“That could go on forever.”
“Interesting idea.”
Good god, Amy. Proposition much?
For a moment, I’m caught in the doorway. He’s close enough that his familiar, clean-linen scent fills my nose, reminding me of every touch, every taste—salt on my tongue when I lightly bit his shoulder.
My cheeks heat and my stomach sizzles, and I note something new. None of it feels like an invisible hand snatching me by the neck. I don’t feel trapped. I feel hungry for more.
Which is why I have to leave.
Now.
“Thanks again,” I say, turning quickly and walking as fast as my heels will allow back down that hall, through the wooden doors, and out of his office.
No looking back.
* * *
Marcus
Amalie Knight.
Amy.
The girl from the wedding.
What are the chances?
I guess the chances are pretty damn good, considering our families are connected. She’s just back from Paris, and she’s living in Chicago. God, she was so fucking gorgeous walking in here, throwing out that confident act same as the night at the bar when she called me an old man. It still makes me chuckle. Old man. Baby.
Picking up my phone, I look at the little red indicator saying I have a text. Sliding my finger across the face, I stare at her number and without hesitation save it to my contacts.
I don’t need to read her resume to know she’s good at what she does. She sat in that leather chair across from me in that silver business suit looking as fierce as her older brother Stuart when we faced the prosecutor together, hoping to get his business partner off the hook for murder.
She’s smart, sexy, and bold. It’s a killer combination. I had to divert my eyes when she crossed her long legs. I barely heard her words for fighting the memory of them wrapped around my waist. Every detail of that night in Wilmington had raced to the front of my brain.
Amy Knight. She left me hanging at that hotel in Wilmington, but perhaps we can revisit what happened between us. In the meantime, I’ll check with Paul and Chris. Perhaps it’s time Merritt, Hampton, and Donnelly revisited our corporate marketing plan.
Shaking my computer awake, I flip over to the firm’s website. Looks pretty dated. Maybe we should add a short interview section with the founding partner, i.e., me. Perhaps we need a slogan.
A total brand revamp such as this requires full-time work, planning, meetings. Lots of meetings. Brainstorming over dinner and drinks, and perhaps a visit to my loft. I like this idea more by the second.
The way she left puzzles me. Women don’t run from me. Not when I want to catch them. She projects a hotshot image in her power suit and heels, but one thing I know about runaways. They’re afraid.
What are you afraid of, beautiful? What will it take for me to find out?
Chapter 3: Reconnecting
Amy
I’m back out on the street, breathing fast. A warm spring breeze pushes my light blonde hair away from my face, and I try to calm my nerves.
I’m over-reacting. Marcus Merritt doesn’t warrant such a response. I am not hung up on him. In fact, he seemed as surprised as me by what just happened in his office.
My response to our interaction in Wilmington is easily explained. I was weak emotionally, and I put too much emphasis on a random hook-up. It was the shock of Armand’s proposition, being back in the States for a wedding, and my brother Stuart’s sudden transformation into a nice guy.
You think I have problems with relationships? Stuart only perceived women as a means to an end. He had a need; enter random woman after random woman to sate it.