The laughter from the board is louder this time, but I only have eyes for this woman, this dynamite creature bringing the meeting home with a bang.
“He knows bras and bustiers and corsets.” Her smile fades as she adds, “But he knows something much more important, too. He knows how to listen to women. To his customers. To the people who appreciate and value Adored’s products. He listens, he learns, he adjusts, he leads—that’s the hallmark of a great businessman.” She glances back to me, her eyes shining. “It’s also the hallmark of a great man. Thank you.”
CJ sits to even louder applause, and I know we’ve won them over.
The vote to move forward with business as usual is unanimous. My company is still mine, and that makes me one happy man.
But someone else makes me even happier.
After the meeting, I steal her away, into my office, locking the door behind us.
“You were incredible,” I murmur against her lips, kissing her hard and deep as I back her across the room.
“So were you.” Her breath hitches as I lift her onto my desk and slide her skirt higher on her thighs. “You’re sexy when you’re commanding a room.”
“You’re sexy on my desk.” I kiss a trail down her throat as I work open the buttons on her blouse. “As a matter of fact, I’ve had this recurring fantasy about you on my desk . . .”
Then I show her, and it’s safe to say we’re voting a unanimous yes to office afternoon delight.
Epilogue
CJ
Six weeks later . . .
They say good things come to those who wait.
I’m not sure that’s always true, but I’m never going to regret waiting for Graham, this man who always knows exactly how to make me smile.
“A roller-disco, monster dress-up, twenty-sixth birthday party,” I read, surveying the invitation he’s submitted for my approval. I beam up at him, smiling from ear to ear. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to dress up like a scary clown and party all night long?”
He groans in mock dismay. “No clown. Anything but a clown.”
I slide into his lap on our couch—ours, because I moved in with him two weeks ago, and now his home is our home—and press a kiss to his Saturday-morning scruffy cheek. “Okay, no clown. But yes. I love it. And you. And I can’t wait to see you tricked out as a sexy Dracula.”
He hums softly as he pulls me closer, murmuring in a terrible Transylvanian accent, “Yes, my darlink, I vill dress as Dracula and bite your beautiful body all night long.”
He nips at my neck, and I dissolve into laughter that becomes a gasp and a soft moan as his kisses lose their teasing edge. We retreat to our bedroom, and he surprises me all over again with how quickly he can make me wild and ravenous, like I’m drowning in pleasure and beauty.
And afterward, once we’ve let a yowling Stephen King in to curl at the foot of the bed and chew on an old pair of Graham’s socks—his favorite new chew toys—we snuggle and make more plans.
Plans for the Fourth of July on his friend Luna’s rooftop terrace.
Plans for an August vacation to Martha’s Vineyard, where we intend to eat our weight in lobster rolls.
Plans for a theater premier in September, and his birthday in October, and a visit to his parents’ place in West Palm Beach in November for Thanksgiving.
Though every day feels like Thanksgiving lately.
I have so much to be grateful for.
For this man, this life, this joy, this love . . .
Graham
It rains every single day we’re in Florida for Thanksgiving, torrential downpours that keep CJ and I locked in the house with my parents, held captive to hours of embarrassing stories from my youth, endless poker tournaments for pennies, and way too many servings of pie.
And it is unexpectedly . . . perfect.