Read Online What's Yours is Mine by Talia Quinn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Talia Quinn
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to look so delectable in her ridiculously thin shirt imprinted with a growling punk-rock poodle, complete with spiked collar?
That was her: soft and cuddly looking, curves to die for, astonishing dark eyes, and breasts so high and pert they practically demanded a man’s hands. Especially tonight, as she stood on the other side of the bathroom door with tantalizingly tight, prominent nipples and a bright flush on her cheeks. But it had to stay firmly in the look-don’t-touch realm, because she was pricklier than a cactus and lied more often than a presidential candidate. Self-serving, presumptuous, impossible woman who just happened to have participated in the most mind-blowing sexual encounter of his life.
He flopped onto the bed with a groan. The sooner she admitted defeat and left his condo, the better. Another round of sex was out of the question. She’d probably find a way to use it against him.
Besides, she wasn’t his type, with her high heels and her high-priced outfits.
Not his usual type, he hastily amended, looking ruefully down at his recalcitrant cock as he shed his boxers and tossed them in the hamper. It bounded back up, saluting him. Clearly, she was the type he wanted right now.
Well, of course she was. She was sexy as hell and full of life and on the other side of that door. Of course his body craved Darcy Jennings. Sometimes he craved chocolate sundaes too. That didn’t make them healthy.
An unwilling memory surfaced: that same poodle shirt. Darcy with mussed hair and sleep-lidded eyes, clearly visible through his computer screen even though a bedside lamp flared behind her, setting the edges of her hair glowing in a halo effect and outlining her curves with brushstrokes of light.
He’d forgotten the time difference, woken her with his request for a Skype call. But she’d gotten on anyway, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She’d obviously just yanked the shirt over her head when she heard his incoming text, no time for a bra, and the fabric had snagged around her waist, hiking up just enough to show a slice of delectable, toned skin. He’d tried to focus on the conversation but kept glancing down to the tantalizing glimpses of sexy woman.
In the middle of a convoluted sentence about the pros and cons of different sample packaging, Darcy clearly figured out that he was distracted. And then why.
She flushed, she stuttered, she touched her shirt hem to pull it down—and then stopped herself. Pulled her hand away with a mischievous, outrageously sexy grin, straightened up in her chair, and continued on, talking about whatever the hell they were trying to figure out, but now with a knowing gleam in her eye, looking straight at him like nothing else mattered. And the only thing Will could think was, I’m going to make love to that woman someday.
Now he had. If you could call it that.
Somehow she still had this power over him, this pull, even though he knew who she really was.
Darcy and her punk poodle tee. On the other side of that door. And he was going to do absolutely nothing about it.
~*~
Midnight. Darcy lay on the couch, wide awake, the green bath towel acting as a makeshift blanket. Surf pounded outside, and moonlight filtered through the wide glass sliding doors, making patterns on the ceiling. Hello, Insomnia, my old friend.
Two a.m. Darcy lay on the area rug, couch pillows laid out under her like some kind of eastern pasha’s bedding, or so she imagined. The towel had slipped off, her neck had a crick, and the sound of the surf was getting on her nerves.
Two thirty a.m. It would be six thirty a.m. in Shanghai. Darcy snagged her phone and paged through her contacts. She found Jianyu, hit send , and waited.
Jianyu answered on the fourth ring, just before it cycled to voice mail. The phone was probably on his desk. He was probably watching it, counting the rings. Jianyu hated to seem eager. He felt it gave the caller the upper hand.
“
That was her: soft and cuddly looking, curves to die for, astonishing dark eyes, and breasts so high and pert they practically demanded a man’s hands. Especially tonight, as she stood on the other side of the bathroom door with tantalizingly tight, prominent nipples and a bright flush on her cheeks. But it had to stay firmly in the look-don’t-touch realm, because she was pricklier than a cactus and lied more often than a presidential candidate. Self-serving, presumptuous, impossible woman who just happened to have participated in the most mind-blowing sexual encounter of his life.
He flopped onto the bed with a groan. The sooner she admitted defeat and left his condo, the better. Another round of sex was out of the question. She’d probably find a way to use it against him.
Besides, she wasn’t his type, with her high heels and her high-priced outfits.
Not his usual type, he hastily amended, looking ruefully down at his recalcitrant cock as he shed his boxers and tossed them in the hamper. It bounded back up, saluting him. Clearly, she was the type he wanted right now.
Well, of course she was. She was sexy as hell and full of life and on the other side of that door. Of course his body craved Darcy Jennings. Sometimes he craved chocolate sundaes too. That didn’t make them healthy.
An unwilling memory surfaced: that same poodle shirt. Darcy with mussed hair and sleep-lidded eyes, clearly visible through his computer screen even though a bedside lamp flared behind her, setting the edges of her hair glowing in a halo effect and outlining her curves with brushstrokes of light.
He’d forgotten the time difference, woken her with his request for a Skype call. But she’d gotten on anyway, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She’d obviously just yanked the shirt over her head when she heard his incoming text, no time for a bra, and the fabric had snagged around her waist, hiking up just enough to show a slice of delectable, toned skin. He’d tried to focus on the conversation but kept glancing down to the tantalizing glimpses of sexy woman.
In the middle of a convoluted sentence about the pros and cons of different sample packaging, Darcy clearly figured out that he was distracted. And then why.
She flushed, she stuttered, she touched her shirt hem to pull it down—and then stopped herself. Pulled her hand away with a mischievous, outrageously sexy grin, straightened up in her chair, and continued on, talking about whatever the hell they were trying to figure out, but now with a knowing gleam in her eye, looking straight at him like nothing else mattered. And the only thing Will could think was, I’m going to make love to that woman someday.
Now he had. If you could call it that.
Somehow she still had this power over him, this pull, even though he knew who she really was.
Darcy and her punk poodle tee. On the other side of that door. And he was going to do absolutely nothing about it.
~*~
Midnight. Darcy lay on the couch, wide awake, the green bath towel acting as a makeshift blanket. Surf pounded outside, and moonlight filtered through the wide glass sliding doors, making patterns on the ceiling. Hello, Insomnia, my old friend.
Two a.m. Darcy lay on the area rug, couch pillows laid out under her like some kind of eastern pasha’s bedding, or so she imagined. The towel had slipped off, her neck had a crick, and the sound of the surf was getting on her nerves.
Two thirty a.m. It would be six thirty a.m. in Shanghai. Darcy snagged her phone and paged through her contacts. She found Jianyu, hit send , and waited.
Jianyu answered on the fourth ring, just before it cycled to voice mail. The phone was probably on his desk. He was probably watching it, counting the rings. Jianyu hated to seem eager. He felt it gave the caller the upper hand.
“
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