Naughty or Nice

My tongue sweeps over my bottom lip and I feel his chest tighten beneath my palm, his breath brushing over my forehead.

‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask.

‘I’m thinking you should get into bed,’ he says, backing away a little. ‘I’ll sleep out here. We’ve a busy weekend planned, and this is all about our two companies working together. I want to keep us focused on that.’

I smile. My eyes are still lowered. He’s trying to do what’s right. Trying to maintain some form of professionalism and I love him for it. But I love the sexual undercurrent even more—the tightness in every word he speaks, the tension thrumming off his body.

‘Is that why you kissed me earlier? To keep me focused on work?’

He clears his throat. ‘I shouldn’t have.’

I look up. ‘Oh, yes, you should.’

I lift myself on tiptoes, my lashes closing, and he moves swiftly, his hands reaching out to grip my arms. ‘Come on, Eva—bed.’

My eyes flick to his. ‘You’re coming with me.’

‘No, this is your bed for tonight.’

I pout. Actually pout. Like some naughty

child. He can’t be serious. He’s given me signs all evening that this is heading somewhere, that this isn’t just about work.

And now he steps back out of the room while my cheeks burn.

‘There’s a bathroom through there—help yourself to anything you need, Frederick has already brought your suitcase in.’

‘Lucas?’

I don’t want to sound affronted. But I am.

Or am I tipsy? Is that what this is? Some drunken plea and he’s saving me from myself?

My cheeks flame deeper and his smile is small, warm. ‘Sweet dreams, Evangeline.’

He slides the door closed, leaving me alone, and I have to stop myself from striding after him and demanding he do something. Anything to see off this need he’s evoked.

It’s his fault.

Entirely his fault.

So why am I still loving his decency?

I flop onto the bed and am instantly cocooned in softness. The kind that makes every muscle in your body go weak, your brain quiet. Bliss.

He can have his way for now—his bed is an inviting compromise—but there are hours ahead. Many hours in which he can change his mind...

All he needs is the right kind of nudge.

I smile as I strip down to my underwear and climb beneath the quilt. I’ll just give him a few hours of thinking he’s won first...

* * *

I flick my phone over, face down on the table, and lean back into my seat.

Ignore it. Ignore him.

But Nate’s text burns into me: