“I hadn’t noticed.”
A knock came on the cabin door and Claire pulled away like a teenager caught mid-make-out by her parents. Nancy entered with an empty rolling cart. “We’re on our way back to the harbor, Mr. Anderson.” With the speed of a snail, she began clearing the dishes to the cart. “Do you need anything else?”
Yeah. He needed her to clear the table some other time. He sighed, knowing it would hurt her feelings to send her away. He took Claire’s hands and twined his fingers through hers. “No. I have everything I need right now, thank you.”
After what felt like an eternity, and a bear hug for both of them from Nancy, they found themselves alone again.
“Do you dance?” he asked.
“Not really, but I can fake it.”
“I can’t imagine you faking anything.” He pushed play on the sound system and smooth, jazzy music filled the room. He slid his arms around her and swayed to the music. She looped her arms around his neck and relaxed in his embrace, making him heat up until he thought he might go up in flames. He ran a hand up her back and down again, pressing her closer. “I want you, Claire.”
Her response was to push harder against him. He made a low, growling sound and ran his hands over her ass, pressing her to him so that there was no doubt about how turned on he was.
With a soft moan, she slid her hands around his waistline and unbuttoned his jeans, and then ran her fingers just inside the waistband of his boxer briefs. He no longer swayed, but his chest heaved in time to the song.
“Claire.” It almost sounded like a plea. Hell, it was a plea.
She met his eyes and slid his zipper down.
He closed his eyes and took several anticipatory breaths as she slipped her hands inside his pants.
“Mr. Anderson?” A knock on the door followed.
She froze and Will cursed.
“I hate to interrupt you, but we’ve arrived back at the harbor,” T.J. called from outside.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“And both of your brothers have called me…more than once. Michael says it’s urgent he speak with you. He’s holding the line on my phone now.”
“Fuck,” Will gritted out under his breath.
Claire slid her hands out of his pants and he caught her fingers, pulled them to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. “We’re not done here,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”
She grinned and her face flushed red.
He adjusted himself and zipped his jeans. “Tell him I’ll call him when I get back to the office. The world won’t stop spinning before then. And tell him if he’d text, none of this would be necessary and I wouldn’t have to kick his ass when he comes home.”
“I’ll leave the world spinning, texting, and ass-kicking out of it, but I’ll pass that on. Your car is waiting.”
“Thanks, T.J.” He couldn’t believe that Michael had blown what promised to be the best hand job in history. He was lucky he was in another country where Will couldn’t get to him in person.
Claire picked her purse up from the table by the door, face still passion-flushed and lips swollen from their kisses.
“This meeting is not adjourned, Miss Maddox,” he said. “We simply need to relocate the negotiations to a more favorable venue.”
“You’re the boss,” she said with a grin.
Chapter Eight
Anticipation made Claire dizzy as they walked hand in hand down the pier to the waiting limo. Jacob opened the door and they tumbled inside laughing like drunk teenagers.
She stopped giggling when he slid from the facing seat and stalked on his hands and knees like a panther toward where she sat in the opposite corner. There was just enough illumination from the running lights to see his pupils dilate with desire as he got closer.
He slipped into the seat beside her. “There is a strict protocol on how we’ll open every business meeting for the Claire Project.”
Her breath caught when he gently slid her glasses off and set them in on a console behind them. “You appear to have everything planned out, Mr. Anderson.”
“I’m excellent at planning—one of the best. And I would like to point out that our mobile boardroom is completely private. Jacob can neither see nor hear us.” He poured champagne for both of them. “Every negotiation should be launched with a heavy make-out session in the back of the company limousine. Don’t you agree?” He held up his glass and clinked it against hers.
“Well.” She tilted her head and pretended to consider his question seriously. “It would depend who was on the project team, because if you’re talking about that big guy from accounting who wears the bow ties, that’s a deal-killer for me.”
“For me, too. He’s not my type.”
Giggling, and feeling as bubbly as the champagne, she leaned so close their noses bumped. “I believe we should read back the minutes from our meeting so far.”
With a grin, he put both of their glasses in the cup holders in his door. “You have the floor, Miss Maddox.”