“The follow-up article from my visit to Black Crescent. I need to have it in by the end of the week.”
There it was. The reminder. Ice trickled through his veins. Yes, he’d invited her into the inner sanctum of his company and revealed the programs that were close to his heart, but now, tiny pinpricks of doubts stabbed at him over that decision.
“What?” Sophie propped a hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Having second thoughts? You asked me to Black Crescent, remember? This time I didn’t force my way in,” she drawled.
“I don’t need any help remembering...anything,” he said, and yes, it made him an asshole to feel hot satisfaction well in him as slashes of red painted her high cheekbones. But he didn’t care. Not when she couldn’t hide the gleam of arousal in her eyes before abruptly turning back to the counter and the coffee cups.
“Do you take sugar or cream?” she rasped. And the sound of the slightly hoarse tone...
He barely stopped himself from stalking across the space separating them and pressing his chest to her ramrod-straight spine. From notching his hard dick just above the tempting curve of her perfect ass.
“Black,” he ground out.
Seconds later, she handed him the mug with Shouldn’t You Be Writing? emblazoned along the side along with a picture of a shirtless Thor and his hammer. He would’ve assumed the choice in cup was by accident if a smirk didn’t ride the corner of her mouth.
“Cute,” he drawled.
“It’s one of my favorites. Nothing but the best for you,” she purred, strolling past him with her own plain black mug back into the living room, where her laptop sat propped on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Not that I don’t doubt my coffee is wonderful, but what are you really doing here, Joshua?”
The pointed question shoved away any vestiges of humor, and he took a sip of the steaming-hot, fragrant brew before replying. “Pictures of us together from the art gala were posted online in a society gossip column. I didn’t know if you were aware. But in case you weren’t, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Although you weren’t named, the columnist included some speculation about our relationship to one another.”
She huffed out a dry laugh. “Oh yes, I already know about it. Althea called me into her office today and asked if anything was going on between us. She’s worried about the conflict of interest for the paper if the reporter of the story on Black Crescent is involved with the CEO.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her no, of course.”
“So you lied,” Joshua drawled.
If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might’ve missed the slight tremble in her hand as she set her mug on the coffee table. But he didn’t. And he had to battle back the urge to cross the floor, take that hand, lift it and still the shivering with his mouth.
“It wasn’t a lie. There isn’t anything between us. Saturday was one night. One time. That was our deal.”
“And if I want to renegotiate the deal?” he murmured.
The same shock that widened her eyes reverberated through him. Where had that come from? Asking for another night—another taste of her lips, another chance to drive into that sweet little body—hadn’t been his intention when he’d pulled up outside her building. Warn her, get out. That had been the plan. But lust had overridden common sense and hijacked his mouth. But he couldn’t exist within four feet of her and not crave her. Not want a repeat of the night that was branded into his memory with startling and unnerving clarity. Maybe he just needed to convince himself that his brain had exaggerated the pleasure he experienced. That nothing could be that good in reality.
And maybe he was just seeking an excuse to get her under him again.
He still didn’t trust her. Didn’t 100 percent believe that she wasn’t using him for another story. But none of that stopped his dick from throbbing like a toothache—insistent, hurting and needing relief.
“Joshua...” She shook her head, ducking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t think—”
“Look at me, Sophie,” he ordered, setting his cup on the breakfast bar behind him. He moved farther into the living room, not stopping until only inches separated them. She lifted her gaze to his, and her obedience in this when she refused to give it to him anywhere else had excitement and arousal plowing through him. “Look at me and tell me that you’re not already feeling my hands on you. Tell me your nipples aren’t already hardening, begging for my fingers, my tongue. Tell me you’re not already hot and wet for me, desperate to have me stretching you again, filling you.” He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head farther back. “You can tell me all of that, Sophie, and I’ll walk out of here.”
Her moist, warm breath broke on her parted lips, echoing in the room. For several long moments, she stared up at him with those molten silver eyes, her slender body swaying toward his, as if seeking his warmth, his possession.
A shudder worked through her, and, lowering her lashes, she stepped back, breaking his hold on her.
Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she turned away from him. Give me those eyes. Look at me, battered his tongue, needing to get out. But he clenched his teeth, trapping the command. Pride imprisoned what sounded too damn close to a plea.
“Is it so easy for you?” she whispered.
He frowned, shifting forward, reclaiming a little of the distance she’d inserted. It was an unconscious movement, as if his body couldn’t stand not feeling her warmth or being wrapped in her scent.
“Is what easy for me?” he pressed.
“This.” Pivoting to face him again, she waved a hand between them. “You don’t trust me,” she said flatly.
“No,” he replied, just as
