The idea blew him away.
She’d been so beautiful. So uninhibited, so subtle, and yet so blatantly precise in her seduction. She’d been so skilled at jerking his strings, she might as well have been the puppet master born to manipulate not only his cock, but also his brain.
No.
Frowning, he moved restlessly in his chair and stared down at his opened book. Hadn’t he grown weary of being manipulated? He did not want to know anything more about her. Enough was enough. She’d given him the relief of an explosive orgasm while he watched her do her Salome’s dance and bring herself off, but he wasn’t going to lose his head to that little tease.
In reality, any relief he’d experienced had been far too brief anyway. Thirty seconds after she’d walked away and left him standing there like an idiot with his streaming cock in his hand, he’d craved her all over again. He’d been pissed as hell, but still . . . he’d wanted whatever measly glimpse she’d give him.
Pitiful.
His pocket buzzed.
He glanced aside at his fellow readers, feeling vaguely guilty. He’d given his tablet to the woman at the entrance along with one of his cell phones, but he’d kept a spare in his pocket. TalentNet was in the process of hiring a renowned programmer from Singapore for its website for its rapidly expanding Pac Rim market. Trey really needed to talk one-on-one with this guy, but due to the time difference, they kept missing each other. Before he’d left the office this evening, he’d told his admin, Theresa, to give his alternative cell phone number to the programmer and left instructions for him to call no matter what time it was. He’d be forced to duck into the bathroom and secretly take the call. Business was business, as abhorrent as that philosophy was to the aims and goals of the reading event.
As unobtrusively as possible, he slid the cell phone out of his pants pocket, hiding it behind Pride and Prejudice. He saw the photo on the screen of a beautiful woman. He grimaced and pushed the ignore button. A text message popped up with amazing rapidity.
Hey you. Do you know what today would have been? Our six-month anniversary. I’ll be in town over the weekend. I miss you, Trey. So much. Meet me Friday at our usual spot for a drink, say at five?
No strings attached.
Shit. Definitely not a work call. It was Alessandra, his former girlfriend whom he’d met in London and with whom he’d carried out a hot-and-heavy, volatile and increasingly unpleasant affair. He wouldn’t reply. And he certainly wouldn’t meet her on Friday. Alessandra was British and didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. She hadn’t realized it was a holiday weekend when she proposed to meet. Or she had realized it, and had just assumed Trey would be spending the holiday conveniently alone. He’d spoken of his family often enough in front of her, but talk of his parents, his brother and his sister’s family seemed to skim right past her. He’d never offered to introduce her to them, so for Alessandra, it was easier to act like they didn’t exist.
He’d forgotten Alessandra had this number. Although he shouldn’t have forgotten, because the reason she had it related to their breakup. She’d discovered his alternative cell phone number by digging through his other phone’s texts while Trey was in the shower one morning. She’d located the message where he’d supplied Theresa with the alternative number. Then she’d proceeded to accuse him of sleeping with Theresa behind her back. Trey had been so pissed she’d been nosing around in his texts that he hadn’t bothered correcting her about Theresa being his administrative assistant, not a bedmate. Let her think whatever she wanted.
Alessandra had eventually found out the truth later, of course, and been contrite. She would have made a great detective. When she set her mind to it, she could choke the truth out of almost any situation. Her manipulations could strangle almost anything, including a relationship.
Alessandra was beautiful, yeah, and enthusiastic and skilled in bed. But like too many women he’d dated in the past, it was just way too hard, not to mention depressing as hell, to figure out what was real about her and what was a lie.
He was sliding the phone slyly back into his pocket when he saw rapid movement. He looked up in time to see her drop into her seat just feet in front of him, all legs and sexy, tousled hair. She gave him a sideways glance, and he stiffened.
Why did she look so skittish?
Her gaze flickered down his body. He knew she’d noticed the phone when she quickly glanced back up at his face and gave a wry, knowing smile. He found himself smirking conspiratorially back. He pushed the phone all the way into his pocket and straightened in his chair, looking her over more carefully and with mounting interest.
She’d come.
He glanced across the room when he noticed restless movement in his periphery. He wasn’t the only one in the room who had perked up at her entrance. Little minx. It annoyed the hell out of him. He didn’t want to share her. He wanted her to himself, like he’d had her last night.
No . . . he wanted her in his bed, tied down to it preferably, at his mercy while he proceeded to do whatever he wanted to her, and she screamed in pleasure. This game she was playing was starting to grate on him and yet . . .
He couldn’t look away from her.
She looked edible again. Sexy and sophisticated, but also very . . . doable, for lack of a better word. There was a softness to her, an approachability that he liked. Her eyes were amazing: large, especially in comparison to her delicate face. They shone like her brown hair did. Despite her polish and sleek, fashionable clothing, she didn’t come off as hard and brittle like so many women he knew. Her combination of boldness and freshness was unexpected, unusual, and too damn appealing.
But there was a new expression on her pretty face he couldn’t quite pin down tonight. She was flushed. Was that because she’d been rushing to get here? Or possibly—hopefully—from excitement? Arousal?
She regarded him anxiously from beneath long lashes.
No. She was embarrassed.
His unlikely realization was only confirmed when she ducked her head, letting her long mane of glossy brown hair partially obscure her profile. She grabbed her book out of her purse so rapidly, it was like she thought it was a sacred relic that was going to save her. He half
expected her to hold up the unlikely book as a shield against him.
Then she crossed those long, booted legs that had become indelibly etched into his brain. And with her brow wrinkling in a kind of furious determination that—he couldn’t help it—he found adorable, she parted the pages. Without even removing her coat, she began to read her erotic book like she thought it held the truth of the universe in its pages.
—