A Not So Meet Cute

“I have a question,” Breaker says as he takes a seat in my office, JP following close behind him.

“What?” I ask, exhausted from the day I’ve had.

“Are you trying to make sure Lottie absolutely abhors you?”

“She already does. I don’t have to do anything to achieve that,” I say while exiting out of my inbox and turning off my computer for the night.

“Ever thought about getting her to, I don’t know . . . like you?” Breaker asks.

“Why would I want her to like me? This is a business arrangement. There’s nothing more there.”

“He doesn’t mean it like . . . sexually,” JP says. “But don’t you think it would be easier to work with each other if you weren’t at each other’s throats?”

“Probably,” I answer.

“So then why are you pissing her off every chance you get?” Breaker asks. “What you did this afternoon?” He shakes his head. “Brutal, man.”

“Yeah, I actually felt bad for the sister. She looked defeated,” JP adds.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I say. “Bower called. That’s who I’ve been working with since I left the conference room.”

Breaker perks up. “Everything okay in New York?”

I shake my head. Bower is our site manager; he only calls off schedule if something is wrong. “No. He was calling to tell me there was an electrical fire at the Ninety-Fifth Street location. Fire department was called, building evacuated, a few guys had to be evacuated by the FDNY.” I press my hand to my forehead. “It was a goddamn nightmare. I spent the entire afternoon reaching out to all staff affected to ensure they were okay.”

“Shit.” Breaker drags his hand over his mouth. “Any serious injuries?”

“Two men have third-degree burns on their arms but they seem to be in good spirits. Everyone else is fine, thankfully.”

“Christ,” JP says. “Did we send something?”

I nod. “Yes, sent something to the hospital. One of the guys loves a certain type of pizza on Ninth Street and the other guy is obsessed with Gray’s Papaya. I made sure to send them both dinner, along with some cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. I also sent their families something as well. Karla will be taking care of dinners for the crew for the week. I’ve contacted insurance to let them know what’s going on.” I lean back in my chair. “I’ll have Karla set up another appointment with Kelsey, because I’m quite interested to see what she can do for the company and possibly future offices.”

“Seems as though she has an interesting business,” JP says.

Breaker chuckles. “I think you were more interested in her . . .”

My brow raises as I swivel toward JP. “Is that so?”

He shrugs. “She was hot.”

“He was thinking more than she was just hot. I caught him writing J and K Forever on a Post-it in his office.”

“Fuck off, I was not,” JP says. “I mentioned to Breaker that she was hot and left it at that, and now he’s dreaming up some bullshit in his head.”

“Could you imagine?” Breaker asks. “Brothers getting married to sisters? That’s a fun story.”

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind,” I say as I stand from my desk. “Marriage is not for me, let alone to someone like Lottie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Breaker asks, standing as well.

I put my phone in an inner pocket of my suit jacket and slip my wallet into my pants pocket. “She’s a mess. Disorderly, a loose cannon, and too erratic for my liking. She’s a total wild card, and I don’t need that in my life.”

Breaker smiles. “I think you do. You’re such an uptight asshole, and she might be able to loosen you up.”

“There will be no loosening.” We leave my office and head toward the elevators. The floor is quiet; we’re the last to leave. We might have a billion-dollar enterprise, but we understand what it takes to make sure employees are happy, and that means making sure they all go home to their families at five.

JP presses the down button on the elevator. “I think if anyone needs a Lottie in their life, it’s you.”

I pierce him with my gaze. “Don’t even start with that shit, okay?”

“He’s right,” Breaker says. “Just from the small glimpse I caught, she looks like a spitfire, and I’d very much enjoy watching her drive you nuts.”

“She already drives me nuts.”

The elevator doors open and we step inside. “I don’t know. I think there’s something there,” JP says. “Did you see it, Breaker?”

Breaker nods his head. “I did.”

“You both are so full of shit.”

We ride the elevator to our private parking garage, and when the doors part, I don’t bother to wait for my brothers as I head to my car.

“It was the way you looked at her when she got off the elevator, when she approached you in the conference room, and when she sat on your lap,” JP calls out. “There was heat in your eyes.”

Ignoring him, I unlock my car and get in. The last thing I need is my two idiot brothers putting ideas in my head. There’s nothing but a platonic partnership happening between me and Lottie.

Do I find her attractive? I’d be blind not to. She’s fucking beautiful, but I can look past that.

