Darkly (Follow Me 4)

“Mr. Black prefers a paper message.”

“He prefers a paper message,” the assistant says.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Give me the phone.” Then, louder, “This is Addison Ames. Braden and I go way back. Connect me to his voicemail at once.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that.”

“That’s ridiculous. Give me his voicemail, or I’ll have your job.”

“I’ve been told he’s in a very important meeting and can’t be disturbed. He doesn’t give Reception access to his voicemail. As I told the other woman, Mr. Black prefers paper messages.”

Addison huffs. “Fine. Tell him to call Addison Ames right away.”

The call goes dead.

I rise.

I just got my ass handed to me on a platter by my attorneys, and now I find out Addison Ames has abused my receptionist.

She picked the wrong day to fuck with me.

Chapter Two

I walk into the reception area of Addison’s office. “Good evening.” I glance toward the reception desk.

Addison’s assistant, I presume—the one with the hypnotic edge to her voice—gulps, stands, walks out from behind her desk…and unceremoniously drops her purse. Its contents spill over the marble floor.

She parts her lips, and a pulse arrows straight to my groin.

She has the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen—full red lips that glisten slightly, and the way they’re parted… I could slide my tongue right between them.

I want to slide my tongue right between them.

I look down.

Front and center among the contents spilled is…a condom.

Her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry. I was just leaving for the day.” She kneels and begins to gather the items.

I kneel down across from her. “Let me help.”

She meets my gaze. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve got it.” She grabs the condom along with what appears to be a tube of lipstick or something and shoves them back into her purse. Then she gathers the rest and rises.

I stand as well. I’m nearly a foot taller than she is, but she’s hardly small. Not a shrinking violet, this one. Her embarrassment over the condom is warranted, I suppose, but is she embarrassed? I’m not sure. I can’t quite read her, and as a businessman, I’ve learned to read people pretty much on sight.

But not her. Not the woman with the luscious lips and hypnotic voice. She wears a white silk blouse, skinny jeans, and black pumps. I got a great view of her cleavage when she bent down. Very nice.

What was her name again? She said it on the message, but it escapes me at the moment.

She forces out a laugh. “That was embarrassing. Would you believe I meant to do that so you’d know I’m not hiding a knife in my purse?”

“Do you really think whether you’re hiding a knife—or anything else dangerous—would be my first thought when looking at you?”

Definitely not. My first thought was those lips—those lips I’m dying to kiss.

Most likely I’m just horny. It’s been a while. Too long—too long since I’ve participated in any kind of sexual encounter at my club or anywhere else.

For a moment, I imagine this woman—her gorgeous lips parted in that sexy way and her chestnut-brown hair unbound and falling over what I’m sure must be creamy shoulders—bound to my bed naked, her body ready for whatever I want.