“Because I had a problem I was trying to solve, and I knew if I talked to you, you’d know about it.”
“You don’t think I needed to know there was a problem?”
“After it was solved, if I could solve it. And I did—one of them. There’s another I need your help with.”
“What are the problems?”
“One of the artists showing in Monday’s mini-auction tried to pull out. It’s handled.”
“And the other problem?”
“My Beatles guy wants this done this weekend. I made reservations to fly out in the morning. I need you to sign the check and paperwork. Your father says he’s not authorized, but you are.”
I’m not even going to comment on why my father doesn’t have access to the money. A piece of dirty laundry I didn’t ever want revealed but she’s managed to tread over. This woman keeps getting all up in my business. She keeps getting in my head. “You sure this has to happen now?”
“He’s adamant.”
My gaze finds its way to her mouth, and my blood runs hot. I want this woman. I want her, and I have her alone in my hotel room. “And you thought it was a good idea to come to my room to solve this?”
“Actually,” she says, her voice hoarse, “I thought it was a very bad idea.”
“And yet you still did it.” It’s not a question.
“I leave at six in the morning. I had no choice.”
If I stay this close to her, I’m going to strip her naked and fuck her. I push off the wall and stare at her. “Show me the paperwork.”
“I’ll get it ready for you.” She doesn’t wait for my approval—she never does—but walks past me toward the desk. Her scent stays with me, lingering in my nostrils and thickening my cock. Her hips sway with feminine grace and I picture her on top of me, riding me.
I have two choices here. They are simple. I fuck her, or I don’t. It doesn’t get any more black-and-white than that. Everything changes in the morning, though. That’s when everything gets complicated.
She pulls a folder from her purse and opens it. I walk over to her and stop beside her, just shy of our shoulders touching. She hands me a pen, and I take it without looking at her—and I damn sure don’t touch her. Touching her would be bad. I sign the purchase order and then look at the hundred-thousand-dollar check.
Now I look at her, and her mouth is mere inches away—an easy lean in to meet her lips with mine. The burn to kiss her is intense. I don’t kiss women. I fuck them. I please them. I like to please them. To drive them to the edge and make them want and want, until release is sweet bliss. But I don’t kiss them.
I tap the pen on the check. “This is what I call trust.” I sign the check and drop the pen, turning to face her. “Make sure you deserve it.”
She lifts her chin. “You’re insured if I don’t, but you wouldn’t have signed it if you didn’t believe I was worth the risk.”
There’s a subtle challenge in her voice. There’s a less subtle challenge in her eyes, a message. I grab her and turn her backside to the desk, my hips framing hers, my fingers wrapping her slender waist. “What did you think would happen between us if you came here tonight?”
Her hands settle on my arms. “I thought we’d end up naked.”
I wonder if her directness will ever fail to surprise me, as much as I wonder what it is about her that gets to me. “And you don’t see the problem in that?”
“I see a million problems with that. Do I care? At his very moment, with you half naked already, I can’t seem to, no.”