And did she look fine as hell in her form-fitting dress today? Yeah, she really fucking did, but once again, I can look past that because I’m a professional and I know how to separate attraction and business.

A knock on my window startles me. Breaker is standing right outside my car. I roll down the window and say, “I don’t fucking like her, okay?”

Breaker smiles and leans down so his arms rest on my door. “I wasn’t going to say anything about that, but your defensive tone isn’t making a solid case.” I’m about to roll up the window when he stops me and adds, “Make sure Karla makes that appointment. I feel really fucking bad about skipping out on their presentation. We don’t do shit like that.”

“I know.”

“And make sure Lottie knows it. Explain to her what happened.”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

Breaker nods. “She does. She needs to be able to trust you, Hux. If this is going to work, both of you are going to have to drop the hate and learn to work with each other more harmoniously. If you can’t, sooner or later Dave is going to see right through it and you’re going to lose everything you worked toward. And I know that’s the last thing you want.”

I think back to the conference room and say, “She did give off the wrong energy, even when she was attempting to be the doting fiancée.”

Breaker nods again. “You’ve got to let up, man. I know you like to keep personal and business separate, but I think this is a time when you can’t do that. You have to show her you’re human, or else it’s never going to work.”

And that’s what I’m afraid of—showing her who I really am—because even though I’ll deny my interest in her, I know a part of me, deep down inside, knows if I got to know her, if she got to know me, there might be something there.

Mixing personal with business is a huge risk. Lines get blurred, promises get lost, and it never works out, ever. It’s why I need to keep my distance, why we both need to keep our distance.

“I’ll give it some thought,” I say, even though I know I won’t.

All it took was one meal with Lottie, one meal at Chipotle, and I knew she was different. I knew she could be trouble. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. Filter free, she says what’s on her mind, she shows no remorse toward her messiness, she’s outgoing and up for anything, and there’s no holding back with her. It’s why I need to remain stoic, why I need to continue to keep space between us; if I don’t, I know I’ll be wrecked in the end.

Lottie could wreck me. But there’s no way in hell I’m telling my brother that. He’s far too insightful, damn him.

“WILL MISS LOTTIE BE JOINING YOU?” Reign asks.

I nod. “Yes, she’s just finishing up on something.” I glance down at the homemade pizza and say, “This looks amazing.”

“Thank you. I also made some dark chocolate raspberry mousse for dessert. I’ll bring it out when you tell me you’re ready. Until then, it’s chilling in the fridge.”

“Thank you, Reign.” He takes off, and I reach for my phone. I texted Lottie five minutes ago, letting her know dinner was ready. I haven’t seen her since I’ve been home. From what I could tell, she came home and went straight to her room, where she’s been hiding out ever since. There’s no doubt the last thing she wants to do is eat dinner with me, especially after everything that happened today, but she needs to eat.

I’m about to stand from my chair and get her myself when she descends the stairs. She’s wearing one of the silk robes I had purchased for her. This one matches her eyes, a deep jade green. As she takes the last few steps down, I watch the slit of the robe ride up her tanned bare leg. My eyes travel to her waist, where the tie is cinched tightly, accentuating her petite frame, and then my eyes land on her breasts, which gently sway as she makes it to the main level.

There’s no mistake—she’s not wearing anything under that robe.

When her eyes meet mine, she says, “I was taking a bath when you texted.” Her voice is monotone, devoid of any life. Her eyes are sullen, and even though she looks tempting in that robe, she isn’t strutting with confidence like she normally does.

Breaker’s words come back to hit me hard in the chest.

You have to show her you’re human, or else it’s never going to work.

Lottie pulls out her chair and takes a seat. She doesn’t acknowledge the place setting, me, or even the food. Instead, she unfolds her napkin, sets it on her lap, and then picks up her fork and knife and cuts a small piece of pizza. I watch as her lips form an O shape and she blows on the steaming pizza.

There’s no humor, no anger, just . . . nothing . . . to her personality. It’s almost as if the bath she just took washed away any remnants of the Lottie I’ve come to know over the past few days.

The spice is gone.

The hatred is gone.

The arguing is nowhere to be seen.

She’s hollow.

Did I do that to her?

And even though she’s grated on my nerves for what’s felt like every goddamn second she’s been around, I’d take that over this Lottie any day.

