I kinda hate how easily he reads me. It makes me feel like an open book. Though I know that also comes from being a savvy businessman. Reading people well is what makes him good at what he does.
I want to reply: My first deal with Holt is going to shit. I have a spoiled-rotten client who has no idea what she wants. All she knows is she wants a house better than her friends’. Instead, I tell him, “You could say that.”
“Is Jenny becoming a problem for you?” he asks seriously, and I get the feeling if I say yes, he’ll intervene and fix the issue.
Not something I want.
“No, of course not,” I lie breezily. “The market is slow, so it’s been a frustrating week.”
The pinch of his brow is fading away, my answer seemingly appeasing him, and a devilish grin rises to his face. “I spent a good couple of hours at the gym today working off some frustration myself.”
“I could use a punching bag right now.” I power off my computer. Now that I have more time to find the Lowes a house, I’m getting the hell outta here. Slippers, a hot bath, and reality shows fill my mind with delightful promises of a relaxing night.
When I glance at Micah again, there’s a new twinkle in his eyes. Even his voice lowers a little when he adds, “I bet I could remove your frustration faster than any punching bag.”
I rise from my seat and push my chair under my desk. “Sure you could.”
“You don’t think so?”
I freeze at the way his voice dips even lower now. I’m not sure why in the hell I’m baiting him. I should shut my mouth and say nothing, but I’m so damn tired of fighting this and fighting him. A little harmless flirting didn’t hurt anyone, right? “Unless you’re going to let me punch you in the face, then no, I don’t think so.”
His grin is so haughty it should have me shutting this down now. But then I look into his eyes and the game is over. Earlier I lost all my judgments about him. Apparently, with my assumptions about him gone, I also lost the final shields I had up against him. Those eyes…that voice…those lips…that body, my nipples pucker beneath my blouse so quickly my breath is gone, heat is spiraling and pooling low in my body, making me wet, just that easily.
One brow arches. “Now, that sounds like a dare.”
I stay silent, not sure I can get proper words out. Because now I realize something that I should’ve thought about when I started this conversation. Flirting with a normal guy is harmless. Flirting with Micah is a dangerous game, because not only does he know how to flirt back, he’s confident enough to take that flirting and see it through to the end.
I discover he’s taking my silence as acceptance of his dare, because he’s entering my office and locking the door behind him. I should be saying no, but I’m not, and we both know that I won’t. Not anymore. Because I want him as much as he wants me, and the arch of his mouth tells me he knows it, too.
My mouth waters and my belly quivers when he clicks the button on the panel by the door and the blinds begin automatically shutting around us, except for at my back, where the skyline is glowing bright in the night. With each step he takes toward me, my breath hitches; my heartbeat hammering in my ears. He says nothing and I say nothing, as he moves right into my space until my back is flat against the glass; both his hands pressed next to my head.
No one can see inside my office anymore, the blinds are completely shut, but I’m more focused on Micah and the way his woodsy citrusy scent circles in the air around me. My skin is flushing with an unnatural heat, and by the time he presses the strength of his body against mine, I’m shaking in a way that I can’t
control. I want him to deliver on the promises he’s been silently giving me since we met.
When he lifts his hand to my face, dragging his fingers along my cheek, I nearly open my mouth to beg him to fix this ache inside of me. To somehow make me me again, where everything makes sense, and where I’m not a woman so consumed with lust that logic leaves my mind.
He presses the long length of his erection against my stomach, making me so damn needy to feel every inch of him, then he pins me between him and the glass, holding me still. I’m not even thinking about if this is wrong anymore, all I know is the way he’s looking at me and how right he feels. Beneath his strong stare, I see a man hungry to devour me, and I want him, too. Desperately.
He grips my chin, those assessing eyes watching me carefully, as he slides his thumb across my bottom lip before addressing me again. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
I should. I know that. But there isn’t a damn thing inside of me that’s thinking with logic. “Don’t stop.”
Then his lips are on mine, and he becomes everything.
There is no time. There is no thought. There is only the way he expertly kisses me, driving me higher, until my knees weaken. His kiss is slow at first and deliberately builds with each swipe of his mouth against mine. He’s nibbling my lips, sucking on my tongue, and I’m lost in how perfect I feel beneath his hands. I begin rubbing my stomach against his erection, tempting him to deliver on all those dark promises.
He slides a hand across my face to the back of my head, where he tangles his fingers into my hair, locking me where he wants me, which is exactly where I want to be. A flare of heat descends through my body and I shiver, feeling his other hand begin traveling up my thigh. I widen my legs, knowing where he’s going and wanting him to shamelessly go there. His gravelly chuckle brushes against my mouth, but I still can’t open my eyes. I’m lost, completely unraveling in the way his hands hold me, control me, own me.
Each second feels like a minute long as he takes his time inching my skirt up to below my buttocks. I’m aware that I’m against a window. That by some chance anyone in the high-rise next to ours, who’s looking through binoculars, might see me. But those thoughts don’t shut me down, they wake me up.
He wakes me up.
He makes me feel alive.
His fingers slide against my inner thigh, slowly, tenderly, appreciatively, and his kiss turns more urgent. I don’t know my body anymore. I’m reacting to him like I’m a puppet and he’s holding the strings. Each touch, each slow swirl of a finger, each time he stops, each time he moves again, it’s all a way to tease me and to steal my mind, placing my soul totally in his hands.
By the time he tucks his fingers beneath my panties, sliding them aside, I’m a quivering mess that can hardly even kiss him anymore. My lips are parted and I’m panting, while he’s nibbling and licking my mouth where he wants, taking me how he wants, yet giving to me also. The cool air brushes my hot, slick flesh as he strokes the tip of his finger against my slit.