She hesitated, which wasn't like her. Amelia Emerson didn't hesitate.
"Come on," I said, softer. "What's going on?"
She exhaled, looking away for a second before meeting my eyes.
"I wanted to thank you," she said. "For backing me up in there. With Charlie."
I frowned. "You don't need to thank me for that."
"And I wanted to make sure I haven't messed up your chances," she continued. "For whatever future you're trying to build here."
I laughed—short, humorless. "I'm still shopping. Maybe this'll help me get a better deal."
The words sparked an idea.
I crossed to the desk, grabbed my wallet, and pulled out the black credit card. Held it up.
"How about dinner?" I asked. "Any place you want. It's on them."
Her eyebrows rose. "You're serious."
"Dead serious. Let them pay for something useful for once."
Her eyes softened then, just a fraction. And then she did something I didn't expect.
She started unbuttoning her blouse.
My brain short-circuited.
"Yes," she said, fingers working down the buttons, slow and deliberate. "We should go to dinner."
She paused, looking up at me through her lashes.
"But first," she said, "I want an appetizer."
The blouse fell open, and I forgot how to breathe.
The blouse slid off her shoulders and hit the carpet like a starting gun.
Amelia stood there in a thin black bra and jeans that tortured me, eyes locked on mine with that reckless fire I’d never been able to resist.
I was still dripping sweat, chest heaving, every muscle burning from the workout. I smelled like iron and exertion and raw want.
She took one step forward.
“You’re filthy,” she said, voice low, almost accusing.
“Yeah,” I rasped. “And you’re about to be.”
She closed the distance, palms flattening against my soaked shirt, dragging it up and off in one impatient yank. The fabric peeled away from my skin with a wet sound, and then her mouth was on me—hot, open, tasting the salt on my collarbone, my throat, the ridge of my shoulder.
I groaned, hands already in her hair, fisting the knot at the back of her head until it spilled loose in dark waves. She bit downon the muscle where neck meets shoulder, hard enough that my hips jerked forward involuntarily, grinding the rigid line of my cock against her stomach through my shorts.
“Fuck, Amelia?—”
She licked the sting away, then dragged her tongue up the side of my neck, teeth grazing my jaw. “I can taste how hard you pushed yourself,” she whispered against my ear. “I want to taste how hard you’re about to push me.”
My control snapped.