I think today broke her, and that doesn’t settle well with me. I may be a ruthless bastard at times, but this . . . this doesn’t feel right.

The rules I’ve set firmly in place when it comes to business waver as I feel an inherent need to tell her what happened today, to bring back some of the life that’s vanished from her eyes. “It was an important phone call I needed to take.” My eyes fall to her, looking for any sort of reaction.

“I’m sure,” she says quietly, but her tone has an edge to it, as if she doesn’t believe me.

I don’t need to explain myself. I don’t owe her any sort of explanation regarding my work and how I conduct business, but I still find my gut churning. I want to see that fire in her eyes again.

“Aren’t you going to ask what could possibly be more important than your sister?”

She glances in my direction, those cut-down eyes moving over my face for a brief second before they return to her food. “Why would I ask that? I already know the answer.”

“And what would that be?” I ask.

“That it’s none of my business.” She sets her fork and knife down and says, “I know where I stand in your scale of importance, Huxley. Explanation is not needed.”

She pushes from the table, stands, and heads toward the stairs.

“You’re not done with your dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” she says as she walks up the stairs, her robe billowing away from her legs.

She’s just going to leave like that?

With nothing else to say?

No fire?

No snarky comment?

No furious glance in my direction?

That won’t do.

Eyes still fixed on the stairs, my mind whirls with what to do. I’ve never dealt with emotion when it comes to business, so I’m in uncharted territory here. But I hate to admit Breaker might be right. I need Lottie to be a solid participant in this scheme, and if she’s upset, I’m not sure she’ll be willing to work with me the way I need her to.

But how the fuck do I make her happy without getting too involved?

I blow out a heavy breath of frustration and then push away from the table and charge up the stairs behind her. Not sure what I’m going to do, but I can’t let her walk away like that.

She’s almost to her room when I catch up to her. “You can’t go to bed hungry,” I say, unsure of what else to say.

“I can do whatever the hell I want,” she says, a touch of that edge coming back to her voice.

That’s what I wanted to hear. A snappy response. Keep pressing, Hux.

Reaching out, I take her hand and pull her back before she can go any farther. She whips around to face me, her expression registering shock. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asks, that spark in full force now.

Better.

“Reminding you who’s in charge.”

She attempts to yank her hand away, but instead of letting go, I lift her hand up and press it against the wall behind her.

Her eyes widen as I keep her hand held tightly above her.

“No need to remind me who’s in charge. Your obscene inability to care about others is quite clear. What you say, goes.”

“Is that so?” I ask, wanting to push her further, wanting to drag that personality back out. So, I grip her hip with my free hand and steady her against the wall. “Then how come you’re always testing me?”

“How do I test you?” she asks. Her chest heaves as it rises and falls at a more rapid rate.

“Do you consider this proper dinner attire?” I ask her, playing with the tie of her robe, gauging her reaction as something comes over me. Something . . . primal.

But this primal side seems to draw out her personality. It seems to breathe life back into her snarky self.

And that’s what I want.

I want Lottie back.

I understand this is crossing the line—touching her, pinning her against the wall like this—but seeing her so sullen, so defeated, awoke something inside of me. I don’t handle situations like this well, I don’t know how to cheer someone up—that’s obvious from the way I’m pressing her buttons rather than showing empathy—but my brain doesn’t seem to work the way it needs to.

“Wasn’t aware there was a dress code for dinner.” She glances at my suit pants and rolled-up dress shirt. “Was it business casual? Would you prefer it if I wore my dress instead?”

“I would prefer it if you came back downstairs and finished dinner.”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” she shoots back.

Talking sternly, I say, “And I see that as an excuse to not be around me. It was business, Lottie. Nothing you need to take personally.”

“Not take personally?” she retorts. “Jesus, I’m so sick of you saying that bullshit.” She goes to move, but I hold her in place. “It’s hard not to take everything you do personally when there’s emotion attached to it for me. I can’t be so black and white like you. I have feelings, Huxley.”

“Then tell me what you’re feeling.”

Her chin lifts. “You can’t handle what I’m feeling.”

“Try me.”

She pauses.

Studies me.

Then . . .

