Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I want this woman, want her more than I’ve wanted anyone or anything in a very long time.
I want to trace the path her tongue just took across her lips, feel the heat of her plush mouth beneath the pad of my thumb. I want to tell her how fucking beautiful she is, how sexy, how much I want to make her feel good. Most of all, I want to ask her what she fantasizes about at night when she slips her hand down the front of these unexpectedly sexy sweatpants.
Does she dream about a man fisting his hand in her hair while he drags his teeth down her throat? Does she long for hours of foreplay, complete with a full-body massage, lingering attention to her breasts, and the kind of focused, devoted oral that leaves her boneless with pleasure?
I can already tell I’ll be a fan of anything that makes Sydney’s breath catch and heat blaze in her sky-blue eyes.
I want to watch her get turned on, to see her lips part and her breasts rise faster as she nears the edge. I want to hear her call my name and beg to feel me inside her. Then I want to give her everything she’s begging for and more.
Fuck, I have to think of something else, anything else, or I’m not going to be able to stand at the end of this meal. I’m so hard not even the thick fabric of my jeans can conceal my erection.
Praying for strength and a return of at least a modicum of self-control, I ask, “So, where to next? Once you’re done here?”
She sips her chardonnay. “I’m going back to New York to join my family’s business. It’s time to put my MBA to work.”
I start to reach for my own wine but think better of it. I’m already struggling to think clearly. More than a sip or two of wine would be a mistake. I stab a forkful of rice and cauliflower from the bottom of my bowl, instead. “And what’s the family business?”
“Real estate development,” she says, making my brows lift.
“Really? I work in the sector, too. My firm’s specialty is retrofitting existing structures to be more environmentally friendly, but I do some new construction. If the project is the right fit.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. That was my thesis. I mean, not exactly that, I focused on sustainable building practices with an emphasis on mitigating extreme heat in warming climates, but…yeah.” Her brows draw closer as a smile curves her lips. “We have a lot in common.”
Like how much we want to sweep all these dishes to the floor and fuck on the table, I think. Aloud, I say, “Let me know if the family gig doesn’t work out. I’m always recruiting bright young talent.”
Her lids droop to half-mast in a way I’m not sure she realizes is seductive. There’s an innocence to her flirtation that’s as charming as it is sexy. “How do you know I’m a bright young talent?”
“You said you graduated top of your class, right?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Sure, I performed well in a classroom setting. But I could be a disaster waiting to happen in real life.”
“That’s what on-the-job training is for. And I can already tell you’ll be an asset to any company lucky enough to have you. You’re sharp, personable, and have a good heart.”
She nibbles at her lip, sending fresh fantasies about what I’d like to do to her mouth flooding through my head. “You really think that’s an asset?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dad’s a nice guy, but I wouldn’t say he has a good heart. Not when it comes to the company’s bottom line. He’s from the tough as nails, show-no-weakness school of business.” She sighs and sets her fork down beside her bowl. “I’m sure he’s going to spend a good chunk of my on-the-job training trying to toughen me up. Bring out my ruthless side.”
I arch a brow and reach for my wine, after all, hoping it might slow my racing thoughts. “Do you have a ruthless side?”
She tilts her head thoughtfully, causing her now dry, glossy curls to slide over her shoulder, exposing her neck. “I’m sure I do. Most people do, I think, given the right circumstances. I’ve just been lucky enough not to have my ruthless side forced to the surface.” She spins her wineglass in a slow circle on the table, gazing wistfully at the golden liquid. “But I don’t want to be ruthless for a job, any job, even one that’s my family’s legacy.”
I’m about to ask her what that legacy is and, more importantly, what she wants her legacy to be, when the grandfather clock in the living room starts to chime.
Sydney sits up abruptly. “Is it eight already?” She reaches for the napkin in her lap, drawing it across her mouth before standing to push her chair in. “Excuse me, I have to run upstairs for a minute. I’ll be back to help with the dishes.”