The Dealmaker (Sex & Bonds 1)

“Our flight today is canceled again, by the way. Apparently Charlotte really did get that ice Rebecca was talking about.”

My stomach dips, and not with disappointment. “Shucks.”

“We do have to go back eventually,” he says, eyes suddenly serious.

“I know.” I sip my coffee. “Can we talk about that later? I’m really enjoying this latte. And you. This little bubble we’re in is nice.”

“Nora, it’s the fucking tits. I’m with you on that. But I don’t want anyone getting hurt. We have to talk about what our plan should be when we’re back at the office.”

I search his eyes as I continue to caffeinate. He’s not wrong. But I wonder, wildly, if there is a way to make this work without one or both of us having to give up our seats on the floor. There are a few married couples who work at the investment bank—Elle and her husband, Parks, are a prime example. But they’ve always worked in completely different groups that rarely, if ever, interact. They also never competed for the same promotion.

I shake the thoughts from my head. Married couples? Changing seats? I’m getting way, way ahead of myself here. Still, I can’t help but dwell on the idea of that promotion. Now that I think about it, why the hell is our group of twenty-something traders, salespeople, assistants, and admins limited to one measly promotion this year? Rumors continue to swirl that A&T is underperforming against analyst estimates, but management has assured us over and over again we’re on track to bounce back stronger than ever. If that’s true, they should be offering promotions galore.

Something’s not adding up, but before I can dig a little deeper into that idea, a knock on the door scatters my thoughts.

“Room service,” Theo explains, getting to his feet. He takes my breast in his hand, a feral look crossing his face as he thumbs my nipple. Heat floods my pussy. “I’ll allow you to put on a robe, but only while we eat.”

My lips twitch. “Does that apply to everything that goes in my mouth? Or just food?”

He chuckles, and his hand moves to my mouth. He tugs at my bottom lip, his eyes locking on the slick inner seam. “I know I only got a preview, but I can already tell you’re scary good at sucking dick, aren’t you?”

My pulse kicks up a notch at his directness. The obscene language. “Only one way to find out.”

“After breakfast,” he says, nostrils flaring again.

I disappear into the bedroom, closing the door behind me, while Theo lets the room service guys in. There’s a pair of the fluffiest, coziest robes ever hanging in the walk-in closet. Slipping into the smaller of the two, I marvel at its nubby softness and the sheer luxury of wearing this to breakfast on a day when I have nowhere to be and nothing to do. Nothing except Theo Morgan.

“Wow,” I say when I open the bedroom door. The spread set out on the table is impressive: thick slices of French toast on one plate, an omelet topped with slices of perfectly ripe avocado on another. A stack of pancakes, already slathered in butter and what appears to be some kind of caramel sauce. Baskets of raisin-studded bread. Carafes of juice. A plate of sliced papaya and starfruit, and another plate of sugared bacon and sausage. Everything looks and smells divine.

And then there’s Theo, standing shyly behind the chair I was sitting in. He scoots it out for me. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered a little of everything.”

For several seconds I don’t know what to say, that mushy feeling returning to my chest. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced this level of sweetness in a man before. It’s different.

Everything about Theo is different.

Walking across the room, I put my hands on the arms of the chair and lean in to kiss him. Last night may have been the best sex I’ve had in a long time, but we didn’t make any promises. That’s not how it works at this point in our lives. Hooking up with him could turn out to be a really good decision or a really bad one. Whatever the case, I’ll deal with the fallout when it comes.

If it comes.

My God, this breakfast spread is making me stupidly optimistic this morning.

“Thank you,” I murmur against Theo’s lips.

He cups my face in his hand, pinkie sliding underneath my ear, and my heart squeezes. His words may be filthy, rough even, but his touch is gentle. “I want you to feel good when you’re with me.”

“This is outrageous.”

“What’s wrong with outrageous?”

“Not a damn thing. I’m just not used to it.”

He angles his head and kisses me back, a lingering caress of lips, tongue, tenderness. It’s all I can do not to sigh.