“B’s designs are confidential. All my client’s designs are.” I jerk off my safety glasses and toss them on the table beside my helmet. “Is there something you want?”
“I was curious,” he starts, and his tone makes me want to deck him in the nose. He’s had that effect on me since I met him—he speaks, and I instantly get the desire to hit him. “About what Bailon has you doing … and the woman who came with you to his last party. What is she? Islander or—”
“She’s nothing,” I growl, gripping the edges of the table I’ve spent the day reworking. My need to knock the rich motherfucker on his arse has intensified in a matter of seconds because he’s brought her up. He has a wife. He has Sonora in the palm of his hand. He sure as fuck doesn’t need my employee.
“S said she’s your new marketing person. Didn’t realize you were expanding the brand.”
“I’ll be sure to include that on our next company newsletter,” I say wryly. “We send that out to paying customers, so you might want to place an order if you’d like one.”
He laughs. The pretentious fuck. “So the marketing woman … what’s she like?”
Aggravating—a smart-mouthed, distracting and beautiful woman who bothers me more than I ever imagined. I’ve avoided her all day because I can’t stand the way the buttons of her green blouse tease me. It’s like they’re begging my fingers to undo one or two or the whole row. Shirts like that have no place in my workshop, but neither does Lucy because she’s under my skin now.
I want a taste of her, and following my own rule is fucking with my head.
That Andrew obviously wants a taste of her too—well, it does crazy shit to my mood.
“She’s not into bondage and crops if that’s what you’re asking,” I eventually say. Though I’ve imagined her in both scenarios. Numerous times. “And she won’t be coming back to Bailon’s place.”
“That’s a shame. My assistant will be in touch about that order.”
Sure she will. For all their money, he and his wife are cheap—that’s why they come to B’s parties. So they won’t have to host their own. “Looking forward to it.” Wanker. I shove my phone into my pocket and take one more look at the table. It’s close to being done, but it’s Friday night. I need a drink or four to take my mind off big hazel eyes and that ass that’s invaded my thoughts for the last few weeks.
When I walk by her office on the way to mine, though, I pause.
She’s still at her desk, ogling her laptop like she’s been sent a nude photo of that talentless actor she and Daisy were going on about at lunch the other day. “What are you still doing here?” I demand, swinging her door open. “It’s six-thirty. Shouldn’t you be out?”
Having fun. Meeting somebody new. Letting him touch you in all the ways I’ve wanted to.
Fuck, what am I doing to myself?
“No plans tonight.” She smiles and taps her fingers on the edges of her screen. "How did you get started with all this? With EXtreme?"
I walk around her desk and sit on the edge, resting one hand on the surface for support and using the other to tug at the neck of my white tee. It’s filthy from being in the shop all day, and she fixes her stare on the dirt. Licks her lips.
My cock hates when she does that because it’s almost like an invitation.
"Why do you want to know?" I ask.
"For the website. People like to know the history of the company. Believe it or not, it drives interest through the roof." My brows shoot up, so she turns her laptop until the screen is facing me. While I study the design, she holds her breath in anticipation. I should be holding mine too because of her scent. Smelling like that, she should be bent over this desk—not behind it. "My friend Andi sent me the mock-up earlier. Do you like it?" she asks tentatively.
Her friend’s name is too close to that shithead Andrew’s for comfort, and I can’t stop my scowl from forming.
"If it gets us out there, you could have rows of cocks and pussies in the background, and I wouldn't give a damn.” But I like it. It’s simplistic, stark black and white, and it fits my company to a T. I glance away from the screen to find her glaring at me, poking her tongue in her cheek. That sort of look shouldn’t be so damn tempting, but on her it is. All it brings to mind is sex—sweat and more vicious stares because the nasty things I’d say to her would make her flush from her head to her sweet cunt.
Christ, I need that drink now.
It’s the only way I’ll get her out of my head.
Gently, I push her computer back toward her. "It's perfect. I particularly like that little logo thing at the very top. We’ll have to get that on our business cards."
She beams and releases an uncharacteristic squeal of delight that makes me laugh. In the fifteen or so years I’ve known Lucy Williams, this is the first time she’s abandoned her icy facade. It looks good on her. Like everything else.
"Sorry, I just figured you'd say you loathed it and call me a git." When I snort, she puts on her work face and continues, "The only thing I need is your history because Andi wants to include it on the site. You know, what made you start EXtreme Effects in the first place."
I grin. "Are you sure you can handle the truth?" She sucks in a breath and nods. I can guess what she’s thinking—that she’ll need to bleach her ears after she hears what I have to say, so I decide not to make her blush. Though I want to. I can resist Lucy Williams all I want, but I’ll never get tired of seeing her skin turn that delicious shade of pink beneath my words.
"I dated a webcam girl about eight years ago. She was always looking for new ways to draw in customers, and I was good at making things. I started tinkering around in my uncle's shop and came up with new playthings for her to use on camera."
When I say that word—playthings—her posture changes. Her back straightens, tits push forward, and I can’t resist sliding closer to her. I breathe her in and she swallows hard. "So that was when you started selling your ... work?"
"That's when I decided to go to school. After Leah and I broke up—because she was crazy as fuck and played far too many games—I still made props and toys for her." She wets her full lips with the tip of her tongue, and my mouth quirks at the sight. Does she have any idea how badly I want to throw my own rule out the window every time she does that? "Just because she was a crazy girlfriend doesn't mean she was an awful friend. Since she no longer had anything to be jealous about, she started sending her friends my way for ... merchandise. That’s how I met Sonora."
"And then you started the company?"
"If you don't stop interrupting me, Williams…" I start, but stop myself. She won’t like what I’m thinking—that I have ways to make her shut up, the easiest being her back against the wall and the hardest being her over my knee and my handprint on her ass. Both will lead to a path I shouldn’t take with her. “Like I told you before, I planned on getting a job with my uncle, but then I inherited money."