She wets her lips. “Fine. I’m mad at myself for getting involved in this mess. I’m mad that I fucked up my sister’s meeting today, one that she worked hard preparing for, given the short notice. I’m furious that I don’t have enough courage to tell my mom that she was right, that I never should’ve taken that job with Angela. I hate that my pride is more important than the truth. And most of all”—her eyes scan me up and down—“I’ve never despised someone as much as I despise you. I think you’re cold, baseless, and have no regard for anyone but yourself. I hate that I have to rely on you, that you need to rely on me, and most importantly”—she catches her breath and her fingers curl around my hand that’s pinning her arm to the wall—“I hate that I think you’re even remotely attractive.”

A light sheen of sweat breaks out at the nape of my neck as I feel this urge to pull her forcibly toward me.

I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I’ve noticed her wandering eyes, but she’s never voiced her appreciation before.

And, fuck, it makes me feel weak. Weak enough to succumb . . .

“You don’t need to be angry. Your sister will get another chance. I told you, the phone call was important.” My tone is clipped as I watch her lips part ever so slightly, just enough to entice me.

Enough to drive me wild. Just enough to make my will slip.

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice is firm yet soft, and the sound of it pounds another crack into my wall.

My hand presses harder against her hip.

My thumb strokes the soft fabric of the robe.

And to my satisfaction, a low, almost inaudible moan falls past her lips.

“Karla should’ve already contacted your sister about setting up another meeting.” The push and pull between us intensifies as my fingers itch to touch her more, to slip under her robe. “It’s done. As for your guilt about not telling your mom the truth, that’s on you and none of my goddamn business.”

I grip her hand tighter, the one that’s pinned against the wall, and when her fingers curl around mine, another part of me becomes unhinged. The need for this woman pummels me, and I can feel myself holding on by a thread.

Continuing, I say, “And your hatred for me . . . you should know that hatred isn’t mutual.”

Her piercing eyes match mine. Her voice wavers as she says, “You’ve only ever expressed distaste for me.” But that waver in her voice doesn’t match the boldness in her actions as she takes hold of my hand resting on her hip and slowly shifts it inward . . .

Until my fingers tangle with the tie of her robe.

Don’t fucking tempt me.

I may be able to separate business and pleasure, but when the line starts to blur, when my mind feels foggy and confused, there may not be any stopping me.

And I feel confused.

I feel so goddamn foggy.

My body hums with indecision, the wrong decision pulling me closer and closer to her.

“I’ve expressed annoyance, frustration, irritation, but not hate. You’re the one who has expressed hate.” My finger toys with the silk ribbon. “I have no problem with you.”

“Liar,” she says.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“You haven’t given me reason to,” she says. Her hand glides up my chest, stopping at my shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

My teeth roll over my bottom lip as I gently tug on the tie of her robe.

She doesn’t protest.

Instead, her body moves closer to mine.

Fuck. My control is barely hanging on; it’s teetering, ready to snap.

Ready to combust.

“Have I gone back on anything I’ve said?”

“No,” she says breathlessly, her chest arching away from the wall. The movement pulls at the fabric of the robe. My eyes slide down to her chest, where the lapels of the robe dance dangerously open. Hell, what do those gorgeous tits look like bare? Are they sensitive? If I brought them into my mouth, would she moan in satisfaction?

Unable to hold back, I tug on the tie one more time, loosening one end. The small opening teases me, tempts me even further. It ignites the fire pulsing through my veins.

Fuck, what are you doing, Huxley?

Something you shouldn’t be doing.

But, fuck, she’s so tempting. I know there’s nothing under this robe, nothing but her smooth body. I glance down at her breasts, and I’m rewarded to see her pebbled nipples rubbing against the silk of the fabric. They’re so small, so goddamn sexy.

Attempting to focus on our conversation, I say, “So if I’ve never gone back on anything I’ve promised so far, why no trust?”

Her hand floats to the back of my neck, where she slowly plays with the short strands of my hair. “Because you’re deceitful.”

“Normally, I’m not.” My fingers itch to tug on the tie one more time so the robe opens. But I hold still.

“Excuse me if I can’t take your word for it.”

Rolling my teeth over my lips, I ask, “Okay, so how can I prove it to you that you can trust me?”

Her eyes become heady as she removes her hand from my neck and runs it up her body, to the gape of fabric barely covering her chest. Tantalizing me, her fingers caress her cleavage. My goddamn mouth waters. “Don’t go back on your promises.”

“But I haven’t.”

