A lazy slouch, thighs spread, one eyebrow cocked…waiting.
How was she going to get through today?
She squirmed, swallowing hard, then pointed around the room. ‘I guess I expected something…more. Something flashier.’ She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her.
He was silent for so long, she felt beads of moisture dotting her top lip. Silent and watchful.
‘I see.’
He hardened his stare and Libby fought the urge to hide in the restroom. Fuck, was it possible that work Alex was even hotter than play Alex? He certainly carried an intense air of authority she hadn’t witnessed before. One that should leave her cold, and angling for a heated debate, but it only heightened the ache between her legs.
‘You’ve made assumptions about me…developed preconceived ideas.’ He held up his hand, silencing the denial on the tip of her tongue. ‘The scruffy jeans and T-shirt have thrown you, and now this slightly shabby low-tech office has compounded those impressions.’
Haughty. The word perfectly described his cold voice. Had she made assumptions? She tried to remain open-minded, unbiased—especially where business was concerned. But with her humble past and his reckless reputation… An oil-and-water combination. Perhaps she’d subconsciously doomed this opportunity to failure. And if that were true there’d be no more… recreation.
She fought the weight on her shoulders.
He leaned closer, capturing her rapt stare and holding her breath to ransom. ‘I told you on the phone yesterday—Able-Active doesn’t happen in an office.’
Her eyes landed on his mouth. The hypnotic movement and the sound of his passionate voice were entrancing, luring her back into sensual waters. Waters that lapped at her, bringing every nerve ending screaming back to life.
‘It’s about adventure.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth. ‘Thrill. Adrenaline.’
His lips caressed every word as they’d caressed her clit, and the phantom tingles there reminded her how good it had been.
Were they still talking about the charity?
If the hot billionaire and his business proposal had had her panting, this passionate philanthropist with his sleeves rolled up would suffocate her. How would it feel to be the focus of all that…passion?
He continued while her brain reeled, trying to untangle his words from her overactive imagination.
‘Just because our clients are intellectually-disabled teens and young adults, it doesn’t mean they don’t want the same things from life that any other teen wants.’ A shrug. ‘That any of us wants.’
He leaned back in his seat and Libby’s heart stuttered back to life.
His finger and thumb traced his bottom lip in that way of his—a sign of deep contemplation. ‘Everyone deserves to experience that kind of…rush.’
She shivered, convinced he was referring to last night and her display. But he’d said nothing, done nothing even remotely inappropriate. It was her mind stuck in the gutter. Her mind choreographing a repeat performance of that rush he’d described so eloquently.
Alex steered her wayward thoughts back to business. ‘Have you visited the UK before?’
Libby cleared her throat, pressing her thighs together. ‘No. This is my first visit.’ What was wrong with her? Last night should have cured her of this fervid need crawling beneath her skin.
He nodded. Stared. ‘Let me show you what we have so far and where I’d like us to be in six months.’
His voice had snapped out of that low, confessional tone, was brisk and businesslike again. He flipped open the folder, forcing her attention away from him.
By the end of the morning he’d outlined his vision for the charity and, despite her best attempts at professionalism, Libby was as sexually frustrated as ever.
‘Up?’ Libby quizzed Alex.
His brief, decisive nod gave little away. When he’d suggested lunch she’d refused, preferring to work through and grab something later—alone—allowing herself some distance from his perplexing proximity. But he’d made a persuasive argument, stating that he’d missed breakfast, and her loud, rumbling stomach had chosen that precise moment to announce that she had too.
He nodded, those dark eyes cryptic, penetrating. All morning, he’d kept his hands to himself, never once touching her, as if he was maintaining a professional line and refusing to cross it. While she’d lusted and leered, ashamed of the lewd direction of her thoughts. Clearly he was more adept at separating business from pleasure. Or maybe, as far as he was concerned, they were through.
The slow simmer that gripped her every time she looked at him or thought about him drained away, leaving chills in its place.
After a beat, he said, ‘Pinot Gris or Sauvignon Blanc?’
The elevator arrived, interrupting her answer, which was still forming from the scramble of her thoughts. He ushered her inside, his hand finally finding the small of her back—the first time he’d touched her since his mouth had left her last night. The zing of electricity was so strong she expected to find her panties singed.
All morning she’d battled to stay professional while craving his touch. As he’d waxed lyrical about the Able-Active team, their inspirational clients and the multitude of ideas he had to expand their scope nationally, she’d fought to drag her eyes away from his animated features, lit up with an enthusiasm that had left her envious. Envious of his colleagues, who probably saw this side of him daily. Envious of his beloved clients, who inspired such heartfelt passion. And envious of the women who’d experienced that intensity transformed into a different kind of focus—one she craved like the next lungful of oxygen.
What had he asked her? Wine…
She lifted her chin, determined to appear as unaffected as him. ‘I prefer Pinot Gris, but I don’t mind. I’ll probably pass.’
The last thing she needed was to add alcohol to the heady mix of hormones and endorphins bubbling through her blood. Any further lowering of her inhibitions in Alex’s presence and she’d start clawing at his clothes in public. How could he be so unruffled?
But was she imagining the tension that built inside the elevator? He stood so close she could almost feel the tickle of the dark hairs on his arm, and the clean, soapy scent of him wafted over her on a cloud of warmth.
The air thickened as the car ascended. Libby locked her knees; scared she might sway towards him, throw herself into his arms or just simply press the emergency stop button and strip.
‘I thought you said lunch? Is there a restaurant in this building?’
It looked just like a typical office block. Still, this was his city. She merely hoped they’d arrive at their floor soon, so she could put some more space between them. Or persuade him to fuck her in the restroom…
‘I’m taking you to a restaurant I own. The Pinot Gris there is world-class.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, his tongue swiping his bottom
