Unbuttoning the CEO (21 page)

This was all getting a little too . . . deep. Fun. She was supposed to be having fun. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” To prove the truth of that statement, she edged closer to him and lifted her legs. “May I?”

“Yes, set them on my lap.”

As she did so, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. She couldn’t resist asking him about his choice of attire. “Do you always wear business suits when you’re trolling for women?”

He flashed his killer grin. “First, as I said before, I don’t troll.”

“Generally.”

With a quirk of his lips, he nodded and slipped off her shoes. “Yes, generally. And second, the answer to your question is no. I was dragged here by a friend, and before that I was at a business meeting.”

He slid her bare feet along his lap, causing her ankles to press against his muscled thighs. That would have been enough to short-circuit her brain, but he had more in store for her. He ran his fingers down her lower legs and cupped her calves, squeezing them lightly before trailing his fingers down her shins. Next, he circled the tops of her feet with the tips of his fingers, their warmth relaxing her and making her go limp. He possessed magic hands. Smooth. Strong. He kneaded her soles with them, attending to her feet with a deliberateness that led her to envision his hands in more intimate places.

“Tell me what you like,” he said.

Karen forced herself not to stutter. “Like?”

He continued to massage her toes. “Sexually.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Don’t stress. We’re just talking. Titillating discussion without having to do the walk of shame in the morning. You liked that idea, remember?”

Yes, she liked the idea, but what could she say? Hell if she knew what she liked. No one had ever bothered to worry about her pleasure, and she’d been too chicken shit to tell them what turned her on. “I’m not sure.”

His face blanched, and his hands stopped moving. “You’ve had sex before, right?”

Pfft.
Of course she had. But the experiences hadn’t been enough to shut off her brain and stop her from blurting out ill-conceived observations. “Yes, I have.”

“Tell me. I know there’s something you want to say.”

“How can you tell?”

“You dip your head to one side and rest your chin on your shoulder, like you want to bury your head in your own neck. You did it before.”

Would it be so bad to share her tics with a complete stranger? One she’d never see again? “Well, the thing is, I tend to lose my concentration during sex, too.” She shook her head, knowing she wasn’t explaining herself well. “No. It’s more like I tend to concentrate on the wrong things.”

He adjusted his body in the armchair. “Give me an example.”

Karen shifted her torso away from him and covered her face with her hands. “It’s too embarrassing.” She peeked through her fingers. “Wait. Are you a therapist or something?”

He lifted a dark brow and shook his head no. “Hardly. We’re just talking. And then you’ll go off to your life, and I’ll go off to mine.”

Right. Exactly. “Okay, here’s an example. The guy says, ‘You’re so wet,’ because, you know, they
all
say that, and then my brain takes over. I ask myself, ‘Am I? Am I, really? Or are you too small? Because I have to say, you’re starting to feel like a tampon.”

He laughed. A deep, rich laugh that made her want to join him. Her first impression of him had been replaced by this one. He wasn’t broody at all. A man who laughed like that, his neck stretched to reveal his Adam’s apple and his eyes gleaming in appreciation, could never be broody. Thoughtful, yes. Broody? No.

“And I’ll never forget the first time a guy went down on me. He lapped at me like a poodle drinking from a water bowl, and I shit you not, I mimicked his lapping noises with my own tongue. I didn’t even know I was doing it until he lifted his head.”

Mark’s shoulders shook after she shared that tidbit.

“But that’s not all,” she continued. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not supposed to articulate my thoughts, or I zone out, and before I know what’s happening, the guy, who is rightfully pissed or hurt, scrambles for the door.” She removed her feet from his grasp and set them on the floor. Staring at her toes helped her avoid his gaze. “And I feel awful. No one should feel inadequate like that, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’d love to be able to lose myself in the moment, but it’s never happened.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Someday, maybe.”

She didn’t know what reaction she’d get. Sympathy? Ridicule? Whatever she got, it wouldn’t matter. This was about her, not him, because that was the point of catharsis, after all. But when she dared to peek at his face, she nearly fell back against the chair. Lust. There it was. It seeped out of his pores. Made his slack jaw sexy. Darkened his brown eyes to black. Made his big body move with each breath he took.

