Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,8

delicate, pointed, with thickly fringed dark eyes the color of green agates. Not beautiful, but not plain, either. Striking somehow. His interest sharpened, attention focusing on her in the way it always did when he spotted something or someone intriguing.

Her eyes widened when they met his and color flooded her skin, flushing her face bright red. Then she turned hurriedly away and was out the door before he could move.

But not before he’d caught a glimpse of the silver brooch pinned to her black dress. A brooch in the shape of leaping lamb.

Naughtygirl25. And she’d bloody well run out on him.

…

Christie came to a teetering halt outside the packed bar, her heart galloping like a racehorse at Ascot. Her lungs felt tight, the air thin and lacking in oxygen.

Man, talk about a WTF moment. What the hell had gotten into her? First she’d been standing there, freaking out about meeting Studman500 and trying to ignore Marisa telling her to get her hand off the silly lamb brooch she had pinned to her chest so everyone could see it. Then she’d noticed the guy at the bar. The incredibly hot guy. And he’d been staring at her as if she were the only person in the room. Such absolute and complete attention. His gaze refracted heat like sun through a magnifying glass and something inside her had burst into flames, filling her with a strange panic. Then before she could stop herself, she’d fled. Idiot. She was an idiot.

She took a couple of steps along the sidewalk, high, unfamiliar heels making her stumble.

Okay, so the pub had been her own personal version of hell, with all the beautiful people talking and laughing and carrying on. And okay, so she’d felt like an imposter wearing the ridiculous dress and stupid shoes Marisa had insisted on for the date. But did one look from one hot guy really warrant running away like a coward? No, it did not.

Christie took a slow breath, trying to calm herself.

She hadn’t had that weird panicky feeling for years. Not since she’d been a teenager forced into going to her mother’s hideous society parties. The ones where she stood out like a shaggy pony in a stable full of Thoroughbreds.

Leaning against the wall to try to take the pressure off her feet, Christie attempted to figure out yet again what on earth had possessed her to say yes to Ben’s dating article. Yes, he’d promised he’d give her the Ashton Technology E-Slate product launch to cover, which certainly beat having to do yet another review about yet another wireless mouse. But surely even that wasn’t worth this humiliation?

“You’re not wearing Ugg boots,” a male voice said from behind her. A voice like dark, brushed velvet.

All the remaining air escaped her lungs and she gave a gasp, whirling round.

A man stood on the sidewalk not far from her. Tall—taller even than she was—perhaps over six-three, with the broad, powerful shoulders and the lean hips of an Olympic swimmer. She was staring and she couldn’t help it. He had black hair, a bit disheveled, as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times, and the five o’clock shadow that covered his classical cheekbones and strong, angular jaw gave him a faintly disreputable look. And those eyes… God, the same eyes that had been looking at her back in the bar. So blue. So dark. The color of the sky on the cusp between twilight and full night.

A shiver went through her.

“E-e-excuse me?” she squeaked, her stupid stutter bleeding through.

His gaze dropped to the lamb leaping up her shoulder. “Naughtygirl25, I presume?”

No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be Studman500. Online dates did not turn out to be men who looked this dark, dangerous, and seriously sexy. Like a pirate or the kind of bad boy your mother warned you about. Oh no they did not.

“Studman?”

“In the flesh.” He grinned and her heart slammed to a halt inside her chest.

Oh God. Why did he have to be her naughty, wicked Studman?

“Uh…I…I…” she managed before her tongue froze and stuck to the roof of her mouth in a way it hadn’t for years and years.

Studman raised one winged brow, hands pushed into the pockets of the black jeans that sat low on his lean hips. There was an air of barely leashed energy about him, like that of a restless lion about to pounce. It was attractive. Thrilling. “Is there a problem?”

Yeah, there was a problem. And it was standing