I smile with fondness. “A great woman. If she met you, she would offer you a drink and a cookie, no matter what mood you’re in. I’ve come to realize that some parents let their kids down, but it’s okay. Because you could be lucky and get something even better.”
His face stills, and I realize I hit a nerve with my philosophy. No, that’s not it. There is a hint of longing. Or complete numbness to whatever family baggage he carries. He stands and picks up his glass before he heads straight back to his whiskey table, clearly agitated because he pops the cork of the bottle with extra vigor.
Standing, I don’t follow. Instead, I stare at the chiseled muscles of his back that the shirt covers tightly.
“I mean, I guess a lot of things are luck of the draw.” I try to take down the insistence of my view.
He holds the bottle in the air. “Another?”
“No. I should head out.”
Julian turns and perches against the table with a fresh drink in hand. “Do I scare you?”
“No.” I’m amused.
“But I annoy you.”
“Confirmed.”
He tilts his head to the side and seems to be examining me. “And you didn’t tell me to go fuck myself, either.”
“I do. I simply don’t say it aloud,” I bounce back.
He smirks, even with the glass between his lips. “I’m sure, but I meant last week.”
Oh.
It dawns on me a possibility. “Did you leave the file on purpose and demand I come here?”
He pushes himself off the edge of the table. “Now, why would I do that? Only someone very clever would think ofthat. I don’t possess that competence, according to my assistant.”
My entire body begins to melt, and my pussy starts to ache for his touch.
He did set this up.
“Subtle manipulation,”I repeat faintly to myself the earlier thought from when he explained his dealings. It’s a red flag. Yet, I place my glass on the coffee table. “He is capable of other things, though.” Am I testing the waters of where this evening could go? That goes against everything I tell myself, remain professional, as in don’t cross the darkest line of them all, because it can’t be erased. A kiss is a kiss, but one touch more and it leads you down a road of no return.
“Is that so?” He stalks toward his prey, and my nipples harden because his prey is me.
But I stay even in my stance. “Maybe. He does irrational things, so it isn’t always so clear.”
Another step closer and another. His mouth dips down to my cheek, and his breath cascades against my skin to that delicate spot near my ear. “No. I’m direct when I want to be,” he rasps before retreating.
I shiver slightly. I’m not sure he notices, but I want to have the upper hand, and when I open my mouth, he beats me to the punch.
“The papers.”
I flutter my eyes to adjust to the swift change of direction, and I make a sound in acknowledgment.
“You should take them. I’ll ensure a car is waiting for you by the time you’re downstairs.”
Is this happening?
Is he doing another 180 and flipping back to an arrogant man who calculates his every whisper and touch?
“Really?” I’m not impressed, mostly because I’m beginning to believe this is an addictive infatuation.
The twist of the corners of his mouth confirms he doesn’t care. “I’m sure you have things to do, and I want to get ahead on some stock research.”
