Page 3 of Talk Vino To Me
“No.” The word is a soft growl. It seems to come from somewhere around his feet. The rumble of his voice makes the air in my lungs seize up. I want him to whisper all the words against my skin, speaking life and heat into my body with every intonation.
“No?” I manage. My mouth is suddenly dry as the dusty hills behind us.
“No.” He gives me a wicked smile. “You’ve got the world’s most innocent face, and the devil’s own tongue. I won’t forget that.”
Ian
This bloody woman. Where the hell did she come from?
She looks like she got lost on the way to a photoshoot. Though she’s not tall enough to be a runway model, and she’s curvier than most fashion houses would go for. But with the sculpted features, shiny brown skin and those lovely eyes, almost feline in their intensity, I thought she had to be some kind of professional pretty person.
Then she opened her mouth and took the piss before I could so much as blink. All with that Little Miss Sunshine attitude that I already know is going to drive me crazy. I can’t wait for this to be over.
I open the door to the house and stand aside. “You may as well come in.”
She blinks, and I see a vulnerable girl beneath the steel of her gaze. Damn it. She was a fan. I can smell it on her.
Then she fixes her face, smoothing it over so fast I can’t tell if I imagined that look or not, and steps forward. She tips her head in acknowledgement, like a princess, before she steps over the threshold of my place. I grab her suitcase and follow.
“Fucking investors,” I mutter, scraping a hand over my face. “I’m insulted.”
“Again,” Miss Cheery Little Skirt pops up, “The Connor Group has its hands in a lot of pies. They understand risk. And you, Mr. Worthington-Jones, are a risk.”
For fuck’s sake. I already told you — ”
“Call you, Ian. Yes, I know.” She nods her head. “I did. Just a minute ago. Now I’m calling you Mr. Worthington-Jones. I’m more comfortable with that.”
“Fine,” I growl. “Follow me. I’ll take you to the guest room.”
She forgets to hide behind her mask for a moment; she’s startled by the snarl in my voice. Fuck. She’s stuck here until I can get Daphne to turn around and come back for her. I’ve got to act semi-human until then.
That outfit isn’t helping matters. It should be boring. Just a nondescript gray business suit any corporate drone would wear. But on her, with that figure, it looks dangerous. Sexy. I want to strip it off of her and examine every last one of those curves. My cock twitches at the very thought.
Ah, no, I think. There goes my celibacy streak.
No. No. It’s fine. It doesn’t have to be like this. I haven’t even thought about sex for a long time. And lately I’ve been too busy trying to find that miserable piece of shit who stole my money and left me with nothing but this fucking winery. I’m not just going to give up my peace of mind for the first pretty face that comes along.
But I can’t deny that something about this girl intrigues me. She makes me want to take a chance on some kind of something between us, reason be damned.
Maybe it’s the way she’s had me on the back foot since we met. Or how she smells like sunshine and flowers. I need to get closer to her and take a deep breath of whatever that scent is. It’s going to drive me crazy until I do.
She turns to me, clearly dredging up a well of patience from somewhere deep within herself. Fuck. That’s exactly where I’d like to be. Deep within her.
Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?
While I’m not with anyone at the moment, I’m no trembling virgin. One woman with extremely sexy legs is not enough to distract me from my path. Especially when that woman is here to spy on me and report back to my corporate overlords.
But fuck me running if I’m not already half in love with this one. Or at least, my version of in love. Which, I’ve been told, is pretty much the opposite of what that word actually means to most people.
She’s beautiful. Curvy in exactly the way I like. She’s so polished, even her skin glows in the sunlight. Average height, but has legs for days. Long, sturdy legs I can immediately picture wrapped around me as I pound into her hot, wet —
Fuck me. It’s gonna be a long few weeks.
I clear my throat aggressively and try to pull my brain out of the fucking gutter. Instead, I turn to the adorable — yes, she actually is adorable — woman and offer her the smile that has gotten me whatever I want, any time and any place I want, since I was in short pants.
“Now then,” I say firmly. I take her hand and stare into her eyes. It’s been a few years, but I can still muster up a bit of the old Worthington-Jones charm. “Perhaps you were right before. We have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m aching and perhaps too quick to be grumpy after my workouts.”
Her face is impassive. Not even a lick of sympathy? Damn. Maybe the old W-J charm needs a tune up.