Nights With Him(8)

By: Lauren Blakely



And so the last half hour with Michelle with two Ls he’d been precisely that—himself. They’d polished off another round of drinks and he’d held her hand, touching her in a way he hoped was driving her wild, and enticing her as much as her sexy librarian look and smart conversation was luring him in. The business meeting with Henry and the councilman was in the rearview mirror; he no longer had politics or problems on his mind. He and Michelle had talked about baseball, and beaches they wanted to visit, and Jack had even admitted that he had a buddy who’d made it his mission to have unusual questions at the ready, should he meet an interesting woman. Michelle didn’t seem bothered that he’d borrowed his friend’s body part question.

“I like that you just confessed. It makes you seem like you’re not just a smooth and polished James Bond lookalike, all dashing and debonair and able to fire off witty questions like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“James Bond,” he said, running his fingers down his tie. “I’ll happily take that comparison. Dashing and debonair, too—I like that as well.”

“Well, you are all of the above. So, Just Jack, what exactly is it that you just do?”

Uh-oh. The conversation he didn’t want to have. “What do you think I do?” he fired back, hoping to deflect.

“Obviously something that requires you to wear a tie, so unless you’re a gigolo,” she said, and that drew a deep laugh from inside his chest, “I’m going with businessman, and you were here tonight working on a deal.”

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Businessman. He could work with that.

“You are very good at putting clues together.”

“That’s kind of my job.”

“Are you a detective?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Nope. But some days it can feel that way.”

“So is this when I ask you what you do? Even though we’re supposed to talk about far more interesting things?”

“But, see, I find what people do interesting and it says something about who they are,” she said, her brown eyes hooked on him, her gaze confident and alluring.

“Then I’ll tell you what I do, because I don’t want you to walk away and say you didn’t know anything about who I was,” he said, figuring he could give her something without telling her everything. “I am a businessman. I sell things—usually online, sometimes in stores—that make people feel better.”

“What sort of things?”

“Toys.”

She laughed. “Toys,” she said, amusement in her tone. “That is so damn cute.”

“Cute. Not exactly what I want a gorgeous woman to call me.”

“What do you want a gorgeous woman to call you?”

“Oh, God, at the top of her lungs,” he said, watching her breath hitch with his words.

“You are naughty, Mr. Toy Salesman,” she said, arching an eyebrow playfully. Fine, she thought he was a toy salesman. He didn’t need to disabuse her of that notion. He did sell toys, but tonight, he didn’t plan to use any because he was going to show her that this toy salesman wasn’t dependent on his products. He could use the tools he came with. Tools to make her come, again and again. Before he could respond, she spoke again. “So you want me to call you Oh, God, Jack,” she said, her mouth falling open, her breath coming fast as she imitated an orgasmic cry.

Like a shot of adrenaline to his groin. He shifted in the chair, sure she could see his erection, and equally sure he didn’t mind her knowing he was rock-hard for her. “As long as you’re looking at me like that, you can call me anything you want,” he said, watching her reaction as she pressed her lips together as if she were holding back. He didn’t want her to hold back. He wanted her to let go.

“Well, Oh, God, Jack, we’re in the same field. I also help people feel better.”

She took another drink, and that seemed to be the end to the obligatory “what do you do” conversation. He was glad it was out of the way, that it had been handled without lies, and that they could move on to more interesting topics. He segued into something he’d wanted to ask all night. “Any chance you’d let me make you feel better, Michelle?”

“What makes you think I feel bad?” she countered.

“Nothing. But I think I could make you feel a little bit better if, say, I did this,” he said, then brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her shoulder, and leaned in. It took five seconds for him to bend closer, and the air was charged, heated with possibility. Then he pressed his lips to her neck, barely there, brushing her soft, sweet skin that tasted faintly of honey and vanilla, something entirely alluring that made him both want to kiss her and rip her clothes off at the same time. A feminine scent, but a thoroughly suggestive one, too, that hinted at the way she might taste all over. “Mmm,” he murmured against her skin, then pulled back to assess her response. The hazy look in her eyes told him all he needed. More. She wanted more.

She breathed out hard through pursed lips. “You know, I think, um, this spot,” she said, tapping her neck on the other side, “might need to feel better too.”

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