Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

“So, Grant, what do you do for a living?” she asked.

“I run a real estate development company.”

“You buy and sell property?”

“Yes. And tear buildings down and build new ones.” In a very basic nutshell.

“And that keeps you in pancakes and designer suits?”

That made the corner of my mouth turn up. I could buy a pancake factory if I wanted to. “Yes. I have no complaints.”

Andre, who was my father’s driver for years before becoming mine, and more family than employee, piped up. “He’s actually filthy rich, miss.”

Leah made a choking sound in the back of her throat.

“Andre, what the hell?” I said, annoyed. “Don’t make me sound so damn pompous.”

Sure, I was proud of what I’d accomplished as an adult, but I was well aware I was fortunate to have been born to wealth.

“What?” Andre looked at me in the rearview mirror, feigning innocence. “It’s true.”

“Yeah, but saying that out loud makes me sound like I’m bragging.”

“I said it, not you.”

Not the fucking point. “Never mind.” I looked at Leah. “Sorry about that. I am not filthy rich.” I actually was, but I felt compelled to be modest. “I’m just rich.”

“Oh, yeah? Well… I think everyone’s definition of filthy is different.”

And just like that, Leah took an awkward moment and made it flirtatious. Her voice was low, breathy.

Green light. That’s what that was. And I was hitting the gas and plowing into the intersection.

I eyed her. “What do you know about filthy?”

I had leaned closer to her, turned slightly, my thigh brushing against the fabric of her skirt. Her lips were a ripe raspberry color and she had a divot in the base of her chin that made me want to kiss it. Her chest rose and fell beneath her tight sweater with a quick rhythm, like she was turned on. Intrigued. Contemplating her move. She opened her mouth, gaze sweeping over my lips, and for a second I thought she was going to move close enough that I could kiss her.

Instead, she held my gaze, all seduction and skill, while her hand shot out and tucked the cash into the breast pocket of my suit. She grinned and turned back to the front, smug.

Damn.

“Nice acting skills,” I told her dryly. Leah, starring in the role of femme fatale, and I’d fallen for it.

“Thanks. I’m working on eye contact.”

I was working on blue balls.

She was cute and clever. Fuck.

I knew a couple of women who wanted exactly what I did—no-strings-attached sex. No one got offended if months went by without contact and it was just as likely they would text me as I would text them. I didn’t get… ensnared. Leah could ensnare me. It might be time to send out a sexual SOS. I needed zero contact with Leah after today. She wasn’t good for my concentration. But I did admire both her boldness and her talent.

“That was savage,” I told her. “I love it.”

“I need a distraction from the fact that my ankle seems to have a heartbeat and half the ice has melted so now my sock is damp.”

Right. Her busted ankle. That was the relevant issue at hand, not my dick.

“You really should elevate your ankle. Turn a little.”