Her arched eyebrow edged higher. “What are you doing here?”
He inhaled slightly, let it out, calming, centered. “I’ve just finished a session with Pia, it’s been a long week, and I thought you might fancy a drink?”
The words ran into one another too fast, and he hoped she’d take it as a sign of his eagerness to hang out with her rather than anything else.
She hesitated, gnawing on her full bottom lip, and damned if he didn’t get a hard-on as he remembered what else she could do with those lips.
“Okay,” she eventually said, opening the door wider. “I have to finish up a few things, so why don’t you wait in here?”
She didn’t sound overly enthusiastic, but her gaze roved over him, hungry and possessive, like she too remembered . . .
“Hey.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You know a drink is just a drink, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because you’ve got this look . . .” She trailed off, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip—definitely not helping the hard-on situation. “And the last time we were in a bar, it didn’t stop there.”
“I liked hanging out with you that night.” He held up his hands, showing he had nothing to hide. “So that’s what tonight’s about, an impulsive decision to drop by and see if you’re free for a drink, that’s it.”
To his surprise, she stepped in close, reached over his shoulder, and pushed the door shut. Her faint jasmine fragrance washed over him, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to haul her into his arms.
Their gazes locked, and she inhaled sharply, the soft hiss of her breath as she released it the only sound in the silence. He could’ve sworn electricity arced between them, potent and lethal and bound to scorch him.
He wanted to close the distance between them and kiss her senseless. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than that, starting with laying her on the exercise plinth and doing creative things with those colored exercise bands.
But he could see the skepticism in her eyes, like she knew his real reason for stopping by was a booty call. And while he’d like nothing better, and deep down that was exactly why he’d dropped by, he wanted to be better than that.
For what reason, he couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t date her, they never had to see each other again unless they accidentally bumped into each other in the corridors here, and they shared nothing but an intense physical connection. Once.
So why was he trying to impress her with this upstanding act when he wanted her so badly his balls ached?
Mentally kicking himself, he broke eye contact, and she stepped away, giving a little shake of her head as if she couldn’t believe they’d come so close to giving in to baser instinct again.
“Take a seat. I shouldn’t be too long,” she said, pointing at a sofa not far from her desk.
Glad she turned away so she couldn’t see him adjust himself with the boner situation going on behind his fly, he watched her stride to her desk. She wore stylish navy pin-striped wide-leg pants, a fitted white shirt, and black patent leather pumps, a simple work outfit that shouldn’t have been remotely sexy yet was. The way the pants hugged the curve of her ass, how the small heel added a sway to her hips . . . man, at this rate he’d be so hard he’d be unable to walk.
When she reached her desk, she glanced over her shoulder, a puzzled frown creasing her brow when she saw he hadn’t moved. Mustering his best acting skills, he grinned and headed for the sofa, relieved when she didn’t make a comment about his rather stilted gait.
She sat at her desk while he perched on the sofa and picked up a brochure, not giving a flying fuck about ergonomic chairs or exercises to improve posture but needing the distraction so he wouldn’t watch her.
He 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.