Holy. Shit.
That was the hottest kiss I ever experienced, bar none. A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers that it’s not appropriate, that I should never have kissed a client, that the timing is terrible, not to mention a million other reasons why I should stand up right now, march right over to Walker’s office, and tell him I’m not right for this position. Good God, my job—my job!—is on the line, and if anyone was to find out, if anyone was to see…
As loudly as my conscience is chastising me for the error of my ways, my entire body is screaming with passionate need. I need more of his touch. I need more of his lips. The space between my legs is steamy hot and soaking wet, almost begging me to strip off my clothes and have my way with him right here and now. There’s a sleek, modern sofa positioned near one of the windows that looks just perfect to accommodate a scorching hot, quick fuck.
Jesus. The strength in his arms, the pressure of his hands—it tells me how powerful he could be if he chose to be, how dominating he could be over my smaller form, and that thought turns me on more than anything else. He seemed to like my feistiness and that I wasn’t going to automatically submit to him, but there’s one thing I can’t deny to myself—he’s more than a match for me. He’s not some shrinking pushover who would do shit like cheat on me with my best friend.
You don’t know that, my inner voice interjects.
Fine. I don’t know that. But what I do know is that our bodies collided with equal force. If I had let it go on long enough, one of us would have come out on top. I want it to be him. I want him to show me how much stronger he is than I am, and I’m no shrinking violet.
I swallow another bite of salad and it gets caught in my throat. I have to wash it down with a sip of ice-cold lemon water. The thick, heavy glass feels good in my hand, something to ground me even while my unbelievable desire makes it difficult to focus.
Still, I’m a professional, at the top of my game, and so I continue our conversation.
“Yes, we’ll be looking into different photo opportunities.” I’d like a photo opportunity with him in bed, naked, his body bare on the sheets so I could look at it as long as I pleased. “Do you have any philanthropic causes that you’d like to focus on over the next several weeks?”
Christian leans forward in his chair and finishes the last of his sandwich, not letting a single crumb fall to the carpet. His eyes stay locked on my face as he takes a sip of water, then raises one of HRM’s cloth napkins to his lips. His perfect, soft lips that minutes ago were slipping and sliding against mine like he was claiming me as his personal property.
I can’t say I minded.
“Yes,” he says finally, his half-smile caressing his words with an undertone of pure sex. “Pierce Industries is dedicated to reaching out to the homeless, and we also have fostered partnerships with several hospitals across the city to provide support for research and enhanced patient care.”
Every breath I take burns in my lungs. Being near him is like flirting with the surface of the sun.
“Wonderful. I can set up some appearances this week and next that will get the ball rolling on positive press coverage.” I flip to a fresh page in the notepad I’ve been scribbling in while we ate. “As far as press releases go, is there any kind of dedication you’d like to make?”
“Dedication?” He leans back in his chair and I can see the outline of his cock through his pants. He’s still hard.
“I’ve found that, for some of my clients, shifts in reputation seem more authentic if we can hint at some personal reason to take advantage of the opportunities. Maybe someone in your family who has inspired you? I’ve also had clients mention people they’d like to memorialize.”
Christian takes in a deep, haggard breath and quickly looks away, his eyes dropping to focus at a crack in the floor. Fuck. I’ve hit a nerve. But just as quickly as they fell, his eyes are back locked on mine, and I feel the charged connection between us again, strong as ever.
“There are a couple of people I would—” He starts speaking in a soft tone, but then trails off. “My mother spent a lot of time on charity work before she died.”
Oh, Christ. That tidbit was probably in the portfolio. I can’t imagine losing my mother, even though she and my father have gone a little buck wild in their retirement years and rarely stay in the same place for more than a few weeks at a time. At least I know I can always call her. “I’m so sorry,” I say softly.