For 100 Nights (100 2)

His breath leaves him on a deep groan. “Jesus Christ, what you do to me.”

I angle the phone so I can see him too. His jaw is clenched, his brows lowered over the intensity of his stare. I see him shift on the sofa, the camera’s focus jostling with his movements. I hear the soft metallic jangle of his belt buckle, followed by the quiet rasp of the zipper on his suit pants.

The thought of him taking his cock in hand while I stroke myself several blocks away is almost too much to take. I want him so badly, I can hardly stand it. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the cry from spilling off my tongue.

Nick hisses a sharp curse. “Fuck this. I’ve got a better idea.”

“What?” My voice is thick, my blood roaring in my ears as I draw my fingers away from my throbbing flesh.

“I’m going to send Patrick to pick you up. I want you in my office. Right now.”

“But your meeting—”

“Can wait,” he says. “I, however, cannot. Look for the car in ten minutes. Bring the bra and panties with you.”

I shake my head, emba

rrassed by the reminder that I’m out of my league in this shop and with this man. “Nick, I can’t afford them. They cost almost a thousand dollars.”

“Have the store put them on my account.”

His account? Disappointment does battle with my embarrassment, and I’m not sure which one bothers me more. “You have an account at L’opale?”

He arches a dark brow. “I have accounts at many nice places around the city.”

“I’ll bet you do.” I’m sulking a little at that admission, but it’s hard to be totally irritated with him when he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever wanted this badly. The power of that heated, sensual smile is enough to melt everything except my desire for him.

“Ask for Evelyn, she’s the manager. She’ll take care of everything for you.”

My lips flatten in reaction to that telling statement. “How many other women have you outfitted with expensive lingerie?”

“Do you really want to know?” His eyes hold mine unflinchingly.

I remain mute, because, damn him, I don’t want to know the answer to that question. Not that it would change my mind, anyway. I trace my finger over one of the embroidered silk burgundy roses on the bra, taking far too much satisfaction in the way his hot gaze follows my every movement. “You’re sure you have the time for this? For me?”

The look he gives me is so possessive, it obliterates all doubt.

“Ten minutes. In my office. And Avery, I intend to show you just how sure I am.”

Chapter 4

Nick’s driver drops me off in front of the dark glass tower on West 57th Street that houses Baine International. Holding the door open for me as I climb out, he offers me a pleasant nod once I alight to the curb.

“Thank you, Patrick.”

“My pleasure, as always, Ms. Ross.”

I enter the lobby of the multi-use building—one of several Manhattan properties Nick owns—wishing I’d had the foresight to bring a larger handbag when I left the apartment this morning. My tiny cross-body is useless when it comes to concealing my boutique purchases, so I have no choice but to carry the pearl-white shopping bag from L’opale into the building with me, its logo emblazoned in gold foil on both sides for everyone to see.

As I walk to the security desk in the lobby, I wave to the guard on duty. It’s the same man who was posted here last week when Nick brought me to his office after-hours to pick up some last-minute paperwork he needed to sign. Late-twenties, his hazel eyes sharp and serious beneath a crown of brown hair cut just a shade longer than military high-and-tight, there’s no mistaking the muscular Baine International security guard for anything other than a recent veteran.

“Hello, Gabe.”

“Morning, Ms. Ross.” As I approach to sign in, he stands up and gestures me on to the elevators. “No need to register. Mr. Baine called down a few minutes ago to say he was expecting you.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks.”

I have to admit, it feels good to sail through the Baine International lobby as if I’m not just another random visitor to the building or guest of the very eligible bachelor who commands half the city from his office on the top floor. Of course, I don’t imagine many of Nick’s visitors come to see him at work carrying a bag of expensive lingerie in their hand.