Sex. Flowers. Want.
This was bad.
This was very, very bad.
What had started as an anonymous one-night stand while on vacation was turning into something very delectable and yet very complicated. She couldn’t be with Tristan. First, because she didn’t want a relationship with a man like Tristan Rhodes, a man who lived for his work and saw profit as the only definition of success. Prim walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower to Hot. If and when she decided to become a part of a couple, it would be with a man who had interests outside the business world. She would not be with a man consumed with the conquer-and-succeed mentality, a man who bought companies and then picked them apart with complete disregard for the employees who made it their life’s work to build a business.
The hot water pulsed against her skin and beat into her flesh. She soaped up and washed away the scent of Tristan, his touch, and if she could have washed away the memory of him, she would have done that as well.
*
She didn’t see Tristan until late in the day. She’d avoided the very conversation that she knew they needed to have. This couldn’t happen again. They had to find a way to rein in their desires.
She walked into Tristan’s office. She had one minute until the four p.m. meeting started, and she wanted to minimize her time in the same room with him. If she could stay away from him as much as possible then perhaps she could ignore these feelings. She’d spent most of her day attempting to refocus her mind from replaying every delicious minute of the night before. She’d anticipated the presence of three, perhaps even four, other colleagues in Tristan’s office. Instead, Tristan stood at his office window, looking out at the Pacific. The door closed behind her with a loud click.
“Miss Baxter,” Tristan said and turned away from the window and toward Prim. “We have a problem.”
She nearly sank to her knees. Even after a full day of self-talk about ignoring the night before and pretending, yet again, that the desire between them had finally flamed out, his hard-cut jaw, his mouth—oh, the things that mouth could do—his eyes that burned and his hair that danced along the edge of his collar caused her body to boil with a molten desire.
She’d clasped her fingers through Tristan’s hair and pulled. She’d thrust her greedy hips against those gorgeous lips so that they tantalized her sex. She’d clutched the muscles of his back as he fucked her and made her call his name.
“I expected sales and publicity to be here,” Prim said.
“I rescheduled the meeting.”
The crease between her eyebrows deepened. Why had he moved the meeting? Getting the meeting on the books had taken both a transatlantic and cross-country flight.
“What’s the problem?”
His gaze locked with hers and the corner of his mouth hitched upward. Heat seared between them still.
“ You are the problem.” Tristan walked toward her. He was right up next to her. His beautiful suit and his beautiful body underneath that suit, a body she’d become very well acquainted with, pressed close to her. “We are the problem,” he said, his voice softer. His eyes were filled with heat. He reached out and pressed the pad of his thumb to her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch—she couldn’t help it—her eyes closed. She was like a cat pressing into her master’s hand; if she had the ability to purr she would.
They were the problem indeed.
“How do we fix this problem?” he asked. “I thought that perhaps after last night—”
“We’d have this out of our system.” Prim finished his sentence.
“Exactly.”
“I believed that too,” Prim said. “People tend to want what’s forbidden to them.”
His fingers stroked down her neck and stopped at the edge of her blouse. Her sex clenched with the memory of that hand, those fingertips, all over her body.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving now?”
Prim’s eyes
This was bad.
This was very, very bad.
What had started as an anonymous one-night stand while on vacation was turning into something very delectable and yet very complicated. She couldn’t be with Tristan. First, because she didn’t want a relationship with a man like Tristan Rhodes, a man who lived for his work and saw profit as the only definition of success. Prim walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower to Hot. If and when she decided to become a part of a couple, it would be with a man who had interests outside the business world. She would not be with a man consumed with the conquer-and-succeed mentality, a man who bought companies and then picked them apart with complete disregard for the employees who made it their life’s work to build a business.
The hot water pulsed against her skin and beat into her flesh. She soaped up and washed away the scent of Tristan, his touch, and if she could have washed away the memory of him, she would have done that as well.
*
She didn’t see Tristan until late in the day. She’d avoided the very conversation that she knew they needed to have. This couldn’t happen again. They had to find a way to rein in their desires.
She walked into Tristan’s office. She had one minute until the four p.m. meeting started, and she wanted to minimize her time in the same room with him. If she could stay away from him as much as possible then perhaps she could ignore these feelings. She’d spent most of her day attempting to refocus her mind from replaying every delicious minute of the night before. She’d anticipated the presence of three, perhaps even four, other colleagues in Tristan’s office. Instead, Tristan stood at his office window, looking out at the Pacific. The door closed behind her with a loud click.
“Miss Baxter,” Tristan said and turned away from the window and toward Prim. “We have a problem.”
She nearly sank to her knees. Even after a full day of self-talk about ignoring the night before and pretending, yet again, that the desire between them had finally flamed out, his hard-cut jaw, his mouth—oh, the things that mouth could do—his eyes that burned and his hair that danced along the edge of his collar caused her body to boil with a molten desire.
She’d clasped her fingers through Tristan’s hair and pulled. She’d thrust her greedy hips against those gorgeous lips so that they tantalized her sex. She’d clutched the muscles of his back as he fucked her and made her call his name.
“I expected sales and publicity to be here,” Prim said.
“I rescheduled the meeting.”
The crease between her eyebrows deepened. Why had he moved the meeting? Getting the meeting on the books had taken both a transatlantic and cross-country flight.
“What’s the problem?”
His gaze locked with hers and the corner of his mouth hitched upward. Heat seared between them still.
“ You are the problem.” Tristan walked toward her. He was right up next to her. His beautiful suit and his beautiful body underneath that suit, a body she’d become very well acquainted with, pressed close to her. “We are the problem,” he said, his voice softer. His eyes were filled with heat. He reached out and pressed the pad of his thumb to her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch—she couldn’t help it—her eyes closed. She was like a cat pressing into her master’s hand; if she had the ability to purr she would.
They were the problem indeed.
“How do we fix this problem?” he asked. “I thought that perhaps after last night—”
“We’d have this out of our system.” Prim finished his sentence.
“Exactly.”
“I believed that too,” Prim said. “People tend to want what’s forbidden to them.”
His fingers stroked down her neck and stopped at the edge of her blouse. Her sex clenched with the memory of that hand, those fingertips, all over her body.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving now?”
Prim’s eyes
Similar Books
