Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
It had worked. She felt utterly triumphant.
And horribly conflicted.
If he really meant nothing to her, then why did she have to shove her sensuality in his face? Was it revenge? Or did she have secret hopes they could start again?
Of course she didn’t. She couldn’t. But she also admitted that her plan had backfired. She was the one drooling over him.
Because Ransom Yates was still the sexiest man alive. Dammit.
If his face on the side of a bus gave her heart palpitations, standing this close to him, with only his desk between them, turned her completely combustible.
But she couldn’t let him know that.
“If it wasn’t the best reason in the world,” she drawled, “you’d better believe I would never walk in here.”
He might think the slap-down was for him. But truly, it was for herself. She absolutely could not allow her emotions to get muddled over him. She’d tried to forget him, tried to numb all those latent feelings bubbling inside her. He’d pretty-womaned her, he’d deemed her dreams and goals unimportant compared to his, and yes, dammit, she was still angry.
But in the moment of seeing him, after scenting him—something slightly spicy and all male that was uniquely him—after being wowed by his potent sexuality, more than anger, she was wary of her own feelings resurfacing.
She absolutely could not allow herself to want a man who’d rejected her. She was beyond that.
He rose. “I’m waiting with bated breath to hear all your reasons.”
I’m waiting with bated breath. He used to say that to her over the phone, when he was at the airport or driving back to her, when she was leaving class to come home to him. When he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. With a superhuman effort, she didn’t allow the memory to thaw a single chip of the ice inside her.
He rounded his big desk and headed to the sideboard along the wall opposite the full-length windows. Filled with a variety of machines—microwave, coffee maker, espresso maker (was that a waffle iron?)—it was everything a celebrity chef could want.
She’d been so intent on him that she hadn’t even glanced around his office. The carpet was plush beneath her shoes, her heels sinking slightly into the pile. Everything was made of rich mahogany, from the desk to the conference table to the end tables and coffee table. The buttery soft leather sofa was inviting enough to fall asleep on.
Or to make love on.
The small collection of paintings on the walls made her mouth dry up. Was that a Degas?
But it was the view from the top-floor windows that almost blinded her with its brilliance. Was it better than hers? The sun sparkled on the bay waters, and sailboats drifted across its glassy surface as if they’d been painted there. From the corner office, she could see all the way from the Golden Gate to the Bay Bridge.
Behind her, the steamer frothed in whatever brew he was preparing, then she smelled the pungent aroma of a perfect chai.
How could he remember her favorite café drink after all this time? Chai latte. He’d probably made it to throw her off balance.
He carried two mugs to the conference table, a design expertly rendered in the foam on top. For a moment, she thought it was a heart, but realized quickly it was a leaf. Thank God. She couldn’t have handled a heart.
As she took a seat before that glorious view, her first thought was to ignore the latte, but that might reveal her roiling feelings. Picking up the mug, she savored the brew and, in the process, showed him she was totally over him. Setting it down, she said, “It’s as good as you always made them.” Smiling, she added the zinger. “I’ve trained my barista to make them the same way.” She’d found a replacement in one area, at least.
“You were so good at training me to do it the way you liked it.”
Was that a sexual innuendo? Definitely. It set her pulse racing all over again.
She’d never trained anyone to duplicate the sensual things he’d done with her. She hadn’t even tried. Because his talents in bed were innate. He’d always known just how to touch her, exactly where, and for how long.
Something lit up his eyes as he sipped his own latte. Something that said he knew the thoughts running through her mind. The sizzle of that look was like his fingers stroking her skin.
Oh yeah, she felt the sizzle. As much as she didn’t want to.
The man was the devil incarnate, always knowing exactly what to say at just the right moment. Until that last night. When he’d said all the wrong things.
She thought he might go on, sending out veiled innuendos, teasing her, testing her, but he sat back in his chair and smiled. “So how’s the family?”