And why was I thinking about this again?
Squinting at the sheet, I narrowed my eyes at the Thanksgiving dinner I had to attend at my parents’ estate. Could I get away with going alone, or would that cause too many problems? The following week was-the Nutcracker ballet?
Was Clara out of her mind?
“Clara!”
She poked her head back in. “Yes?”
“Why am I going to the ballet?”
“Wilbur Monk gifted you his private box. Apparently at that luncheon a couple of weeks ago, Iris got in a conversation with Roseanne about doing ballet for a year as a child but never having the opportunity to go see professionals. They sent over the tickets last week.” She pushed the door open a little wider, leaning against the frame as she frowned at me. “If you don’t want to go, I can come up with an excuse, but it was a thoughtful gift, and I think?-“
“I have to go, otherwise they might take offense.”
Clara pinched her lips and nodded.
“Fine,” I said. “Thank you.”
The door closed gently behind her, and my heart thumped uncomfortably. A few of these upcoming events I could reasonably attend alone. But if I went to too many on my own, people would begin to notice, especially with how many of them had taken to Iris.
Why did she have to be so damn likable? Why did she have to be so perfect for me-for the job?
“Knock, knock,” a voice said, and my anger evaporated. Iris smiled at me in the doorway, then lifted a familiar white bakery bag, dangling it between nails painted a fresh, bright red. “I made a pit stop on the way here,” she said.
She’d brought me cookies. I sat here and cursed her existence, and she’d gone and done something thoughtful for me.
This woman would be the death of me, and I wouldn’t even complain about it. How could I push her away when she was so damn perfect?
I leaned back in my chair and watched her approach. Her hips swayed with every step, her camel-colored dress peeking through from between the lapels of her wool pea coat. Her shoes were impractical red heels that matched her nails and lips to perfection.
She propped herself on the edge of my desk and I didn’t have the strength of will to tell her to get down. Instead, I watched the way her dress lifted to reveal a delicious length of leg while she put the bakery bag down on top of my red-marked schedule, digging inside for a warm chocolate-chip cookie.
My mouth watered, and it wasn’t because of the cookie. Iris broke off a piece, chocolate dripping over her finger, and brought it to my lips. I kept my mouth closed as I watched her, wanting to kiss that impertinent smile off her red lips.
She rubbed the melted chocolate edge of the cookie on my lip and sing-songed, “You know you want it.”
I did want it, and I wanted her. I wanted a whole lot of things I couldn’t have, and apparently I was weak, because I opened my lips and accepted the bite. When Iris went to pull away, I wrapped my hand around her wrist and pulled her fingers into my mouth.
A soft moan sounded through her closed lips as I ran my tongue over her fingers.
Every thought I’d had before she walked in was forgotten. It was easy to think about distancing myself from her when she wasn’t here, dark-haired, intoxicating, moaning at the pull of my mouth on her skin. How could I resist a woman like this? How could I go back to the infrequent, impersonal trysts I’d had before? How could I possibly give her up? Why would I?
“Delicious,” I said, relishing the rise and fall of her chest. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” she replied, breathless.
I glanced at the bag, then at her. My brows arched meaningfully.
Her teeth dug into that plush lower lip I loved so much, eyes darting to my office door.
“Worried someone will walk in?” I said, my fingers dancing up her calf.
“Jared…”
“I’ll have the rest of that cookie now,” I said, noticing the way she squirmed ever so slightly on my desk, the way her fingers trembled as she reached into the bag.
My girl loved being told what to do. She loved the risk of this moment. Hell, I loved it too. Being with her was the only time I felt alive.
Another piece of cookie appeared at my lips, and I frowned at her. “Bite-size pieces, Iris,” I chastised.
A gust of breath escaped her as she broke the piece in two before presenting it to me again. I caught her fingers in my mouth once more. Her breaths became ragged. I smiled at the way she squeezed her thighs together while I watched.
No, I wasn’t going to let her go. And I wasn’t attending these boring events on my own. And I also wasn’t going to deny her the chance to attend the ballet if that’s what she wanted to do. Hell, I was mostly mad at myself that I hadn’t thought of it first-that I hadn’t even known she’d want to.
This girl was mine to cherish. Mine to spoil. Mine to keep.
It was easy to remember that when a flush was draped across her cheeks from the simple brush of my tongue on her fingertips.
We finished the cookie. I stood, and she spread her knees to give me space between them. Perfect, willing woman. Her gaze was heavy-lidded as she watched me, chin tilted up like she needed my kiss.
She needed something else too. I slid my hand up under her skirt, cupping the warm, wet heat of her. When I squeezed, she let out a whimper. “Is this what you want?” I asked, and the gravel in my voice made it almost unrecognizable. “You want me to make you come?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s why you came in here teasing me with cookies, with that dress and those shoes?”
Her lips kicked, a sassy arch lifting her brow. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to make you feel good. Thank you for a nice weekend.”
I massaged her core and let out a huff. “I bet you did.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.