Letting out a reluctant sigh, she nods her agreement and stands when Michael returns from speaking with Gabe.
She turns back toward the table and offers me a smile and my heart flip-flops in my chest.
Be careful, Savage. This one will hurt you.
“Goodnight, Savage. Thank you for dinner.” She leans down and kisses me gently on the cheek, her warm breath lingering against my skin before she pulls away. Goosebumps spread down my arms and my already painfully hard dick throbs against my pants.
I want to grab her and yank her down into my lap so I can devour her mouth, but I restrain myself, instead smiling at her, telling her how much I enjoyed our evening with as much composure as I can muster.
I track her progress across the restaurant to the bar, where Michael introduces her to Gabe. He tosses me a wave over his shoulder, and she glances back at me before disappearing out the front door. The moment she vanishes from my sight, my heart sinks and I bite out a curse.
This woman could break me—easily—and I am more than willing to let her.
I lean back in my seat and run my hands through my hair with a groan.
Angelo drops into the seat Danika just vacated and raises his eyebrows. We’ve known each other for years and our post-dinner, closing-time chats have usually been very lighthearted and relaxing. Tonight, the look on his face says this one will be anything but. Probably because she’s the first woman I’ve brought here in over four years.
“What?” I ask before draining my wine glass.
“How did it go?”
Twirling the empty glass in my hand, I give him the play-by-play of the last several hours, including Danika’s slips of the tongue and adorable blushing incidents. “So, great, I guess.”
“You guess?” he asks skeptically. “It sure sounds like it couldn’t have gone better, so what am I missing?”
I let out a deep sigh and place the glass on the table before dropping my face into my hands—anything to avoid looking him in the eye when I tell him. “She doesn’t know.”
I knew she wouldn’t find anything when she researched me. I pay my lawyers a lot of money to keep my personal business out of the papers.
He releases a long breath and whistles before he gives a humorless chuckle. “Then, my friend, you have a major problem.”
Understatement of the fucking year.
I lie in bed staring at the clock on my nightstand, mentally counting back two hours to figure out what time it is in California. 2:00 a.m. here means midnight there.
Fuck. Do I call him?
Not if I don’t want to look desperate.
It’s only been two days since I saw him last.
Calm your tits and give it a little time.
I roll onto my back, sprawling across the bed, and stare at the ceiling fan, watching the paddles spin round and round until I get dizzy and have to clench my eyes shut. Sleep has been elusive since my dinner with Savage. If I get any at all, it’s fitful and short, and I end up having to bust out BOB to fulfill my middle of the night needs the Savage sex dreams create.
After his buddy, Gabe, dropped me off at my apartment on Saturday night, I tried to go to bed immediately. I figured after three bottles of wine, I was wasted enough to crash right away. But, instead, I spent most of the night replaying every word we said to each other and thinking about every heated look he threw at me. Mostly, though, I thought about how his eyes and his mouth looked when he told me he wanted to bury his face between my legs and stick his tongue in my pussy.
Who the fuck talks like that? Savage Hawke, apparently.
My pussy clenches and my clit throbs just remembering that look when he said it. I have no doubt that man would know exactly what to do if I ever let him between my legs. I press my thighs together, but it’s no use. Two nights of masturbating thinking about Savage have not been enough to ease the deep ache he put there.
Work hasn’t helped either. I thought maybe concentrating on my story on top of my daily assignments—really exhausting myself and staying late—would help keep my mind off that man, but it was futile. Flashes of his smile, his strong hands, the brush of his lips against my skin, the smell of his cologne when I kissed him goodnight, they just kept coming until I finally gave up and gave in to the fantasy.
I glance at the clock again—2:09 a.m.
Nine minutes? Fuck. It felt like nine hours.
Mentally slapping myself, I reach out and grab a pillow, pressing it over my face to muffle my frustrated scream.
Don’t give in. Don’t give him the power.