Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,38

blazing need consuming me.

He deepens the kiss, arching me back over his arm, and my breasts mold against the hard plane of his chest as my head falls back, supported only by the cradle of his palm. His lips are warm and soft, his tongue exploring my mouth with sensuous skill, and a small moan escapes my throat as his lips leave mine and trail over my jaw to nibble on my earlobe—where the heat of his breath sends goosebumps rippling down my arm. I can smell the clean, woodsy scent of his skin, like pine mixed with fresh autumn breeze, and my body tightens, tension spiraling through my core. I’m so turned on I’m on the verge of orgasm, and my hands tug at the lapels of his coat, desperate to get it off so I can—

A hissing meow startles me, jolting me out of my sensual haze. Eyes snapping open, I push at Marcus’s chest, and he lets me go, though his gaze is heavy-lidded and his normally even-toned skin is edged with a flush of arousal.

Panting, we stare at each other as Mr. Puffs winds around my legs, alternately hissing at Marcus and meowing up at me.

“Your cat,” Marcus says hoarsely. “He’s not going to run away?”

I stare at him blankly, then recall the broken door. My cats are not in the habit of trying to run away, but then again, they’ve never had the temptation of a doorless entrance. “He shouldn’t,” I say, but just to be on the safe side, I bend down and pick up Mr. Puffs, cradling him against my chest.

The evil beast starts purring, and I stroke him, grateful for the shield his large, furry body provides. I still don’t have my clothes on, and with the icy November air blowing in through the open doorway, it’s quickly getting cold in the apartment.

Plus, there’s that whole being semi-naked in front of Marcus bit.

“So,” I say awkwardly, inching toward my closet with Mr. Puffs in my arms. “About the door—”

“I’ll get it fixed, don’t worry.” His gaze tracks me with undisguised hunger as I make my way back to the closet, then put Mr. Puffs down so I can dress. “It looked like it was on its last legs, anyway.”

“Can you turn around, please?” I blurt out, holding my jeans in front of me when he shows no sign of looking away. I know it’s silly—he’s already seen most of me—but I don’t want him to watch my butt jiggle as I perform the maneuvers required to pull on my tight jeans.

There’s way too much butt jiggle for my liking.

He opens his mouth to say something, then apparently thinks better of it and turns around. “Go ahead,” he says thickly. “I won’t look.”

I quickly wriggle into the jeans, then throw on my second-nicest blouse—my nicest being the one I wore out yesterday. I finish off the outfit with my sweater wrap and newish boots, and when I glance at the hallway mirror, I realize that my outfit is identical to yesterday’s, the only difference being the blouse. Even worse, with all of my recent exertions, my mascara has smeared, leaving a raccoon-like smudge under my left eye, and my hair looks like I’ve been wrestling with a wildcat—which, given Mr. Puffs’s size, is not far from the truth.

So much for impressing a billionaire.

I’m muttering curses under my breath and trying to rub off the mascara smudge when Marcus asks, “Can I turn around now?”

Crap. I smooth my hands over my hair, sneak another look in the mirror, and say glumly, “Go ahead.”

I’d need an hour to fix the mess I see in the mirror, not a few minutes—not that it matters either way. Now that I’m not so frazzled and my brain is not clouded by lust, an obvious fact occurs to me.

With the door broken, I can’t leave my apartment and the cats.

Tonight’s date is not happening.

20

Marcus

My erection is still threatening to rip a hole in my pants as I turn around and look at Emma—who, to my great disappointment, is now fully dressed. It almost doesn’t matter, though. The sight of her clad in nothing but lacy underwear is permanently etched into my brain—and will star in every wet dream and fantasy of mine going forward.

“Sexy” doesn’t even begin to describe her curvy little body. Every soft, feminine inch of her seems to be designed with my newly discovered preferences in mind. Her creamy skin is dotted in a few places