Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
His eyes flicker with fire as he runs his knuckles up the side of my leg, then they stop.
The fire turns to shock and I remember.
My scars.
“Baby,” he says, like someone’s just killed his puppy.
He looks torn as he gaze darts from my pussy to my leg.
I open my mouth to say something…
Explain?
Protest?
Cheer him on?
I’m not sure, but before I can do either, there’s a click from the door and it swings open with a whoosh.
“Who was that girl—” The little dark-haired woman from the kitchen blows into the room, then freezes as she takes in the scene.
“Holy shit!” She smacks her hands over her mouth then cups them around her eyes, trying to avoid eye contact. “Dude, on my desk? What the fuck? Never on my goddamn desk, man.”
Her surprise turns to irritation and reality comes crashing down.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, launching off the desk, knocking sexy hand tattoo man onto his ass, tugging at my dress.
“Just a second,” he says, righting himself as fast as a cat as I scan the area for my purse. “This is my sister. She should learn to knock.”
“It’s my fucking office,” she barks back, then starts to laugh, her hands still cupped at her temples.
I half want to hang around and see what sort of sibling war breaks out, but my pride has me bolting to the right.
I’m at the door in three steps, the hem of my dress cockeyed, stuck to my upper right thigh and barely covering my ass on the other side.
I grab the handle of my bag, clutching it to my chest as Mr. Magic Fingers reaches out but misses my upper arm by an inch.
A second later, I’m out, breaking into a run.
“Stop. Right now.” His voice seems to catapult down the hall in front of me, but I don’t stop.
“No!” I yell, clutching my bag in the crook of one hand, fighting the fabric of my dress with the other as I stumble and look over my shoulder to see him barreling out of the office door and down the hall toward me.
Shit.
My shin hits something and there’s a sloshing sound as wetness coats my legs, my feet, making me start to slip inside my shoes.
I throw an arm into the wall to right myself, the yellow mop bucket continuing to spill the soapy water onto the floor.
The slick tile might as well be an ice rink as I slide and curse my way down the hall, finally getting ahead of the mess.
“Stop. Right. Now.” His voice bounces along the walls as I turn at the end of the hall and see a clear route through the still crowded dining room to the front door. I allow myself one more quick look back over my shoulder just as the enormous, dark, tattooed hunk hits the soaking, slippery section of the floor.
His feet slide outward, his arms dart toward the walls, but gravity wins.
The last thing I see is him tumbling, ass over teakettle, flat on the floor, swearing and telling me to stop.
Chapter Six
Natalie
Imake my way through my office, hands out like a mummy as I fumble for the Keurig. And once I manage to get my first sip of Irish Cream Dark Roast, the memories of last night start to become a little clearer.
But not less dreamy. Not at all.
The impossibly sexy, tall, dark drink of man-meat from last night has me metaphorically standing on my head. How could I, Miss Magic Wand for an hour with no happy ending, have an orgasm from the flick of a finger and the brush of his lips on my ear?
I don’t know. But the wetness that’s still slippery between my thighs proves that it did. He’s the first to ever have that honor, and I don’t even know his name.
I shake off my flighty thoughts and head into the conference room. Jamie, my co-worker at Two Wrongs Anger Management, and my partner for this consulting gig, is already here, flicking through the PowerPoint, making sure there are no glitches before our training gets started.
I riffle through the forms in front of me to get my bearings before we start. Today it’s an intensive anger management session for a partner of some three-name law firm, a fancy-schmancy divorce lawyer.
God, I hate divorce lawyers.
And it looks like he’s going to need a full-on chill out sesh…or else.
HR Defcon 5 Emergency, basically.
The plan is that Jamie will do the presentation while I observe, then I’ll do the post session eval and either sign him off for HR or give them my recommendations for future counseling or possible likelihood of continued risk to the company.
So, when it comes right down to it, this guy’s career is in the palm of my hand.
Which is wild.
Still, though, this gig pays the bills, and that’s a blessing I remind myself, because I’d rather not be here today.