Her eyes connect with mine, and she says, “Even your silent ones.” Then, to my surprise, she undoes her robe, the sides fall open, exposing the centerline of her body.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

In seconds, I grow hard. But instead of walking away or mauling her, I decide to torture myself and slowly take her in, starting at her chest, where the robe hangs on to her breasts, barely covering them, tormenting me. Then my hungry eyes move down her taut stomach to her completely smooth pussy. My mouth waters from the sight of her. She’s only offering a brief preview, but it’s enough to drive me crazy. To push me over the goddamn edge.

She’s testing me. She’s seeing how far I’ll go.

Little does she know . . .

I started this.

I was the one who pinned her against the wall.

I was the one who pulled on the tie.

And I’m the one who should finish this.

“Just what I thought,” she says. “You can’t follow through on what you start. Like the business meeting.”

“I told you, I couldn’t prevent what happened today.”

“You could’ve, you chose not to.”

My teeth grind.

“And right now, I’m standing here, almost completely naked in front of you. Isn’t that what you wanted? To control me? To control my body? And instead of following through, you go still.”

Is she fucking kidding me right now?

She thinks I’m all talk?

How little she knows me.

“Not still, Lottie.” I step closer. “Stiff. I go fucking stiff.” With that, I slide my hand onto her bare hip, continuing to keep her hand pinned above her head.

She gasps from my abrupt touch, and when I slide my hand to her backside and down that sweet ass of hers, she nibbles on her bottom lip.

“And I didn’t start this,” I say, even though I did. “You showed up to dinner, wearing nothing but this robe.”

“I showed up yesterday in a negligee. How is this different?”

I float a finger near her crack as I move my hand north, to her lower back, where I grip her tightly, pulling her close to me.

“This was intentional.”

“As much as you’d like to believe it, Huxley, it is not my intention to try to turn you on. It’s to spend as little time with you as possible.”

“Then why aren’t you leaving now?” I ask, bringing my hand to the front of her body, and I smoothly drag my fingers to just above her pelvic bone. A wave of lust hits her—it’s in her eyes, in the way she gently shifts, spreading her legs slightly.

“Calling your bluff,” she answers. “You’d never touch me—”

“Touch you like what?” I ask as my finger slides over her aroused slit.

She sucks in a sharp breath as her head falls back to the wall and her pelvis sticks out.

“Touch you like this?” I sweep another finger, but this time I slide deeper, connecting against her clit. Fuck. She’s so soft. “Because never underestimate what I won’t do.” Watching how responsive her body is to my touch, I say, “Tell me you want more.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’d never give you that satisfaction.”

“I see.” Two can play this game. Keeping her pinned, I stare down at her smooth pussy as I bring two fingers together and slide them up and down her slit, allowing her clit to catch between them. I gently squeeze and pulse.

“Oh God,” she whispers. Her head whips to the side and her grip on my hand grows tighter.

I pulse my fingers, teasing her entrance. She spreads just a little wider for me and I take that as an invitation. I slip one finger inside her.

Fuck yes, she’s tight.

And wet.

Really fucking wet.

Moving in closer, my lips are tempted to press against her heated skin, but I refrain. This is about proving a point. This is about showing her exactly what I can do to her body with just my hand.

I drag my finger out and then smooth my thumb over her clit. She sucks in a hiss of breath as I apply more pressure and make small, circular motions.

“Yes,” she whispers, her hips begging for more. But I keep my touch light, allowing the gentle pressure I have on her to drive her nuts.

Slow circles.

Round and around.

Building her.

Climbing her.

Driving her crazy.

Her teeth drag over her bottom lip. Her chest heaves, her robe barely covering her tits now. Any sharp movement and I’ll see all of her. And the grip she has on me, on my hand, is so tight that there might be bruises in the morning.

But it’ll be worth it.

Because watching her like this—submitting to me, letting me touch her, bring her to her peak—it’s all fucking worth it.

“More,” she whispers. “Give me more.”

Just what I wanted to fucking hear. I release her hand, and before she can protest, I turn her around so she’s facing the wall, both hands splayed out as her cheek lands lightly against the white surface. From behind, I cup her pussy and pull her ass against my crotch so she can feel how hard I am.

Her raspy gasp brings me pleasure as I slide my finger across her clit again and again.

“Do you hate me right now?” I ask her, toying with the little nub, making her entire body tremble against mine.

“More now than ever.”

“Because I know how to bring you pleasure?” I ask, my lips pressing against her ear.

