Thirst (The Calvettis of New York 1)

I’m skeptical.

He hasn’t been shy about watching me. I haven’t caught him peering at me under the raised corner of a closed blind or standing behind a veiled curtain.

There’s been nothing subtle about his movements. He’s been bold and unapologetic when he’s stood at this window staring at me.

He reaches for my almost empty coffee mug, placing it next to his on the windowsill.

“There’s something about you.” He turns to face me in his chair. “It’s not just the way you look or how you move. It’s hard to explain. Fuck, is it hard to explain.”

“Try,” I say before I realize that the word has left my lips.

His stare burns into me. “It’s soothing. I’d watch you talking on the phone, or sitting on the edge of your bed painting your toenails...”

“Pink,” I whisper as I glance down at my feet.

“Pink,” he repeats, a soft smile tugging on his lips. “The color of your T-shirt when you first saw me. You watched me unbutton my shirt.”

I lower my gaze as I confess softly, “I did.”

“You’ve been avoiding the window since the pitch session.” He runs his gaze over my face. “Why?”

I wonder for a second if it’s a rhetorical question because the answer is blatantly obvious to me. We’ve had this discussion.

Silence sits between us. He wants me to answer, so I do. “Things are different now. I know your name. You know mine. We may become business partners.”

He nods. “The attraction hasn’t lessened though. You want to stand over there and watch me.”

My eyes flit to my empty apartment. “It was fun. I’d never done anything like that before.”

His hands run over his thighs. “I haven’t either. Watching you undress for me drove me fucking mad. There was one night. You were wearing a pale pink bra. I wanted you to invite me over. Do you remember?”

How could I ever forget? He tapped his bare chest twice and motioned that he wanted me. I turned him down.

“I remember,” I admit.

His hand leaps from his thigh to mine. “I wanted you desperately that night.”

I look down to where his fingers are splayed over my bare skin. His hand is large, his pinky finger brushing the hem of my shorts.

“You wanted me too.” His words escape in a low growl. “You want me now.”

“I want my business to succeed.” My heart is hammering in my chest. “It has to be my priority.”

His hand inches higher. “I understand that. I applaud it, but it’s important not to lose sight of the big picture.”

“What’s the big picture?” My hand lands on his.

He squeezes the flesh of my thigh. “Intimacy and business can go together.”

“What happens when they don’t go together anymore?” I sigh heavily.

“We’re adults.” His voice is deep and measured. “We put the business first, and the past behind us.”

I swallow, studying his face for something. He’s so confident that we’ll be able to drift into a solely business arrangement after we stop sleeping together.

“Are you still business partners with the woman you fucked?” I spit the words out in a hurry. “Or should I say women?”

His hand twists to grab mine, pushing it into my thigh. “It was one of my first deals. I was riding the high of making a small fortune in a short period of time. We celebrated our first million in her bedroom.”