I know it looks like a ball of fuzz on my head after the rain and towel drying it. It couldn’t be helped.
Weston stands up. “Let’s head back to the hotel. You can get room service and fix whatever this shit’s supposed to be.” He motions to the papers hanging from my file.
I had them all color-coded at least. I suppose they could be worse.
We share a cab back and go our separate ways in the lobby. Arriving in my room, I toss the files on the table and kick off my heels. I trade my business attire for my robe. Falling into the couch, I grab the menu for room service and scan the choices available. With a big day tomorrow, I don’t want anything heavy. I settle on a grilled chicken salad and a fruit bowl for dessert. The files can wait until after I eat. What I really want is a nice warm soak in the tub. That stupid jerk and his mesmerizing blue eyes. My cheeks flush and heat spreads down my neck and across my chest at the thought of his face between my legs.
On my knees my ass, buddy. Put your mouth where it belongs.
My mind flashes to his smoldering stare. It’s been too long since I’ve had sex. That’s all these thoughts are. But I can’t get him out of my head. His stupid smirk. His deep voice. His large hands. That heavenly cologne. It’s like I can still smell it. And for God’s sake, that cocky wink he threw my way as he took off in my cab.
The saddest part is, it’s his arrogance that’s doing things to me. I don’t want him to be sweet. I want him to be commanding and dominate me, but I want him to work for it. I want to put up a fight and make him earn every inch.
My fingers trail between my breasts as the fantasy plays out in my mind. I pinch one of my nipples and picture those striking blue eyes. He was gorgeous. I want him to make some smartass comment so I can shove my pussy on his mouth to shut him up. I smirk at the thought as my fingers move farther south. I picture that devilish grin as the tip of my finger circles my clit.
A rap at the door echoes through the room, interrupting my fantasy.
I jump. Shit.
“Room service.”
“Coming!” I shake my head at my choice of word and attempt to stifle the laugh building in my chest. I yank my robe closed and head for the door. I don’t have on a bra and don’t want the guy thinking his tip is me flashing my breasts. I open the door and a younger man wheels a cart in. I tell him thanks and grab some cash from my wallet to give him a decent gratuity because I feel guilty about what I was doing, even though he has no clue. He gives me a polite thank you and is on his way.
I walk to the bathroom and wet my face with a cool cloth and get ready to eat and forget about those blue eyes and that smart mouth.
I smother my salad in Italian dressing and stab a chunk of chicken with my fork. My stomach growls as I chew. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now.
Despite the food, I can’t stop thinking about that guy. I’m here for a job not to meet Mr. Wrong. That’s all that cocky man would be. Another jerk to cross off the list of men who can’t handle me.
I know I’m difficult to please. Working in a male dominated field I have to be. I can dish it out with the best of them. Some men appreciate I can hold my own while others find it intimidating. Putting up walls helps keep things professional and focused on work abilities, not how I look in a skirt.
Tomorrow should be interesting. We’re meeting with a group of brothers who run a huge law firm here. The Hunter Group is merging with them. I can’t help but wonder if they’re anything like Weston and the guys back in Dallas.