Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
The man’s every woman’s fantasy.
And he asked me to dinner.
Ian reaches for a pen and does a double take when he sees me in the doorway. “Hey there, Creeper. Come on in.”
“Hey,” I say, feeling a little flustered as I shut the door.
He starts to stand, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “Wait. If you could just . . . I need to say something, and I can’t when you’re all . . . close and stuff.”
Ian gives a puzzled smirk. “All right. What’s up?”
“You asked me to dinner.”
His gaze is steady. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I like to eat.” He smiles.
“Ian, I’m serious.”
He stands and comes toward me. “Because I like you, Lara. What the hell do I have to do to prove that? Get a skywriter? Tattoo? Take out a classified?”
My stomach flips at his words, and I can’t hide my silly grin.
“Did you turn in your report?” he asks, reaching out and taking my hand.
“I did.”
His eyes flicker in relief. “So I’m no longer under investigation for insider trading? You’re no longer investigating me?”
“Correct.”
He pulls me in for a kiss, and I’m ready for it. Hell, I meet him halfway, my hands on his waist, his cupping my face, pulling me close.
I can’t remember ever feeling this hungry, this reckless. Yes, we’re in his office. Yes, anyone could walk in. But right now, with his hands on me, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but wanting more.
Without breaking contact, he reaches behind me and locks the door.
“My place,” he says, dragging his mouth from mine and trailing it down my throat. My head falls back, and I let out a little moan as he kisses my neck. “Seven o’clock.”
“I can’t come to your place on a first date.”
His mouth returns to mine. “Why not? You said you didn’t want anyone to see us.”
I huff in frustration. “I know, but—”
“I’m a really good cook,” he says with a slow smile.
That gives me pause. “You are?”
“Not at all. But I’m very good at takeout.”
“Ian . . .”
I can’t remember what I was going to say. This entire conversation has taken place in between kisses, and with each brush of his mouth against mine, it gets harder to think. And a lot harder to say no. I came in here thinking maybe we could take this thing slow . . .
Then his hands slide over my hips as he deepens the kiss, and slow sounds impossible. And not at all what I want.
I want this. I want the way I feel when I’m around him, the way I feel when his hands are on me.
“You want to come over,” he says, bending slightly to press a kiss to the V of my blouse.
“I do?” I manage as his palm slides down my thigh, his fingers wandering under my skirt.
“Mm-hmm.” His fingers trail up the inside of my bare thigh.
“But—”
The tips of his fingers brush lightly over the front of my underwear, and I can’t remember anything. Not what I’ve said in the past, not why I shouldn’t be doing this . . .
Then his fingers slip beneath the elastic, and I can’t even remember my own name.
He groans as he finds my wetness.
I gasp as I cling to him, trying not to let my knees buckle as his clever fingers find all the right places.
I don’t know this girl, the one who lets a polished playboy back her against an office door and slide his hand under her skirt, but right now I want to be her, if only for this brief moment of heaven.
“Ian.” I run my hands over his shoulders.
He pulls away with a groan.
“No, don’t stop,” I moan, pulling him close, too turned on to be embarrassed.
He lets out a tortured laugh, his forehead resting against mine. “I have to. I can’t take you here like this.”
Why the hell not?
I don’t ask it out loud, but he seems to know, brushing his lips across mine. “You’re different. Let me show you that you’re different.”
Frustrated as my body is, my heart soars. How could it not? Isn’t this every woman’s fantasy, to be the one who tames the untamable?
He eases his hand out from under my skirt, using his other hand to smooth it back to rights.
Ian kisses my cheek, his lips moving to my ear. “Seven o’clock. My place. Please.”
I look away just for a second, trying to gather my thoughts, and my eyes lock on the orchid on the table behind his desk. The damn thing is flourishing.
I swallow, my eyes unexpectedly watering with a feeling for this man that I’m nowhere near ready to name.
I nod. “Seven o’clock.”
25
IAN
Week 4: Friday Night
“Where’d those come from?” I ask as Sabrina fans out fussy little square napkins I’ve never seen in my life.
“Stationery store up in Flatiron,” she says, tilting her head to analyze the angle of her napkin arrangement. “Aren’t they fabulous?”