Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,32

policy, that’s all.”

He stares at me, his eyes boring into mine, and the rest of the restaurant fades away again. It’s as if we’re completely alone, the tension thrumming between us like an exposed wire. I feel caught, utterly powerless to break his spell as he leans in until his face is less than a foot from mine.

“This is not going to end here, kitten,” he says softly. “You know that, right? It doesn’t matter if you pay for your dinner or not, because we’re still going to end up in the same place.”

I can literally feel my panties getting soaked. “W-what place?”

“My bed.” His eyes glitter darker. “Or your bed—or a hotel bed if you prefer. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be a bed. I’d fuck you on the table or the floor, or up against a wall. Just tell me when and where, and I will make it happen.”

My breath stops in my lungs. I’ve never been propositioned so bluntly, and certainly never in those terms. Most men try to couch their intent in terms of romance, or avoid talking about it at all. Certainly, my ex-boyfriend would’ve turned redder than my hair if those words had come out of his mouth. I should probably be insulted, but I’m too turned on to work up any real indignation. Something about his unapologetic crudeness intensifies the wet heat between my legs, turning my insides soft and liquid. I want exactly what he’s offering: him, thrusting into me… on the bed, the table, the floor… Even up against the wall, though I can’t quite picture it with the difference in our heights.

He’s all wrong for me, and I want him. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

“I… I have to go.” My voice sounds choked as I yank my hand out of his grip and stand up, nearly turning over my chair in my haste to get away. Spinning around, I rush to the coat check like the coward that I am, the scenes he evoked playing in my mind like a graphic movie.

I almost have my coat when a big hand reaches past me, grabbing it before I can. I look up, my pulse accelerating further as I meet that cool blue gaze.

“Let me take you home,” Marcus says quietly, and I stare up at him, powerless to do anything else as he wraps the coat around my shoulders, his warm fingers brushing over my collarbone. My neck hurts from arching it back to hold his gaze, but I can’t look away from those magnetic eyes, can’t focus on anything but the dark, heated promise within them… and my own helpless response.

“I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want,” he promises softly, and I believe him.

Swallowing my heart back into my chest, I let him button up my coat and lead me out to the car.

16

Marcus

Emma is quiet during the short ride to her place, her gaze trained on the streets outside the window and her luscious little butt positioned as far away from me as the car’s width allows. I let her be, though the temptation to touch her, to remind her of the scorching chemistry between us, is nearly impossible to resist. But resist it I do, because I promised not to pressure her into something she’s not ready for.

It’s bad enough I came on to her like a barbarian, all my hard-earned social graces decimated by a toxic mix of lust and confused anger.

I asked her on a date, and she paid for herself.

She paid for her own fucking pizza.

Even now, I can’t believe she did that—or that I let her. It’s just that she caught me off-guard, grabbing the check so quickly and with so little hesitation. Normally, when a woman offers to split the bill or pay for her own portion, it’s done more as a courtesy gesture, a nod to the modern times and the women’s liberation movement. It’s a woman’s way of showing that she doesn’t really need a man to pay for her, though, of course, she’s secretly quite pleased if he doesn’t accept her half-hearted offer and pays anyway.

At least that’s how it was when I was a student and didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Once I started earning real money, the half-hearted offers petered out, and by the time I made my first ten million, I forgot what it was like to have my dates play that game. Women now just assume