“Oh.” A blush spreads over Chloe’s cheeks. She reaches for her drink and I’m concerned that she’s retreating, our pep talk long forgotten. She surprises me by scooting her chair closer to mine. When she leans in to grab a piece of bread from the basket, she places her free hand on my thigh, and now I’m the one nearly jumping out of his skin.
She keeps it there. Her fingers featherlight over the inside of my pant leg, yet the heat of it feels like I’m being branded. Now I’m imagining what it would be like to have Chloe’s hand wrapped around my shaft, that red-polished thumb circling around the tip.
I clear my throat and move Chloe’s hand lower, toward my knee.
Chloe turns to find me staring at her.
“What?” she mouths, eyebrows raised.
“Nothing,” I whisper, trying not to scowl. Then, I attempt to discreetly adjust myself.
Our food is delivered and over the course of the meal I make several attempts to engage Fred in business conversation, but he’s too busy gushing over Frankie or asking Chloe questions about growing up in Colorado.
“Are we boring you?” Chloe squeezes my arm. “He’s heard all these stories a million times.”
Her once tentative fingers now easily slide behind my neck. Her touch is more relaxed now. A response to finishing off her drink. Her touch is soft at first, almost a tickle, before she applies more pressure. The pads of her fingers sink into my neck, gently kneading the tension there. It feels so fucking good, but I’m not going to be able to stand up from this table if she keeps doing that.
“Chloe, if you like Balmain dresses, you’re going to love their new line of crop tops and leggings.” Frankie manages to put down her drink for a second to clap her hands. “Oh my God, we should go shopping together. We obviously have similar tastes. It would be so fun.”
“That would be nice,” Chloe responds as her fingers continue to tease along my collar. I can’t imagine Chloe and Frankie shopping together. Other than their coincidentally matching dresses tonight courtesy of Bea, they have very different styles.
After paying the bill, a 50/50 split between Fred and myself, we exit the restaurant.
“Very nice to meet you, Chloe.” Fred pats Chloe on the forearm before extending his hand to me. “Barrett, it was a nice time.”
I nod. It’s the only thing I can manage with Chloe’s body tucked into my side. One hand pressed into my stomach while the other has snaked under my suit jacket behind my back.
With a hand on my shoulder and one on Chloe’s, Frankie air kisses us both before Fred ushers her into their car.
Once they’re down the street, Chloe pulls away from my side.
“I think that went well,” she says.
The frustration I’ve been feeling all night with the lack of opportunity to talk with Fred comes to a head. Not to mention the fact that Chloe was an unwelcome distraction. While that may not be her fault, it’s maddening as hell.
“Are you kidding? That was a disaster. I made no head way with Fred because you and Frankie talked the entire time.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware I was supposed to help you in your business dealings.” Chloe’s arms spread wide and I’m momentarily distracted by her cleavage. “That makes perfect sense because I was unaware about anything for this ‘date.’ Next time you blackmail someone into being your date, maybe fill them in on the details. It would be helpful.”
Having summoned him earlier, Marcus pulls up at the curb.
“Forget it.” I yank the car door open. “I’ll take you home.”
She wraps her bare arms around her mid-section. “No thanks. I’ll order a ride share.”
“I can take you home,” I repeat.
“It’s fine.” She doesn’t bother to look at me while she types on her phone.
I blow out an exasperated breath. This woman frustrates the hell out of me, while also managing to make my dick as hard as stone. It’s a paradox I want nothing to do with, but I can’t let her shiver on the sidewalk. I remove my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.
“I’m fine. Really. I don’t need your jacket.”
She tries to shake it off, but I move out of her reach.
“Goodnight, Chloe,” I say as I climb into my car.
“All set, Mr. St. Clair?” Marcus asks.
“Please wait until Ms. Anderson’s car arrives,” I run my hand through my hair in frustration, “then we can go.”
“Yes, sir.”