One Exquisite Touch (The Extravagant #2)- Lauren Blakely Page 0,24
book in hand, ready to give it to her as a nice to meet you and I’ll try not to be a dick gift. But I make no promises.
The door to the suites is open, and the woman at the front desk lifts her face, flashes me a smile from behind her red glasses, then says, “Hello, Mr. Donovan. It’s good to see you.”
She’s good at her job, since she knows me on sight.
“I have a meeting with Sage Carmichael.”
“Yes, you do. Let me tell her you’re here.”
The woman disappears down the hall then reappears a minute later, gesturing to the hallway. “She’s ready for you.” I walk down the hallway toward the corner suite. The executive offices are set in the middle of the property, giving a view of the casino floor below. The woman shows me in and closes the door behind me.
And holy fuck.
Standing in front of the glass window overlooking the casino is a stunning woman in a red dress with a zipper all the way down the back.
I want to unzip it with my teeth.
Her blonde hair is twisted neat and tight in a clip. Those silky strands remind me of my stranger. That clip, too, reminds me of the one she left behind that night. The barrette I picked up when she scurried away. The barrette I plan to give her next weekend at the party.
But right now, I’m not thinking of my stranger, because I’m too busy admiring the view in front of me.
That body. That ass. Those legs.
She stands at the window, hands on the sill, gazing at her empire below.
She looks powerful, and power looks so damn good on a woman, especially when a powerful woman gets on her knees at your command.
I’d like to put her on her knees.
And I feel a little bit guilty for admiring my colleague like this. For focusing on her body rather than her brain.
I vow to erase these momentary filthy thoughts when I speak to her. These sexual thoughts floating through my head of how she would look without that dress on.
But admittedly, I also feel the slightest bit guilty too, because all my energy, all my ample sexual energy, should be on the woman I’m seeing at the next party. Only it’s on the woman in front of me.
“Good morning, Sage,” I say.
The woman in red turns around.
My jaw threatens to fall to the floor, and it’s only years of practice, years of composure, that cause me to keep it shut when I see her face.
Because that mouth. Those lush pink lips. There is no question. She is the one. She is one and the same.
Sage Carmichael is my stranger.
And I want her even more.
But she’s also the cutthroat competition, and that is going to be a big problem.
10
Sage
Something about him feels deliciously familiar.
I can’t quite put my finger on it.
Or maybe I want to, but I’m not sure that I should.
Or that I’m ready to.
So I zero in on the man in front of me.
Cole Donovan.
Pictures don’t do him justice.
Pictures don’t always convey smolder. Because his dark eyes are the most intense I’ve ever seen. They are bedroom eyes. They are I’d like to know what you look like naked eyes. A wicked glint tangos across those dark irises as they sweep over me.
And that glint? It tugs at something. A fresh memory, a dirty hope.
But I push it aside as I catalog more of the man in front of me.
The competition.
I steel myself, trying to strike thoughts of his sex appeal from my head.
Because that smile he wears? That sliver of a grin? It’s of the we’re colleagues but also ruthless competitors variety. I’d do well to remember that—we might need to work together, but we will always be chasing the same prize. To be the hotel that visitors choose first.
And I’m sure he’d be so damn happy to eat some of my hotel’s revenue for breakfast.
Speaking of his lips . . .
Another sliver of an image flashes before me brightly, like a crack of lightning across the darkening sky. I rewind to the other night. To the feel of my American’s lips on me. On my breasts, on my neck, on my mouth.
Then I fast-forward to mere moments ago when he said my name, when Cole Donovan breathed Good morning, Sage, all raspy and growly on his lips, like he knew the secrets of my name. Like he knew me as the stranger he met the other night.