to Dre?”
I chewed and swallowed. “I’m definitely appreciating.”
I had no clue who Dre was. Did not care.
Ryan’s eyes were the exact shade of aquamarine, surrounded by the densest darkest lashes. Inky black like her hair. Her dress.
My supposed cold, dead heart that was now practically a glowing ember in my frigging chest.
Her eyelids lowered a fraction. “So…lunch. Where are you taking me?”
To bed.
The thought arrived unbidden into my mind. And then the followup.
Why wait for a bed when we have so many convenient walls? And this handy desk…
Without warning, her eyes popped wide. She slid off the corner of the desk so fast that she tripped and would’ve landed on her ass if I hadn’t grabbed her wrist—and nearly suffered a contact burn from the fiery bolt that traveled up my arm.
What the hell?
“Are you okay?” I hoped I didn’t sound as dazed as I felt.
“Fine. Dandy. I just need mouthwash. My dentist freaks if I don’t spit—I mean, gargle after sweets.
I had cavities as a kid, so I have to listen to him.
Sorry. Bye.” She ran out of the office, practically limping, and slammed the door with the same gusto I had after meeting her in the flesh approximately two hours and twenty-nine minutes ago.
I sagged into my desk chair. I was breathing hard, my pulse chaotic. The honeyed sweetness on my lips tasted so delicious that pressing them together made my dick throb.
My fucking fingers were still tingling. Who was that woman? Had she put some kind of sex hex on me? Was that a thing?
I pulled up Google and was typing in those very words when my email dinged.
Bypassing the other fifty emails from her, I opened the latest.
We can’t go to lunch. I mean it this time. I’m not hungry. Too much fritter.
For probably the first time all day, I smiled. Slowly, like a shark scenting blood. I sent back a reply.
We’re going to lunch. You need some protein to balance all that sugar.
With her usual speed, she responded.
Actually, I’m allergic to protein.
I volleyed back.
To salt too?
I received her quickest answer yet.
Unfortunately, yes. All I eat is apples and whitefish. Sorry.
Whitefish it is. Be ready to go at precisely 12:45. I’ll make reservations.
And I knew just the place that was far enough from town we would never be spotted by curious onlookers.
Not that we were doing anything untoward. Of course not. This was a business lunch.
I brought up a fresh Word document. Said lunch would start with this To Do list for my brand new temporary assistant.
If she wanted to be told what to do, I would abide.