hands on him. He’d barely broken a sweat. The man had some frustratingly impressive willpower. She’d just have to try harder.
But business first.
Libby pushed through etched glass doors emblazoned with the company logo and approached a sleek, minimalist reception desk.
‘Libby Noble for Alex Lancaster.’
Late last night, after showering, she’d checked her e-mails, spying one from his PA, Molly—the young woman now sitting in front of her, according to a name plaque on the desk—advising her of today’s itinerary.
‘Ah, yes, Ms Noble. He’s expecting you. I’ll show you in.’ Molly stood, her outstretched arm directing Libby towards another set of etched glass doors and an office beyond.
Her legs threatened to give out. She swallowed, plastered her most convincing, polite smile on her face and steeled herself against the impact of seeing Alex again—steeled herself like a butterfly about to enter a hurricane.
He stood at his desk, shoulder to shoulder with a shorter man in his forties. Their focus was directed to the screen of the tablet the other man carried, but as she hovered in the doorway Alex lifted his head, harpooning Libby with a dark, inscrutable stare across the space that divided them.
A flush of heat slammed through her, and the hurricane morphed into a tropical cyclone on the surface of the sun. She’d been right to fear the impact. It hadn’t lessened.
Even though she’d broken her dry spell, achieved some measure of relief from the sexual haze she’d been in since meeting him, the blow was twice as potent as the first time their eyes had met across a room.
She saw him now. The true him. Her eyes had been cleared of the self-imposed veil of abstinence. His raw sexuality simmered beneath his cultured, polite exterior. He stripped her with his stare, leaving her aching and needy and desperate to sample more of him than his spectacular mouth.
Libby swayed on her heels—a minute wobble in his direction that told her everything she needed to know about her chances of her steering her mind out of the bedroom and into the boardroom. No amount of prim business suits or severe hairstyles could protect her from Alex’s potent sex appeal and her body’s awakened cravings.
From behind her, Molly cleared her throat. ‘Ms Noble.’
Of course—they weren’t alone.
Alex gave a single nod to his assistant. ‘Thanks, Molly.’
The older man moved into Libby’s peripheral vision.
Alex kept his eyes on her. ‘Olivia, this is Jeremy Wells, my financial director.’
Jeremy tucked the tablet under his arm and moved in her direction.
Dragging her thoughts and her eyes from Alex, Libby smiled, heat warming her cheeks from her transparent leering at Jeremy’s boss.
Get a grip.
Alex sat on the edge of his desk, observing their interaction with an indifference that sent an army of ants marching beneath her skin.
‘Olivia will be in charge of marketing for Able-Active.’
His voice held none of the sexy drawl of last night, but the way his mouth caressed her name reverberated through her body until she felt the memory of that mouth’s intimate caress between her legs. A memory constantly at the forefront of her mind.
Jeremy offered a surprisingly limp handshake and a tepid smile. ‘I’ll leave you to your business.’
Alex nodded again, his stare back on Libby, flooding her body with wave after wave of turbulent heat. But she’d yet to see what she wanted to see—the same aching discord currently pounding her equilibrium.
Hormones. It was just hormones.
‘Molly, could you please bring coffee downstairs?’ He quirked an eyebrow at Libby in question.
She nodded to the younger woman, confirming that he’d guessed her beverage of choice.
‘I’m taking Ms Noble on a tour of the Able-Active office.’
Molly nodded and retreated, seemingly completely unaffected by the decadent rumble of her boss’s voice, whereas Libby felt it wash over her, lifting every hair and tingling every nerve ending.
She wanted more of it. More of the sexy grunts and groans he’d uttered last night from between her thighs. More of him asking her what she wanted, handing her control on a silver platter. More of his buttoned-up English accent cursing as he finally reached his limit of self-denial and lunged for her.
Who knew this part of her lurked inside? What had he unleashed?
They faced off, alone at last. He gave nothing away. She prayed her own transparency matched his. Would he renege on their deal? Send her home? Perhaps he’d simply pretend last night hadn’t happened and get straight down to business?
Not that he was dressed for business. She indulged herself, eyeing him from head to toe. She’d expected another of his expensive suits, to see his magnificent body encased in fine tailoring and crisp linen, but he wore jeans and a graphic T-shirt—an outfit that did nothing to diminish his attractiveness. If anything, it heightened it, and the T-shirt was a playful touch of whimsy that almost curled her lip in a smile. Alex Lancaster a gamer? She’d been right about the geeky surfer dude.
She lifted her stare from the casual, low-slung fit of his jeans, which showcased the bulge of his crotch. A bulge considerably smaller than the one he’d walked away with last night, when he’d left her hotel room unsatisfied. Fresh heat climbed her neck. She should have stopped him. Given him some relief. Finished him the way he’d finished her.
Her knees wobbled at the memory of his mouth on her, those dark eyes piercing, watching while she exploded on his tongue…
Damn. Must she eye-fuck him at every opportunity?
Her face burned. But the intensity of the look he gave her provided little respite from the boil of her blood.
The speech she’d prepared fled. She scanned the room rather that look at him, while her brain scrambled for suitable morning-after conversation—the spectacular view of the London skyline, the tasteful, minimalist art on the walls and the rich aroma of leather from the expensive furniture.
When her gaze ended its tour back on him, he continued to watch her with slightly narrowed eyes.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d turn up this morning.’
That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Fancy a repeat performance? Want to lean over my desk while I fuck you from behind? You’re a selfish lover and the deal is off. All those were closer to her imaginings.
‘Why? I agreed. I’m a professional.’
Sometimes. When she wasn’t drooling over him.
She was a big girl—one who could separate personal from business. Not that she’d ever been tested before now. Oh, how she hoped her faith in her own abilities was justified.
