"More like, I get re-actions from this man. He’s battling something inside of himself."
"His lust for you." She makes a slurping sound. "He’s fighting to keep his python in his pants."
I stare at her. "Did you call his whatchamacallit a python."
"Or perhaps, I should say mamba."
"Mamba?"
"You know that phrase ‘milking the mamba’？" She makes air quotes with her fingers.
"Ugh, whatever. How do you know all these euphemisms?"
"You mean, how do I know that you can also call that particular act choking the chicken, bashing the bishop, flogging the dong, beating the—"
"Stop." I laugh. "Enough. I can’t decide if I should be impressed you know all these urbanisms or worried?"
"That’s what comes when you gorge yourself on smut. I’m a smuthead. What can I say? And as things go, it’s a fairly innocent thing to OD on, don’t you think?"
"I think you should—"
The intercom buzzes. We look at each other. "Were you expecting someone?"
"No, you?"
She shakes her head, then walks toward the intercom and presses the buzzer. “Delivery for Ms. Easton."
"Eh?" I blink. "I didn’t order anything."
There’s silence, then the man says, "It’s definitely for Ms. Easton."
I exchange a glance with Mira, then place my glass on the coffee table. I walk past her, head out the door and down the flight of steps, with Mira on my heels. I open the door to find a man standing there with his arms full of paper bags.
"What’s this?"
"It’s a delivery from the restaurant of James Hamilton."
"But I didn’t—"
"James Hamilton?" Mira squawks from behind me. "The Michelin-starred, celebrity chef who has his own show? That James Hamilton?"
The man grins. "Yes, Miss. May I bring this up to the apartment? There are a lot of bags."
I begin to protest, but Mira steps back and gestures for him to come up. I move to the side, then follow him up. He walks into the apartment, and we direct him to place the bags on the coffee table.
"Oh, I had strict orders to plate these out for you, ready to eat." He glances around and spots the breakfast counter. "May I?"
I frown.
Mira steps forward. "Oh, yes, please," she gushes.
He walks over, spreads a white cloth over the countertop, then sets out the carriers of food, and a bottle of red wine, which he uncorks and pours into two wine glasses which he places next to two plates arranged on the surface.
"Enjoy yourselves." He half bows and leaves.
Mira and I look at the spread.
"Wow!" She heads for the bar, then removes the covering of a dish. The scent of something tangy tickles my nose. My stomach grumbles. She sets the cover aside, then snatches up a folded note.
"Let me read that." I reach her, and before she can open the note, snatch it from her.
She glances over my shoulder, and I step away so she can’t read it. "Is it from him? Don’t keep me in suspense. Is it?"
18
Knight
"Thank you for the dinner last night, but you didn’t have to do it,” she murmurs from across the expanse of my desk.
I place the tips of my fingers together. "I deprived you of your dinner. Least I could do."
Her features soften, and her lips part.
"I’d have done it for any other employee."
"Right." The light in her eyes dims.
Something stabs into the space behind my breastbone. Don’t catch feelings for her. Don’t. It’s strictly business. It has to be. Last evening, when she climbed into my lap and pressed her lips to mine—I was taken aback, and that’s saying a lot. I should have pushed her away at once, but her scent had gone straight to my head. And my balls. And the feel of her lips on mine was like the first rain on parched earth. Like the first snowfall that covers the earth in a carpet of virgin white, so everything is muted, and hushed and waiting… Waiting…
I couldn’t have stopped myself from grabbing her and bringing her closer, deepening the kiss and taking from her. She opened herself up and allowed me to draw from her—to use her innocence, her response, her softness to repair that wound inside of me. I felt myself healing from trauma I haven’t even fully processed yet—and that scared me. Enough that I set her aside and decided to drop her back home instead of spending another moment in her presence. Then, I called Adam.
We met up and ran five miles together before he had to take off. By the time I reached home, I was drenched in sweat. So, I took a quick shower, then managed to get four hours sleep, which is unusual but welcome. Most nights, I've been averaging about two hours of sleep, if I’m lucky. The result of my marathon sleep session is, I feel rested, despite being up and awake since four a.m. Now, I reach for the coffee she placed on the desk.
"Have a seat, Ms. Easton."
"Uh, I’d rather stand." She sets her jaw.
"Suit yourself." I push a sheet of paper in her direction.
She picks it up and glances at it. "It’s blank."
"Indeed."
"What do you want me to do with it?"
"Make a list."
"A list of—？" She taps her foot, clad in three-inch stilettos which are another shade of pink. Her skirt is purple, the shirt she’s tucked into it a pale lavender. Her lips are painted fuchsia. Perfect to wear on my dick. She chose the color to taunt me, no doubt, with visions of how soft her mouth had been, how her lips had clung to mine, how the outline of her nipples against my chest and the heat of her pussy as she rode my cock through the layers of clothes we were wearing had made me almost shoot my load in my pants.
"Mr. Warren, Sir?"
My cock stiffens on command. Fuck. Maybe it was a bad idea to encourage her to address me by that title. I shake my head to clear it, then focus on the task at hand.
"Make a list of attributes my future wife should have. Then, use it to find someone for me by the end of the week."
She laughs. "You want me to make a list of attributes for your future wife?"
"Don’t make me repeat myself."
She draws in a breath. "I have no idea where to start."
"How difficult can it be?"
"If it’s that easy, why don’t you do it?"
I scowl; she scowls back. My lips almost twitch at her show of defiance, but I manage to hide it. My Little Dove is learning how to hold her own. This makes things more interesting.
"Virgin."
"What?"
"She should be a virgin."
She scoffs, "Of course, she should. Not that you are, but she should be."
"She’s the mother of my future spawn; she needs to be untouched."
She stares at me. I skim a pen in her direction. She picks it up then, plants herself in the chair and begins to write. "Virgin, got it."
I frown. "Don’t sass me."
She widens her eyes at me. "Like I would dare."
My lips twitch again, and she stares. "OMG, did you smile? Did the big, bad, macho, scary alphahole forget to act all grumpy and growly and curve his lips?"