Tempted Heir (The Heirs #7) - Michelle Heard Page 0,11

“I was glad to hear we’re signing today.”

Gesturing to my left, I say, “This way, please.”

As we approach the boardroom, I glance through the glass partitioning and seeing Christopher, I begin to frown.

I told him I can handle it.

CHRISTOPHER

When the meeting is finally done, and the elevators close behind Mr. Sullivan, I walk back to my office.

Dash is leaning against my desk, her arms crossed. My gaze glides down her body, which looks way too sexy with the dress she’s wearing.

“Why?” She asks.

“Why what?” I take a seat behind my desk.

Dash turns around to face me. “Why did you interfere? I told you I could handle the meeting.”

Because you look fuckable in that dress, and Sullivan is single.

“I just wanted to sit in on it,” I skirt around the truth.

Dash tilts her head. “Do you think I’m not capable of handling a simple sign and release?”

“Not at all.” I turn my focus to my laptop screen.

“Then why did you babysit me?”

Letting out a sigh, I glance at her. “Dash, I just wanted to sit in on the meeting.”

To make fucking sure Sullivan didn’t get any ideas about you. The last thing I need now is another man sniffing around you.

Letting out a huff, she frustratedly lifts her hands before she walks away. My eyes instantly lock on her ass.

Since we’ve talked about kids and marriage, a switch flipped inside me. I used to avoid thinking of Dash as a woman, but now, it’s all I fucking see. Thanks to that dress she’s wearing, I’ve been hard half the damn day.

Picking up my phone, I press the button for her extension.

“What?” she snaps.

“I didn’t want you alone with Sullivan,” I admit.

“Oh… why?”

Lifting my hand, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Because I’m protective. You know this about me.”

Dash lets out a chuckle. “Mr. Sullivan is harmless.”

That’s what you think.

“Peace?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

Putting the phone down, I shake my head and focus on the next deal.

She’s trying to fucking kill me.

I stare at Dash’s ass as she bends over to take off her shoes. Leaving them beside the couch, she walks to the fridge. “Wine or bourbon?”

I clear my throat before answering, “Bourbon, please.”

I shrug out of my jacket and place it over the back of the couch before I head to the sliding doors. Opening them, I step out onto the balcony and take a deep breath.

“Here you go,” Dash says as she comes up behind me.

I take the tumbler from her. “Thanks.”

I watch as she sits down on a plush couch before taking a sip of her wine.

Sitting across from Dash, I stare at her. Our talk on Saturday has left me feeling impatient as fuck.

“This is much better than working until twelve every night,” she says, smiling over the rim of her wine glass.

“Yeah.”

I now have time to focus on my personal life, which was non-existent the past five years. It never actually bothered me because Dash was with me twenty-four-seven. In a way, she was already mine.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asks.

“I’m thinking about the whole baby and marriage thing,” I admit.

Dash’s eyebrow lifts. “Having second thoughts?”

I shake my head and set the tumbler down on the side table. Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on my thighs. “Not at all.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, I lift my gaze to hers. “Where’s your mind at?”

She takes a long sip of her wine, then says, “I keep alternating between thinking it’s a great idea and wondering if it won’t be a mistake.” Shrugging, she continues, “I tried to remember what you’re like when you date, and honestly, I couldn’t come up with anything.”

“That’s because I’ve never been in a serious relationship,” I remind her.

“Also true.” Dash stares at me for a moment. “So, what will you be like?”

I let out a chuckle. “Probably a dominating asshole who’s overly possessive.”

Dash’s mouth curves up. “Basically the way you are now.”

I nod, and knowing what she’s apprehensive about, I add, “I’ll be attentive, Dash. It won’t be a cold relationship. I know what you want, and I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

Her features soften. “See why I love you so much?”

I let out a silent burst of laughter then take a sip of the bourbon.

“I don’t…” she pauses to think and begins to worry her bottom lip. After a minute, she takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t want it to be forced.”

“Of course,” I agree. Rising to my feet, I walk over to her. I take the wine glass from her