“Release her.”
Two words. Issued with cold efficiency. Two words that were followed without hesitation. Jaw clenched, Albie picked up his package and walked to the door. Once there, he turned back.
“I will see you tomorrow, Gwen.” His gaze hardened. “My lord.”
Then they were alone, and unlike when it had been her and Albie, this time her body wasn’t letting her forget it had been too long since a man had touched her in a good way. Or in any way.
“I do not appreciate being kept waiting so you can have some rendezvous with a man.”
His words snapped her head up, instant rage washing over her as his meaning sank in. She forgot his title and station, which hovered so far above her own she couldn’t even see them when she looked up, and stepped around the counter and into his personal space, stabbing him in the chest with her finger.
“You know nothing about me so you should keep your uninformed and incorrect assumptions to yourself.” She bared her teeth and wanted to snap them in his direction.
“I know you told me you would be on your way after you finished work and yet, when I walk in here, what I find is you not working but getting cozy with a man. What should I think?”
“That not all of us are like you Englanders. I do not throw myself at every man who crosses my path. Not to mention, I had not closed yet. He was the last customer I had to give a package to. Now, I am done.”
“I never said you threw yourself at every man. I know that is not true.” He stepped closer. His torso was hard beneath her finger and she had this strangest urge to settle her entire hand against him and stroke. Pet. Indulge. “Because if it was, we would be having a very different conversation, Fyre.”
Her knees wobbled at the way he said her name—low and drawn out with a distinctly sexual timbre.
Being unable to begin to quantify how this man, this outsider, had affected her made her nervous. He made her nervous.
Like he could see beneath the shell she put around herself before she ever left the house. Heck, even at home she maintained it. But this man, the way his gray eyes bore into her, like he alone could see beneath it and to the true heart of her being…
What was he discovering? Lust? Desire? Longing? All of them, for sure.
“I will be along shortly, my lord.”
“I will escort you there and after we go over the books, I’ll take you”—the slightest of pauses—“home.”
“I do not require such a thing.”
His grin twisted her gut into knots. “Lucky for all involved, I did not ask.” He tipped his head. “I will wait for you outside. Do not tarry.”
The arrogant earl was gone before she could begin to form an argument as to why she would not be riding to his home with him.
Chapter Two
Phillip reclined in his chair, making damn sure he kept his eyes on the ledger before him. It worked.
He was most certainly not staring at and ogling the woman on the other side of the desk—a large expanse of solid wood that could handle him laying her across it and allowing himself the indulgence of her body.
Shifting in his chair, he subtly adjusted his hardness. He’d not been this attracted to anyone in a long while. Had he been a monk?
Certainly not, but he wasn’t often close to forgetting his sense because of a woman being near to him. And the shit part about this, she was only here because he’d insisted. Not because she wanted to be, or was attracted to him.
The drink on his left wasn’t going to be enough to quench the thirst that Fyre had aroused within him.
Thank God his determination to not look at her was working.
She sat there in utter silence. Not fidgeting or moving in any way to make him think she wasn’t comfortable or had to get somewhere else. She was, well, a statue.
Truthfully, he didn’t need to have her here for the moment—she had been crisp and clear in her breakdown of his money and her notations. He just lingered, not wanting to be apart from her.
“Do you have a copy of the books from when you first took over?”
Without a sound, she rose and walked across the room to a closed cupboard. He bit his lower lip as she opened it only to push up on her toes, reaching over her head. The thrust of her breasts against the thin material of her dress wasn’t helping the rod in his breeches.
Eyes locked on her figure, lingering over the swell of her ass that made his hands itch to grab it as he sank between her legs, he rubbed the heel of one hand over his erection, a low moan slipping from his lips.