“Yes.” I slide two fingers inside her now. She lets out a low moan.

“You wish that I wasn’t fucking you with my fingers right now?”

I start to pull them out but she lets out a protest. “No, I do.”

“You do, what?” I ask, my cock so goddamn hard that it’s pressing painfully against the zipper of my pants.

“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

With my other hand, I smooth up the column of her neck and tilt her head back so I’m talking directly into her ear. “So, you hate me, but you want to fuck me.” My thumb presses down on her clit and she lets out a strangled gasp. “How close are you?”

“Close,” she whispers, her body shaking under my hold. “So close.”

“Good,” I say, just before removing my hand from her pussy.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Her confused gasp gives me great pleasure.

“Why should I give you an orgasm, Lottie? Why should I finish you off?”

“Because you’re a bastard if you don’t.” Her palms flatten against the wall as her head bends forward. Every muscle, every fiber of her being is tense.

I work my finger over her clit again, watching carefully as she tenses more, her back arching. I want to bring her to the edge, to the point where she’s about to fall over. “You already think I’m a bastard, so what does it matter? You think the worst of me, Lottie. If I let you come, you will still think the worst about me.”

“But at least I’ll know you can command my body. And isn’t that what you want? Control?”

She knows how to talk to me, she knows what I like to hear, and that’s scary. Because, yes, I do want control. I want her to lay her eyes on me and heat up. I want her to crave me when I walk into the room. And I know I shouldn’t, I know this is strictly business, but she unleashed something inside me tonight. And now I feel . . . desperate.

“Tell me.” I pinch her clit, evoking a loud moan from her. “When I walk into the room, does your body heat up?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but takes a second to catch her breath. “No,” she finally says.

Pressing my entire body against hers, I ask, “Why the hell not?”

“Because,” she gasps as I rub her clit between my fingers. “Fuck,” she mutters, her breath heavy. “Because I don’t know how . . . how hard you can make me come.”

“Is that a challenge?” I ask her, releasing her clit and causing her to nearly collapse against my chest. Her entire body shakes, and I know she’s right where I want her to be. She’s right where I need her.

“It’s a request,” she says, her voice so full of vulnerability that my idea of edging her to her orgasm and leaving her there to finish herself off slips from my mind. Although I’d love to see her beg, plead, and then storm off in anger—knowing she’ll use one of those vibrators to make herself come—I want her to know that she’s right, that I do command her body.

I move my hand back to her pussy, but I just cup her, making sure to keep my hand still despite the way she shakes beneath me.

“Listen to me, Lottie.” When she doesn’t acknowledge me, I grip her tighter. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly.

“I wasn’t going to let you come, I was going to edge you out until you were crying, begging for more, but your lack of trust or even regard for me is disconcerting.” I press my lips right against her ear as I start to pulse my finger over her clit. “I’m a good man. You might not see it now, but you will.”

“This won’t change anything,” she says.

“That’s a boldfaced lie,” I say as her legs tighten around my hand and her body stiffens even more. “This will change everything. You might still hate me, you might still not want to look at me, but you’ll damn well know, you fucking crave me.”

I apply more pressure and move faster and faster until she clamps around me and moans against the wall as her pelvis rocks across my finger.

She comes.

And she comes hard. My hand is soaked by her arousal, and she grinds against me, her moans muffled by the wall. She rides out her orgasm and every spasm until there’s nothing left inside of her to give.

I pull my hand away and spin her back around, planting her back against the wall. I tilt her chin up so her eyes meet mine, and that’s when I drag my finger that was just teasing her pussy across my tongue. Her eyes turn heady as she watches me taste every last inch of my fingers.

“You’re fucking delicious.” I reach for the sash of her robe and tie the two ends together, closing off the view of her delectable body. “If Karla doesn’t set up another appointment with your sister, let me know. I’ll make sure her pitch is heard.” I cup her cheek, studying those mesmerizing eyes of hers. “Have a good night, Lottie.”

Still hungry—now for the fucking incredible taste of her—I release her and return to the dining room. I can smell her on my fingers. On my hand. I can taste her on my tongue. As if she’s still millimeters from my lips. And I want to taste her some more. I want to fuck her against that wall.

She’s. Not. For. You.

My mind races with what she might be thinking. Does she want me? Does she still hate me?

Do I still want her to hate me?