It comes about forty-five minutes later, an uncertain tapping, as though she’s wondering why the CEO would summon her.
“Come in,” I call, my voice far snarlier than I’d intended.
But she just brings this out in me, this long-dormant desire, so that I feel like an animal stalking my prey.
The door opens and immediately my manhood rushes with blood and desire, turning as hard as a fucking promise in a matter of milliseconds.
I swallow as she shuts the door and walks across my cavernous office, her hands worrying at each other, and yet she wears a combative smirk as though she’s hoping to sass her way through her anxiety.
I can respect that.
“You wanted to see me?” she says.
“Yes,” I say, standing up and walking around the desk.
I pause, wondering what exactly my excuse is for summoning her. I just wanted to see her again, in the most basic sense of the word, to let my eyes roam over a body made for craving. Then I gesture to the leather couches at the far end of the office.
“Take a seat, please,” I say. “Would you like a drink?”
I swagger over without waiting for an answer, remembering the moment outside the gym, and how I had to get her to leave before my restraint snapped and I mauled her right there.
I drop down and put one hand over the back of the couch.
I’m aware that I must look like a cocky asshole.
And I’m also aware I don’t give a damn.
“No, I’m fine,” she says, sitting opposite me across the glass coffee table.
Every time she fidgets, her breasts jiggle slightly in the prison of her shirt, and her buttons tug open just a tiny bit, revealing the pinkness of her bra.
Fuck.
And if I look closer, I can just about make out the outline of her bra through the shirt.
I wonder if her nipples are the same shade of pink or if they’ll turn red as I suck them, suck them hard, as though I’m teasing the milk from them that will only gush out when she’s getting ready for our children.
“I suppose this is pretty odd, eh?” I say, trying for a laugh.
She smiles with relief at the sound of my laughter.
“Well, I do sort of feel like I’ve been summoned to the principal’s office.”
“Why? Have you done something wrong?” I banter.
Her cheeks flush as though the joke hasn’t landed, and briefly, I wonder if she has done something wrong.
A crazy, absurd thought strikes me.
She’s involved with the sabotage.
I banish it a moment later.
As little sense as it makes, I just know that that isn’t true. Melody isn’t like that.
The future mother of my children isn’t like that.
She finally places her hands in her lap, with conviction, as though she’s decided to stop fidgeting.
“This office is amazing,” she says, glancing around. “I mean, it’s just so big. I guess that’s the best statement you can make in a city where real estate is so expensive, right?”
“Right,” I agree. “That’s exactly it.”
I’m finding it hard to talk, to focus, when this sex goddess is sitting across from me.
Fuck it.
“Melody, I want to take you to dinner.”
Her mouth falls open and she stares at me for long moments, as though trying to make the words fit in her head.
When they won’t, she blinks several times, looking so cute I almost let out a lion’s roar.
Does she not know how beautiful she is? Does she have any clue?
“What?” she gasps. “I’m sorry. Um, why?”
“Why?” I mutter, leaning forward now, elbows on my knees as my eyes take in every inch of her. “Because you’re beautiful, that’s why. Because you’re interesting.”
“Really?” she whispers, lips trembling slightly. “Because nobody’s ever said any of that to me before, Mason. And it’s a little hard for me to believe that—well, let’s just be honest—that a man like you would think any of that about me.”
Something in my belly drops.
And something else flares.
I want to find the person who convinced her she isn’t deserving of praise, of worship, and crush their head like a watermelon. I want to make them beg for her forgiveness, bow at her feet in supplication.
“Let me make it simple then,” I say with a smirk. “If you don’t come out to dinner with me, I’ll tell Natalie to fire Eternal Bond and find somebody else for her wedding. There. You’re being blackmailed. Now you have no choice.”
My wolfish grin lets her know that I’m joking, I’d never actually blackmail her or get involved in the wedding planning, and I’m glad when she smiles broadly and leans forward.
“Oh, is that so?” she says with an ironic note in her voice. “Well, I guess if I really don’t have a choice, then I have to endure dinner with you, Mason.”
“Endure?” I chuckle deeply. “Is that really the word you want to choose?”
“I think that’s the perfect word,” she fires back, even if there are still shimmers of anxiety glinting in her eyes. “And, you know, it’s pretty convenient. If this turns out to be some horrible trick, I can say I was forced into it.”
“A trick?” I growl, angrier than I intended. “Melody, this is no fucking trick. This is—I’ve never asked a woman to dinner, not once. Because …”
I trail off.
Words fail me.
Code is so much simpler, sometimes.
“Because what?” she mutters, glancing at the table, perhaps as inept in the realms of romance as I am.
Because they weren’t you.
“Because a wizard cast a spell on me a long time ago, that’s why.”
“Oh yeah?” she giggles.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “He told me that I could only ask women on dates named Melody, and you’re the first Melody I’ve met.”
“Oh, lucky me,” she laughs sassily.
Our eyes meet and a feeling floods into my chest, something I’ve never experienced before.
Its warmth, contentment.
All of a sudden, the office falls away and I imagine looking at her like this over a dinner table
