“Jameson,” I whisper. “Will you behave?” I pull my skirt down over my hips.
He smiles into my neck and pulls me closer; his lips brush against mine as he takes my face in his hands. The kiss is slow, long, and deliberate, and I find my feet floating in the air.
“Dinner?” he breathes.
“Hmm.” I smile against him as he holds my face. There’s no mistaking that kiss. It’s tempting, sensual, and a promise of sexual satisfaction.
“What time will I pick you up?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you think you can tell me what to wear and what to do.”
He smiles softly, and I feel my heart skip a beat; he hasn’t smiled at me like that since the first night we met. “Forgive me,” he whispers as he leans in and kisses me again. “I simply wanted you to wear my favorite outfit so I could admire you in it.” His lips drop to my neck as if he’s unable to stop himself. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Do you have to be so abrasive with me?” I whisper as his teeth skim my jawline.
“Abrasive is who I am.”
“The man I met was funny and carefree.”
He smiles down at me as he brushes the hair back from my forehead. “Our meeting was a luxury that I’ve never been afforded.”
“How so?”
“I had the gift of anonymity.”
Our lips touch, and I rub my fingers through his stubble.
“Why are you so different here?” I whisper.
He pulls out of my grip and walks over to his desk. “I am who I have to be, Emily. Funny and carefree can’t successfully run an empire.”
I stare at him as I think for a moment. “Okay, then I guess I’ll have to decline dinner.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I want to spend a night with Jim.”
His eyes hold mine.
“Jameson Miles the CEO doesn’t interest me. I couldn’t care less about your money or your power.”
He stares at me for an extended time as if processing my words.
I walk over and kiss him softly. “Tell Jim to pick me up at seven,” I whisper as I run my tongue through his lips. “I’m aching for him.”
Tenderness crosses his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I walk back down to my floor and take a seat at my desk.
“How did it go?” Aaron whispers as he types. “Did you make him beg?”
“God, I’m totally crap at playing hard to get.” I sigh.
Molly smirks. “Aren’t we all?”
I open my computer.
“Well?” Aaron whispers as he stops working. “Tell us.”
“We’re having dinner tonight,” I reply as I try to sound casual.
“Oh my God,” Molly whispers in excitement. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“I don’t know.” I frown. “Something insanely hot.”
I hold my hand over my heart as I try to will it to slow down, and I glance at the clock on the wall-6:55 p. m.
He’ll be here any minute.
I shake my hands around and pace back and forth. “Just be cool . . . don’t sleep with him. Whatever you do, don’t be easy,” I remind myself out loud.
I walk back to the mirror in the bathroom and reapply my lipstick. “Get to know each other, and then make an informed decision based on his personality and not how much he turns you on.” I smirk at the ridiculous girl talking to her reflection. If his dick wasn’t so perfect, I wouldn’t be thinking about it at all, then . . . would I?
My phone buzzes. “Hello,” I answer as my heart races.
“I’m downstairs,” his deep, velvety voice purrs. “What number are you?”
“I’ll come down now. See you soon.” I walk back to the full-length mirror and take one last look. I’m wearing a black fitted dress that hangs to just below my knees. It has spaghetti straps and a low back. It goes with my black stilettos and matching clutch. My long dark hair is set in big Hollywood curls and pinned back on one side. I’ve gone all out with my makeup and have smoky gray eyes and glossy red lips.
And of course, I’m waxed to within an inch of my life . . . just in case.
I take the elevator, and when I walk out through the foyer, I see him through the glass front doors of my building. He’s wearing a navy sports coat and blue jeans with a white T-shirt. He looks like he’s stepped straight out of a magazine.
My breath catches at the sight of him, and I smile as he turns toward me.
“Hi.” He smiles.
“Hi.”
His eyes roam down the length of my body as he takes my hand in his. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I smile bashfully.
We stare at each other . . . and it’s there again. The electric current that runs between us whenever we’re alone. “What do you want to do?” he asks as his eyes drop to my lips.
I smile. Jim’s here-Jameson wouldn’t ask me what I wanted to do. “Didn’t you mention Italian?”
He leans in and kisses me, with just the right amount of suction to raise my feet from the floor. My arms go around his neck, and we stand in the street and stare at each other. “You really do turn me on, Emily Foster,” he breathes.
I smile as I pull my fingers through his dark hair. “Did you come all the way across town to make out with me on the street?” I ask innocently.
“No.” He smirks. “But now that I’m here, it’s the only thing I want to do.”
We kiss again, and it’s slow and tender, and I feel my arousal fly in like a 747.
His hard length makes an appearance up against my stomach, and I smile broadly.
“What?”
“Is he coming to dinner?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Well, he does seem to want to hang around whenever you are near.”
“Hanging isn’t a word that I would use to describe that thing.”
His eyes sparkle with a certain something, and he takes my hand in his. “Let’s go this way.”
“We’re walking?” I ask in surprise.
“I got dropped off. They’ll pick us up later. We’ll catch a cab from here to the restaurant.”
“Okay.”
We walk around the corner, and he hails a cab, and we climb into the back of it. “Waverly Place, please.”
“Okay.” The driver pulls out into the traffic.
“How long have you lived in New York?” I ask.
“My whole life.”
“Your parents live here?” I frown. I can’t imagine growing up in a city like this.
“Yes, although I went to school elsewhere.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Many places-finished in Aspen.”
I stare at him. What the hell? “You went to school alone in Aspen?”
“No, I always had my brothers with me.” He picks my hand up and kisses the back of it with a soft smile.
I stare at him. We come from completely different worlds. I can’t even fathom his upbringing.
“What’s that look?” he asks.
“I wasn’t even allowed to have a sleepover at my friend’s place.”
“Independence has always been encouraged in my family.”
I smile as I think of something.
“What?”
“If you’ve been living on your own since you were . . . ?” I pause as I wait for his answer.
“Twelve.”
“You should have the emotional intelligence of a ninety-year-old. Is that right?”
He throws his head back and laughs out loud. “Should being the operative word.” His eyes dance with delight. “And what would your emotional intelligence be at?”
“Hmm.” I frown as I think. “Emotionally I think I would be about age thirty.”
“Physically?” He smirks.
“Oh God, eighteen.” I laugh. “I’m not very experienced at all.”
His eyes hold mine, and I feel the burn from his gaze.
“What would your physical experience be at?” I whisper.
“I’m more of a show than tell kind of person.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Happy to give you a demonstration, though.”
I giggle as the cab pulls to a stop. “I bet you are.” We climb out of the cab, and two minutes later Jameson pulls me by the hand into a restaurant named Babbo. It kind of looks like a mini English pub from the outside, all quaint and cute, but when we walk through the door, it’s a lot bigger than it seems. The space is dark and moody, and gold light fixtures add to the ambience. Fresh flowers are in giant vases everywhere, and it feels super romantic.