“Mark?”

When he finally spoke, his voice contained a hint of gravel, a rough sound that exposed how her words had affected him. “What you said just then. Wanting passion that would make you lose all thought and admitting you’ve never experienced it? That’s like waving a flag at a bull. God, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to get you under me if that’s what you craved. To get you to the point where all you could think about was me. Us. How we fit together. How we move together.”

She wanted that, too. She hadn’t realized how much until his words had mirrored her thoughts. She burned with the need, in fact. And she squirmed in a feeble attempt to disguise the heat that suffused her. But this was crazy. They’d just met. It
had
to be the whiskey. The craziness of the night.

Shit.
Gracie. Her sister was probably searching for her now. She stood up and held on to the chair as she slipped her shoes back on. “I’ve got to rejoin my group.”

He remained seated, a telltale bulge in his crotch suggesting that standing at this juncture would be uncomfortable for him. “I’d ask for your last name, but I’m afraid if I knew it, I’d try to find you. And that’s not what this is about.” He paused. “Right?”

What she’d told him was mortifying, and despite her attraction to him, the knowledge that she’d never see him again would ensure she’d survive the embarrassment. She didn’t think long about her answer. “Right. Thanks for the talk, and have a great life, Mark.”

Her objective was simple: to infuse her stride with a dab of sexiness and a pinch of confidence. She planned to turn around and leave him with a decent memory of her, one in which she wasn’t wobbling away on three-inch stilettos. But her sister’s worried voice calling out her name rooted her to the spot.

And seconds later, Gracie skidded into her. “Jesus, Karen. You scared the shit out of me. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Still facing Mark, Karen twisted her head in her sister’s direction. “You found me. I’m fine.”

Gracie’s eyes widened when she saw that Karen wasn’t alone.

For the second time that night, a frisson of dread ran through her. Was that a hint of recognition in Gracie’s eyes? No. Fucking. Way. She’d just had one of the most embarrassing conversations ever with a man she assumed would remain a stranger. Her sister’s face, however, suggested that wasn’t the case. Karen quite literally prayed she’d read Gracie wrong.

But crap on a crostini, Gracie’s frown suddenly changed to a broad grin. “Mark? Is that you?”

Gallery owner Arianna Rose’s life is picture perfect—until her father is accused of running a massive Ponzi scheme and skips town. The media quickly casts Washington DC’s sweetheart as America’s most hated heiress. After the police ignore a violent attack on her home, Ari has only one place left to turn . . .

Taking a bullet for the president made Secret Service agent Lance Brown a national hero. His sexy smile and action-star body made him a national sex symbol. And his devotion to protecting the innocent makes him the man in charge of guarding Arianna Rose. She denies her role in her father’s crimes, but neither she nor Lance can deny the heat building between them. Together they play a dangerous game . . . only it’s not criminal—it’s carnal.

Allegra Orsini’s dreams are all coming true. She’s making her debut at the Metropolitan Opera—and marrying Davison Cabot Berkeley, the brilliant billionaire and masterful lover who’s unlocked her most secret desires. From the glittering lights of the opera hall to the sultry shadows of a honeymoon suite, Allegra has all she’s ever wanted . . . until one moment changes everything.

As despair darkens their once perfect world, Allegra pulls away from everything and everyone she’s ever loved, including Davison. But Davison refuses to give up on her—or the pure, raw passion that still burns between them. Allegra may have lost herself, but Davison knows right where she belongs, and he’s determined to prove it to her . . .

The only thing worse than a food addict falling for a chef is a food addict falling for a chef with a sex addiction. And yet somehow that’s exactly what I’ve done. With his tall, fit body, mischievous smile, and sexy Australian accent, Liam is double-chocolate gelato: a sinfully satisfying dish I can’t stop craving. He says we’re good together, that we can make each other better. But what if he’s wrong? What if we’re just feeding each other’s addictions? What if just one taste of Liam is too much?

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