Mr. Temptation

‘You have my word,’ he pressed gently.

You bastard.

* * *

She lifted her eyes at his soft declaration and immediately regretted it.

He hovered just above her, his wolf-like gaze burning into her own, the rush of warmth it inspired sending her toes curling inside her Louboutins. His confidence in her ability to fulfil her job beating back the negative words Charles had thrown at her on her way out of the door all those months ago—‘You’ll never make it on your own.’

Ha, well, they chose me, not you...at the recommendation of someone on your team, no less.

It felt good to know she still held favour there after walking out.

As for Daniel’s word, she held his eye; was he for real? ‘Your word?’

He made an affirmative noise deep in his throat, almost enticing a reciprocal one from her as it strummed at the heat swelling down low.

‘I’m willing to bet you’re just as caught up in this attraction as me,’ he said huskily. ‘And if that’s the case, you’ll realise this is about a bit of fun; no harm, no foul, no jeopardised business arrangement.’

‘You reckon?’ She sounded breathless, out of control.

No, no, don’t let this happen.

He nodded and raised his hand, her breath catching as she anticipated his touch, wanting and dreading it all the same, knowing that when it came she would lose herself in it, in him.

‘I’m not very good at...fun.’ She threw his description back at him, desperately clinging to what she knew to be true even as the heat of his hand brushed beneath her jaw, his touch so light it was barely there. And she wanted it there. Wanted every one of those fingers pressed into her skin as he kissed her.

‘Fun?’ he questioned softly, his hand following the contours of her neck as her head lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.

‘Not this sort of fun.’ She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.

‘You’re going to have to clarify, because I’m talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less.’

Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. ‘And so am I.’

His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more...but then it hooded over as he asked, ‘You’re afraid of keeping it casual?’

She shook her head. If only that were her problem.

‘I’m not very good at it.’ She stressed the it, praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame.

Why admit that? Why admit something buried so deep inside?

Because it wasn’t so deep.

Hadn’t Charles brought it all to the surface when he’d called her that morning?

Hadn’t the revelation of Julia’s relationship troubles kicked up her own storm?

His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. ‘I don’t believe that.’

‘It’s the truth,’ she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.

She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. She hadn’t been able to let anyone near her since Charles. Her revamped image was all part of her great big back-the-hell-off-I’m-not-interested persona. She didn’t want anyone to get close enough to risk Charles’s words being reaffirmed by anybody else—‘You’re cold...so frigid in the sack...it’s such hard work.’

Daniel wasn’t getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered, his mouth brushing against hers to say, ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

‘I’m not...’ Her words trailed away, his lips coaxing her to silence, to oblige, to move beneath the hypnotic pressure of his. She lowered her lashes, a small noise quivering at the back of her throat.