Maybe the light, or the way she holds the pen between her fingers.
My gaze, as always, falls to where her legs cross beneath that glass desk that leaves nothing to the imagination.
She makes a small, insolent smirk, then stands up.
The golden dress stretches over her curves.
She walks toward me calmly, her eyes locked on mine.
And then something happens that makes no sense.
Sloane Heart, the most independent and controlled woman on the planet, kneels down in front of the desk.
Then, slowly, she leans forward, hands on the polished floor, and looks up at me from beneath her lashes.
My heart stops.
I don't know whether to laugh, pass out, or kneel down myself.
I watch her advance slowly, her fingers grazing the parquet floor, her scent washing over me.
Every inch she covers steals a breath.
It’s a slow, silent catastrophe.
“You know, Becker,” she says, in an almost innocent tone, “I thought it was time to change the approach. Maybe you understand practical lessons better.”
“If this is a test, I promise to give it my best shot.”
She smiles again, tilting her head to the side.
That smile is the final blow.
The dress slightly constrains her thighs as she moves, and when she stops right in front of me… nothing else exists.
Only her, her breath, and the way she looks at me as if I’m a secret to be slowly uncovered.
She lifts her head a bit. The waterfall of blonde hair falls down her back.
She brushes my knee with one hand, and my body reacts before my brain does.
Blood pounds in my veins; my throat is dry.
Her fingers slowly move up, drawing invisible lines on the fabric of my pants.
I’m not breathing anymore.
“Are you provoking me, Angel?” I don’t know how I manage to say it; my throat feels completely closed up.
“Me?” she pretends to consider, then bites the corner of her lip. “Just a little.”
…Her fingers pause for an instant, as if measuring the distance between thought and madness.
Then she looks up, batting those marvelous, sensual lashes that made me lose my mind the first time I saw her.
Her fingers drop to the zipper of my jeans.Christ.
My lungs forget how to function.
