“Are you worried it would turn personal?” He quirked an eyebrow. Again.
I hated that—mostly because he looked so damn hot doing it.
I shifted my body so I was facing him, trying to ignore how fucking good he looked. Seriously. It had to be illegal.
“We’re victims of circumstance, Mr. Rykman. As far as I’m concerned, our previous...dalliance...never happened.”
“Really, angel?” He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger and leaned in so his breath skittered across my skin. “Because, for something that never happened, I can remember all too well how good your tight pussy felt when you came all over my cock. Twice.”
I swallowed. So could I. And so could my pussy. She was ready to do it again, right there, right then, the greedy little slut.
I squeezed my thighs together in the hope he wouldn’t notice. “That’s inappropriate.”
“You brought it up.”
I... Shit. I did, didn’t I? “Then I apologize. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
But it was still inappropriate. So was my throbbing clit. Fuck.
His lips quirked to one side. “Apology accepted but unnecessary.” He picked my notebook up and ran his tongue over his upper lip as he read.
I knew that it was deliberate, but it didn’t stop my gaze from dropping to the slow way it swept over his lip.
I cleared my throat and looked at the stage, which ran down the middle of the club. Completing this contract was going to be harder than I’d thought.
Screwed.
That’s what I was. Screwed as fuck.
If Michelle hadn’t been in such a shit spot, I’d have called her and gotten out of this, but I couldn’t. I was trapped in this situation all because I had decided to make an on-the-spot proposal three weeks ago—one he had taken.
Now look.
I had to work with this man for as long as it took to get his club marketed as something phenomenal. This handsome, powerful, commanding man.
Well, he could dirty-talk me all he liked. He could bring up our night at every turn. I wouldn’t give in. I’d made myself the promise to focus on work and nothing else.
I trusted too easily and fell in love too quickly. My love life was one long trail of heartbreaks.
Yes—West Rykman could no doubt seduce the pants off any adult female in the world, but he wouldn’t do it me again.
“Ms. O’Halloran?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts, making me turn back to him. “Eight o’clock tonight? They don’t get going until then.”
I must have been looking at him blankly, because he continued.
“The clubs.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, that sounds fine.” I took my notebook from him and set it on the table with the pen. “Write down your e-mail, and when I get back to my apartment, I’ll send you an e-mail detailing what we’ve discussed so you can decide which points you’d like to proceed on.”
“All of them.” He scribbled his e-mail down anyway. “You have an apartment? You’re not staying on the Strip?”
I shook my head and put the pad and the pen back into my box file. “No. My boss has a low tolerance for the Strip, so the apartment she booked is a few blocks away.”
He reached into my file and, after tearing a piece of paper out of the back of the notebook, grabbed the pen and put them in front of me. “Write it down. I’ll get you tonight.”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself, thank you.” I picked my pen up but pushed the paper back to him.
“I’ll get you tonight.” He placed two fingers on top of the paper and eased it back toward me, where he held it in place.
“I said—”
“And I said I’ll get you. Don’t make me follow you back, Mia.”
“It’s Ms. O’Halloran to you.”
“It’s Mia. Now, write your address down, because you’re testing my patience, sitting there all fiery and gorgeous, and as much as you deny it, you know what happens when it goes.”
A bolt of defiance shot through me. Annoyance teased my consciousness, so I scribbled my address down then slammed my pen into the folder and closed it. I grabbed my purse and the folder and stood, smoothing my hand over my skirt.
No sooner had I turned away than I looked at him over my shoulder. He was leaning back in the booth, his gaze hot on me, and he had the scrap of paper between two of his fingers, turning it slowly.
Our gazes met, and this time, all traces of amusement were gone from his blue stare. There was only the dark tinge of lust. He was deadly serious—ironic, consider the game he’d just played.
“Oh, Mr. Rykman? One more thing.” I turned my body back to face him and bent forward, resting my hand on the table.
His eyes never left mine. Not even as my lips curved up in a dirty smirk of my own.
“I said that night didn’t happen. I never said I didn’t remember how I sucked your thick cock right before you bent me over the bed and fucked me senseless.”