Bidding For Her Curves - Flora Ferrari Page 0,4

the office and in a cab with the boxes of programs, heading straight for Mason Thorne’s building.

It’s a few blocks, but there’s no way I can manage huffing two boxes, and the growing fever I have, which I keep telling myself isn’t a fever at all.

There’s something about his building that makes me shiver too and not from the hot and cold flashes I’m getting in its shadow as I get out of the cab.

There’s something else…

It’s like something is pulling at me, drawing me in. Waiting for my change, I look up, not even able to see the top floors where it’s rumored the man himself actually lives.

The cab’s exhaust in my face tells me there’s no change.

“You’re welcome,” I murmur, hoping he enjoys his tip, and make my way inside.

A wall of security is working to capacity, even on a Saturday but then I remember, this is the same building the stupid auction dinner is being held in too, so security is tight.

I show my ID, explain the programs, and the boxes are checked through.

“We’ll take it from here,” A burly, short tempered guard mumbles, looking at me sideways once he notices I’m still here.

“Uh, I was told to deliver these to Mr. Thorne’s office… personally,” I add, trying to sound like I’m in charge when I really just feel like laying down again.

This dizziness, it’s coming and going again.

The guard puffs his cheeks and scratches his head. He watches me, making sure I don’t beep after I step through the security scanner.

He extends his hand to an open elevator. “Be my guest. Mr. Thorne’s office is empty. You can go see for yourself. Leave the boxes at reception and come straight back down.”

I feel a little stab of hurt like I must be sicker than I thought.

It actually feels like Mason is somehow brushing me off.

What a crazy thought. I’ve never even met the man.

“But I,” I start to protest. The guard looks more impatient than ever, so I scoop up the boxes and make my way to the elevator, leaning heavily against the brass railing inside to stop myself from toppling over from exhaustion.

The guard’s right. The whole reception area is vacant, not a single person to be seen.

There’s a huge pair of mirrored glass doors behind the reception counter, but I remember what the guard said, just leave the boxes and go.

I feel my hands slipping on one of the boxes, and watch helplessly as the top one tumbles onto the floor, spilling the executive programs in a sea of blue leather and glossy paper.

I curse aloud and bend down to start picking them up. I only manage to make it worse, kicking them and skidding on them instead.

I growl to myself, then suddenly feel eyes on me.

From behind.

A new feeling washes over me, replacing my anger with more of the Mason fantasy I had earlier. I even think I can smell a masculine cologne.

Metallic, but warm with a edge of…

“Ahem.”

His deep, throaty sound from behind travels right up my legs and into the place I never thought possible to feel so strongly, so suddenly wet on a workday.

I shoot upright suddenly and feel my whole body shiver, and my heart starting to sing in my ears as I slowly turn to see him.

It really is him.

Mason Thorne stands in front of one of those mirrored doors he’s opened silently.

He’s been watching me bent over. Oh my God, staring at my huge ass.

I want to flush with embarrassment, but the sight of him cancels out everything. The next sound he makes really does something to me.

It’s like a plug inside me has come loose and all I know is forgotten, the only thing I want, the only thing I need is him inside me somehow filling that space his low tone has just created.

All low growling sounds aside, the man is a god on earth.

He’s much bigger than I thought, well over six and a half feet.

My eyes lock with his dark and intense ones with a glow deep inside them that burns right through me, all the way down to my center.

I feel my chest bristling against my blouse, but I don’t feel ashamed. I feel compelled to have him look at me, to see what he’s doing to me. A part of me wants to lift my blouse and show him, to hitch my skirt up and beg him to take me right here on the cold marble floor.

What the hell am I