A contract of desire and deceit

anna

up and attempt to stand. His

ds curtly. "Don'

ng the wave of dizziness that hits m

my location." He says conversationally. "You

ou're not a F

" I feel his gaze roam over me and my cheeks heat up. The dress w

as out of jail already. How has he managed to con

e sold off. Even if he got out of jail, he shoul

to mine. His eyes search my face in the dim light. "Disappointed?" he asks so

manner. His voice is deep and sultry but possesses a

ght." H

manage

My blush spreads to my neck. "If I didn't know how go

n my neck. My focus zeroes in on his fingers against my bare skin, making my thoughts sluggi

how did

you think your secretary would have had a snowflake's chance in

asts. I feel my nipples harden and I bite back a gasp,

eflecting this sentiment. "You will receive a

eaving me glued to the

! Lan

is probably one of those things. I should be going home. Aband

ith the cool elegance of the black tailored suit he wore and the black loafers. His grey eyes are cold and focused. He looks harder than he had five years ag

Hous

he bidding? You'll let m

to the side, re

ack at me?" I continue. "Why should I trust the words

htly. He walks slowly, covering the space between us. I force myself

, yes, but I find I'm the "all or nothing" type. This bid is merely a reintroduction for us.

y cost close to my body. Unbidden, memories I h

year

etary because his secretary had taken maternity leave. I knew everyone expected me to be a train wreck at work because I was "t

rkers who talked about how hot he was in the restroom while reapplyi

voice, deep and seductive. Not with the perfect way he filled out his tailored suits. It wasn't just his looks, either. He was the type that could fill a room we own his prese

uncanny ability to recognize the potential of a project and the future market value of a b

he moon. Beautiful to l

is favorite clothing brand was. I resisted the urge to get him a shirt or a pair of cufflinks each time I browsed the mall because I was so sure he wo

tch a whiff of it when he leaned in behind me to show me something on my comp

erences. I wanted to know what movies he liked, and what music he listened t

sent

, and dust is gathering on my shelves and tabletops. I say a prayer of thanks that I have very little stuff. Just a bi

my purse, tapping the "answer" butt

vieve, my sister say. "He