The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

The moment between us grew more intense the longer we remained, and for a split second, I entertained the idiotic idea of letting the sheet ‘accidentally’ slip from my grasp.

I couldn’t tell if she hoped for that to happen . . . or if I just wanted her to.

Desire wasn’t new to me. In the past, I followed it wherever it led. But the lust coiling inside me now? It was more powerful than anything I’d had in a long time. It nearly knocked me sideways. Was it the same for her?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Was she apologizing for how sexy she was? Confusion washed through me. “For what?”

“The sensor malfunction. On behalf of Sovereign Systems, I’d like to formally apologize for the inconvenience. It never should have happened, and we’d like the opportunity to—”

The strange spell between us broke and dissipated as she withdrew into her professionalism, and I waved my hand to brush it off. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Ms. Mendenhall’s expression hung like I’d pulled the rug out from under her. She’d probably expected me to be angry and ream her out. And while I was exhausted and irritated, none of that was her fault. Yelling wasn’t going to undo last night, nor would it make me feel better.

“I get it,” I added. “Sometimes things break. You came as soon as you could and corrected it. That’s all I could ask for.”

Had I grown a second head? Because she peered at me like I had, and her tone was barely masked disbelief. “Right. Well, then,” she bent and retrieved the purse she’d set on the floor by the window, “we’re very grateful for your understanding, and your business.”

For a moment, she hesitated. Then she fished out a pen and pulled a business card from her wallet. I watched as she hurried to scribble something on the back side of the card.

I straightened. “Thanks for coming out so quickly, Ms. Mendenhall.”

Her pen was clicked closed and the card passed to me. “If you have any issues, or you need anything at all . . . my personal number is on the back.” Her eyes charged with heat, leaving little doubt what she was implying. Her voice softened and wavered. “And it’s Emery.”

She was nervous, and her shy smile was sexy as hell. It was incredibly risky for her to hit on a client, but she’d done it anyway, and I respected her game. I opened my mouth to reward her, only for the words to die on my tongue because Jillian’s voice crashed through my head.

I bet you wouldn’t even last a week.

The woman before me was the very definition of temptation; I could barely look at her without thinking about sex. If she’d shown up in my room a week ago, I’d have tossed her business card on my nightstand and done everything I could right then to convince her to join me in my bed.

But instead, I accepted the card and flashed a polite smile. “Thank you, Emery.” I let my gaze drift toward the door in a clear dismissal. “Have a nice day.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and her expression hung awkwardly. She hadn’t expected a rejection, and she swallowed hard as she recovered. As soon as that was done, she gave a curt nod and strode swiftly from the room.

I felt bad, but I’d made a deal with Jillian, and fucking hell—I was going to honor it.

No matter what.

THREE

EMERY

Vance Hale’s phone number was printed neatly in my notebook, and I glared at the nine digits. It’d been five days since I’d appeared in his bedroom, inappropriately fawned over him, and delivered the clear signal I was interested.

He didn’t have a girlfriend, and the attraction he felt for me was obvious. Yet he hadn’t taken the bait that morning. I’d chalked it up to him being tired and caught off guard. Except enough time had passed since . . . so why the hell hadn’t he called?

Time forced my hand. I couldn’t wait any longer.

I sucked in a deep breath and entered his number into my phone’s contacts, then composed a text message.

Me: Hello, Mr. Hale. This is Emery Mendenhall. We met earlier this week. Are you free for lunch today?

It didn’t take him long to reply.

Vance: How’d you get this number?

Me: I’d rather explain in person. I need to talk to you.

I sank the edge of my teeth into my bottom lip and waited for his response, but when it didn’t come, I typed out another message.

Me: It’s about Jillian Lambert.

He took less time to compose his reply.

Vance: Okay. I’ll be at Franklin’s at 12:30 and put your name in at the door. Do you need directions?

I knew the place and let out a sigh of relief.

Me: No. I’ll see you there.

I’d only been to Franklin’s once before. Jillian had taken me to the upscale, exclusive restaurant with bay views and entrée prices that were comparable to what I spent on a week’s worth of groceries. Today, I would suck it up and pretend the cost didn’t faze me, nor was I approaching my credit limit. I wasn’t going to blow this opportunity, especially since it’d be my only one.