She walks into the room and I just stare. And stare. And keep on fucking staring.
She’s wearing shorts that cling to her firm thighs, the fabric around her sex tugging inward, as though her sweetness is begging me to reach up and pry it loose. As she turns to close the door, I see that it clings to her round ass cheeks just the same.
She walks over, all swaying hips, her hair loose around her shoulders, screaming at me to thread my hands through it.
She stops at the edge of the desk, arms folded, squashing her breasts in the loose-fitting purple tank top.
“You wanted to see me, Principal?” she sasses.
I grab the edge of the desk and push myself to my feet, staring at her like I’m hypnotized.
“So let me get this straight,” I growl. “You knew I was going for the Most Pissed off Bloke in the World Award and came in dressed like that to distract me.”
She tosses her head, stepping back. Her auburn locks flutter around alluringly. “Ohyeah,” she says sarcastically. “Because turning you on is at the top of my list of priorities. Actually, my clothes are in the laundry room, drying, if you must know.”
“Thank God for laundry day,” I groan, stalking around the edge of the desk.
“Such a pervert,” she giggles, but she can’t stop the carmine sheen from spreading deliciously across her face. “Anyway, what did you want to speak to me about?”
I stop bare inches from her, knowing that if I move any closer I won’t be able to contain myself. She’s sex made flesh, every inch of her sassy and feisty and impossible to ignore … and she’s all for me.
When I think about another man exploring the supple landscape of her curves, it makes me want to turn full savage.
“Adam,” I say flatly.
“Hmm, and what about him?” she says. “And, by the way, I’m a little surprised you’re not sayingsorryright away. That was what I expected when yousummonedme here.”
“Your date,” I snap, ignoring the rest of it.
“Our … what?” She blinks in confusion. “Who said we went on a date?”
“He did,” I mutter, her reaction knocking my anger off balance. “Didn’t you?”
She skips forward a couple of steps, batting her eyelashes melodramatically. I wonder if she has any idea how each movement sends pangs of desire straight to the base of my manhood.
“Wait a sec, Harry,” she says. “You’re not saying you’re jealous that I went for lunch with Adam, right? I mean, it wasn’t a date. I made that clear as heck to him. But you don’t care, do you, not after how mean you were to me?”
I can’t stop my lips from twitching warmly at her words.
It wasn’t a date.
“Jealous is an understatement,” I tell her, inching forward, closing the distance between us. “Why, Grace? Do you want me to be jealous? That’s pretty twisted, if you ask me.”
She reaches forward and places her splayed fingers on my chest, shoving me away slightly. “Listen, Harry, it wasn’t a date, okay? But the way you reacted last time was so fricking OTT.”
“I can’t help it,” I groan, even if this wasn’t part of the plan.
So much lately has not gone according to my revenge plan.
I grab her wrist, pushing her more firmly against me, feeling the incinerating warmth of her touch through the fabric, against my skin.
“Seeing you around here day after day, it’s making me remember what it used to be like.”
She licks her dry lips, her bright eyes brimming with the lust I can read oh-so-easily in her. “I know the feeling,” she whispers. “It’s crazy, playboy. I came in here determined to be mad at you. But it’s getting so fricking hard.”
“You’re right.” I grin, tilting my head cockily. “Itisgetting so hard.”
“Ew,” she laughs, slapping me on the arm with her free hand. “You aresogross.”
