Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,8

that contract.”

He grips the silk above my fingers and tugs it. Tug, tug, tug, until the end slips from my hand. “I find your forwardness off-putting.”

My neck goes taut. “I could say the same thing about your fuck-me eyes.”

“Fuck-me eyes.” His deep unflappable voice swirls around me in a smoky mist. “Curious conversation for someone wearing an engagement ring.”

I press my thumb against the silver band and picture the woman I used to be. Free-spirited, happy, and forward as hell. She’s been curled up in the fetal position for too damn long.

“I’m not engaged anymore.” I avert my gaze.

“Then he’s as idiotic as the one you were with tonight.”

The need to defend Cole sizzles in my stomach like a hot ember. “Maybe I’m a total raging bitch and drove him away.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” He brushes an errant strand of hair behind my ear, making my breath catch. “You, my tiny dancer, are an erotic dream dipped in the sweetest honey. A man only needs to look at you to become fiercely protective of your smile.” His finger traces the ridge of my bottom lip. “Of every limber curve.” He feathers a path over the heaving swell of my chest. “Every delicious tremble.”

He lifts from the couch to bow over me, forcing me backwards with his massive frame. My spine presses against the coffee table, and I squeeze my legs together between the straddling V of his. No part of him touches me, but he doesn’t have to. His bedroom eyes are enough to crank my pulse and plunge my senses into delirious disorientation.

“I’ve watched you dance.” He bends closer, arms braced on either side of my head with the silk tie dangling like a teasing caress across my exposed midriff. “I’ve memorized every shimmy and thrust of your hips, the sensual movements of your arms, the flirtatious tosses of your head, and the limitless flexibility of your spine. You’re a flesh and muscle articulation of sex. Each vibrating hip drop, quiver in your thighs, and bounce of your tiny tits plants filthy thoughts in a man’s head. His mouth waters, so he orders more to drink. His slacks become too tight, so he remains at the table, hiding the swollen evidence of his intentions. And he’s hungry, so very hungry he stays and he watches and he eats.”

My insides thrum with the velvety cadence of his timbre, every word stirring, seducing, working me into mindless anticipation. The scent of his skin floods my lungs, smothering me in a wicked haze of spicy aftershave and masculinity.

I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. I’m so fucking wet my pajama pants stick to my thighs. The ache between my legs is unbearable, and my voice is a goner beneath the rapid gasps of my breaths. I want this man. Tonight. Right now.

Have I lost my damn mind? Try as I may, I can’t rationalize my reaction to him. Only a few hours ago, I wasn’t prepared to take this daunting leap with anyone. Now I’m arching my back and panting like a hussy? “What are we doing, Trace?”

I hold my breath as he teases his nose down my neck, along my collarbone, and across the top of the camisole where cotton meets quivering skin.

He studies me with so much concentration it feels like he can see through my clothes, my flesh, to examine my deepest wildest desires. “We’re finalizing the interview.”

Interview? My stomach hardens, and I push at his chest. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t budge against my hand, his voice void of emotion. “You’re an acquisition. One that will earn me a lot of money.” His head cants at a slight angle. “Don’t look so surprised. Were you not listening to anything I said?”

He orders more to drink…he remains at the table…he watches and eats.

Realization dumps cold water on my arousal. Trace wasn’t referring to himself. He was talking about the patrons in the restaurant.

He sits back on the couch, nonchalantly adjusting the suit jacket around his narrow hips as if his cock isn’t straining the shiny fabric of his slacks.

“If you’re here strictly on business…” I lurch off the coffee table and stand on the opposite side. “Explain that.” I point at his erection.

“Making money gets my dick hard.”

Where did this heartless douche in a tin can come from? I feel like a damn fool. How did I melt beneath his manipulations so easily? Am I really that naive? And why does he think I’ll