The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,26
stared blankly at the diagrams featuring people sitting at desks, but the sound of her fingers clacking against a keyboard drew his attention, and he watched her. He couldn’t see much beyond a half profile, her tongue poking out slightly as she typed. She sat straight, shoulders back, just like one of the diagrams for perfect posture in the brochure. It thrust her breasts forward, drawing his eyes there, as he remembered feasting on them, sucking on her spectacular nipples . . .
Stifling a groan, he rested his head on the back of the sofa and covered his eyes with his forearm. Damn it, he needed to stop fantasizing about her, and the only thing guaranteed to douse his libido was to think about the Renegades audition.
Chris had been on his back about it, checking in every second day to ask how the dialect coaching was coming along. He had no idea why his agent did it, because he never gave him anything beyond “fine” and “good.” But considering the money Chris would earn from his cut if Rory actually landed the hosting role, he guessed that explained his agent’s exuberance.
“You okay?”
He lowered his forearm, shocked to find Samira sitting beside him on the sofa. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed the silence when she stopped typing or heard her move.
“Yeah.” He straightened, hating being surprised like this. It didn’t give him time to formulate responses in his head. He often mentally rehearsed what he’d say to people before actually saying it, and having her sneak up on him took away his chance to do it.
When he didn’t say anything else, she cocked her head slightly to one side, as if she couldn’t quite figure him out. Good.
“You are nothing like other guys I know.”
“That’s a good thing, yeah?”
She took a while before she nodded, continuing to study him with that probing stare. “Most guys can’t shut up. They want to talk about themselves, a lot, plenty of inane chatter about their job, their car, and their football team. Yet you’re . . . quiet.”
She was way too intuitive, and he needed to stop her delving into the reasons for his preference for silence.
“Haven’t you heard the quiet ones are the worst?”
Scooting closer, he snagged her hand and raised it to his lips. Her eyes widened as he pressed a kiss to the back of it, before nibbling on her knuckles, pausing to flick his tongue in the dips between.
She groaned, and he was on her, pressing her back into the sofa, kissing her with every ounce of pent-up frustration from thinking about her all week.
Her mouth opened beneath his, her tongue searching for his, demanding, commanding. She kissed like she fucked, with wanton abandonment and sheer enjoyment. Like she couldn’t get enough. Like she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Big turn-on. Huge.
When he covered her body with his, grinding his rigid cock against her sweet spot, she stilled and broke the kiss. Her chest heaved with her rapid breathing, her eyes glazed and wide.
“The door’s unlocked,” she murmured, placing her hands on his chest to push him away. “I can’t do this; it’s unprofessional.”
“Yeah, of course, sorry.” He pushed off her and helped her into a sitting position, wishing he hadn’t lost his head but a small part of him not regretting it at all. Guess he’d answered the question of whether he wanted more than the one-night stand. He craved another hot encounter with the sexy brunette so much he’d almost devoured her in her office. “When you say you can’t do this, do you mean here or in general?”
He saw in her eyes the battle she waged. Lust with sensibility. Desire with logic. But when the corners of her mouth curved in a coy smile, he knew he’d like her answer.
“Here,” she said, her hand snaking out to take his. “But if you recall, my apartment’s not that far, so why don’t we go have that drink?”
Rory didn’t have to be asked twice.
Thirteen
It had been a long week.
Samira had treated way too many arthritic backs when she’d anticipated a lot more soft-tissue injuries for hot Aussie rules football players. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time setting up rooms for other allied health professional staff that hadn’t started working at the center yet. And she’d fallen into bed exhausted most nights after dodging her mom’s calls to set up another meeting with Manish.
Though she’d attributed her ongoing fatigue to residual jet