sat forward. “What are you talking about?”
“Imagine someone standing outside these doors, looking in. What would they see through that opening? Your legs, right? Your boots, Faustini boots. It’s the perfect tease.”
“Actually, they wouldn’t. These aren’t the Faustinis. I changed for dinner.”
His brow furrowed. “For the sake of argument, they are, okay? And that innocent bystander out there can’t see anything but your boots. She can’t see me, or what’s going on in here, but she knows damn well by the way your boots are behaving that you’re not taking dictation. What does that say to her?”
“Wear Faustini and people will sexually assault you?”
“Wear Faustini and life will surprise you.”
“There are some surprises I could do without.” Tess got up and whipped her skirt around the right way. She was done playing along. “All of this was about Faustini? My account?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to thank me.”
She emitted a sound of disgust, and he actually cracked a grin. “What are you, eight years old?” she asked.
They locked stares, engaged in a steamy visual battle. After a moment or two, Tess began to feel a little ridiculous. Maybe he wasn’t the only one being childish. But as she glared at him, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before, a small crescent scar on his upper lip, near the bow. Her stomach dipped, and something even deeper fluttered in the most pleasurable way. Damn. The scar turned his mouth into a sensual wonderland. It was wicked. You couldn’t see a mouth like that and not think about sex.
What would that feel like?
Not a question Tess wanted to contemplate. Thank God, she was highly skilled in the art of denial. Give her a couple more seconds, and it shouldn’t be a problem.
Perhaps, though, she could create a little problem for him. She smoothed her outfit into place, remembering why she’d come here. Someone needed to catch this man off guard and show him how it felt.
“Are you checking me out?” he asked. “Because I could swear you were checking me out.”
“Murderball must be dangerous,” she said, walking over to him. She touched his scar with her fingertips. If she was nervous it didn’t show, and that was all she cared about at the moment.
“You’re dangerous,” he said.
“You aren’t kidding.” Tess angled in for a kiss, but he stopped her. He gripped her arms and held her off, staring at her as if she’d gone crazy. She could almost hear those droplets of energy sizzling on his skin. She may even have caught their scent, a fiery male essence that made her throat ache. Something about all this thrilled her. Maybe it was taking a chance, calling his bluff, if that’s what he was doing, bluffing.
“Okay,” he said softly, “let’s get dangerous.” He yanked her close and kissed her.
The flutter in Tess’s gut turned bright and sharp. In her mind, she could see that damn sexy scar, but she couldn’t feel it on her lips. The only rough sensation was his hands, molesting her arms. His mouth was soft and hot. It was luscious. The sound vibrating inside her was a growl. A tiny voracious growl.
A startling hunger overtook her. She wanted her hands free, not to break away, but to clutch him. It didn’t seem possible that she was suddenly greedy for more. For something wild and deep. As deep as the sea. A kiss that would drag her under and drown her.
Her nipples brushed against his chest, and again, hardened uncontrollably. A sensation she hadn’t felt in months flared in the pit of her belly. God help her, that was hot.
In her mind, she saw the two of them spinning in the chair, whirling like tops, her facing him with her legs spread over the chair arms and him beneath her, anchoring her with his brick wall of an erection, thrusting madly, fucking like bunnies—
What? Was she crazy?
Was it the tea? Mitzi’s psychotropic tea?
Her fantasies hadn’t been that energetic in her college years, had they?
The questions brought her back to reality. Somehow Gabriel had turned her around, all while kissing her ardently. Clearly he was going to take this further. Next, he would be scooping her up in his arms and laying her out on the conference table.
She gave his shin a sharp little kick.
He swore and released her.
She stepped back, panting. “You kiss good,” she said.
“Jesus, so do you. I’m coming to that dinner tonight. In fact, I’m taking you home from that dinner tonight.”
She drew herself up. “No, no you’re not. Tonight is about my work, and my work is not about kissing, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He nodded, but she had a feeling he would have agreed with anything she said at that moment. He seemed far more interested in her mouth than her point. There was a time, not so terribly long ago, when Tess would have succumbed in a New York second to the charms of a man like Danny Gabriel. Make that a nanosecond. She’d been a total pushover, a wuss in every way. Of course, that had to stay her secret. She was stronger now. She’d had a lot of practice not having sex. The denial thing.
And more important, she hadn’t made her point yet.
“Canceling out on the dinner,” she told him, “was petty and insulting, Mr. Gabriel. I guess I may have you on the run, hmm? Otherwise, why would a man of your stature have to lie your way out of my dinner?”
He started to speak, but she overrode him. “I may not be a genius, but I’m damn good at what I do, and I deserve respect.”
He began to shake his head, but she wasn’t listening to any lame apologies. “I think we’re finished here, at least I am.” She tweaked the lapel of her jacket, shot him a burning stare, and turned to find a distinguished-looking man in an immaculately tailored suit standing in the doorway. Obviously he’d heard every word.
Gabriel spoke from behind her. “Tess Wakefield, meet Oliver Handel, the vice president of international marketing for the Kashogi Corporation.”
Shit. It looked as if Gabriel had told the truth. She was staring at his deadline. Possibly, her inner-life coach might have some advice for her at this inopportune moment?
Don’t ever let them see you sweat, Tess.
The self-talk that most people called an inner voice had always come to Tess in the form of old television commercials. It was probably what had led her into advertising. And in this case, it was exactly what she needed to hear.
She made no attempt to make herself presentable. That would have drawn more attention to the fact that she wasn’t. She walked straight over and took the man’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Mr. Handel, how do you do, sir? Such an honor, really. It’s a great pleasure to meet you.”
Handel returned her grip. He smiled, chuckling aloud. “You have
