Текст книги "Blind Date "

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

I wave it off. “Don’t worry, honey. I have a demon-boss of my own.”

Her lips twitch. “Your mother.”

“Ssssh.” I touch my finger to my lips. “Don’t say the word. You may just summon her.”

She glances down, fighting a smile, then sweeps her arm elegantly. “Follow me. Mr. Hughes is waiting for you.”

Yes. He sure does have that habit of waiting… Once you’re at his mercy, that is.

Holy fuck, Bee. This is not the kind of thought you need to be having right now. You’re here to design his—wait. No. I’m not here to design a thing. I already designed the man an orgasm for the love of fucking God.

The contract though.

Right. The contract.

Focus, Bee.

Sweet fuck. How can I? This wasn’t in my plan. Nowhere near it. Neither was the blind date, so really, this is Charley’s fault. The bitch.

“Take a seat,” Joanna offers, motioning to a black bar stool. “He’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you.” I set the giant portfolio down on the black glass bar. Another fact I missed this weekend. Holy hell, was I truly that wrapped up in Carter Hughes that I didn’t notice a thing about this… bar? Restaurant? Whatever it is he’s running here?

Yes. I was. Because I’m a slut and I’m proud of that.

And there’s a sentence I never thought I’d have to say to myself.

Judge me all you like. We all have an inner whore inside us.

Charlie Hunnam. Ryan Reynolds. Adam Levine. Julian Edelman. Jamie Dornan. Brad Pitt. Channing Tatum. Ian Somerhalder. Cristiano Ronaldo. Matt Bomer. Joe Manganiello.

If you can think of them and have dry panties, then you’re clearly an alien who has no place on this world.

I close my eyes briefly to center myself. Work. Consult. Give opinion. Be a real woman. Don’t be a puddle. I’m here to work and I need to remember that.

New York City might be crazy, but it isn’t that big. I should have guessed as soon as he told me he owned the restaurant that I’d see him again. You know. If I’d have paid attention to the restaurant in the first place.

Fuckity fucky fucker fuckit.

What is wrong with me?

A lot. Apparently a whole lot of stuff is wrong with me.

Goddamn it. I can’t be this flustered for this meeting. It’s like offering myself up as prey for him. If I continue to act like a teenager in the throes of her first crush I may as well just bunch up my skirt, sit my fine ass on this bar and just let him have his way with me.

Shit. That doesn’t help either.

Dammit. Why am I such a slut?

From right now, this very second, I swear that the next time I allow a man between my legs is if he’s either a doctor or my husband.

Okay. Husband is drastic. Way drastic. Who knows how long it’ll take me to find the one?

Still, it’s time for a battery-operated boyfriend. At least I know the next time I run into him I won’t have to make conversation—and there’s no chance of him coming before me. As long as you keep an eye on the battery level, of course.

All righty then. Deep breath, Bee. Let’s focus on the fact that the kind of escapade you just had with Carter Hughes is a thing of the past. What an esca—

No.

I touch my fingertips to the portfolio and take a deep breath. The sound of a throat cleaning has me looking up at the figure half-standing in the shadows. His dark hair is as slick and smoothly styled as I remember it. His suit is crisp and well-fitting, the fabric stretching easily over his shoulders without straining. It reeks of expense and of class, but I ignore that tiny fact as I lift my gaze to his face.

His jaw, sharp and angular and dusted with dark, perfectly trimmed stubble, is tight. Pink lips set in the tempting spread of facial hair are quirked to one side in a knowing smirk, and heat pools in my stomach as I remember exactly what those lips can do.

But as always, it’s his eyes. His emerald green eyes are dazzling, invasive in their scrutiny as they trawl across my face and my body, from the gentle curls of my dark hair and down to my Louboutin-clad feet.

He’s as hot as ever.

I need a handyman. I’m screwed.

“Ms. Donnelly.” Carter approaches me with one hand stretched out. I slide off the stool and hold my own out. He clasps it firmly, his fingers wrapping around mine. The grip is steady, the sizzle of his skin hot against mine. He pulls me into him, and with one hand resting against my side, he whispers, “So good to see you again.”

So we’re playing this game. “Mr. Hughes,” I reply, my voice leaning to the seductive side. I pull back and take my hand from his. “How are you?”

His eyes flash with the recognition that just hit me. “Very well. Yourself?”

“Couldn’t be better, thank you.”

He waves toward the stool I just vacated, and I lean back, retaking my seat. He sits on the one next to me. “Shall we get started?” He reaches one strong hand up and adjusts his tie.

Oh boy.

I fight the squirm that tickles through my lower body and respond with a smile. “Absolutely.” I adjust my skirt so I can cross one leg over the over. His eyes drop to my legs as I smooth my skirt back out. “Tell me more about what you have in mind.”

The slow, purposeful lift of his gaze burns through me. Damn, those eyes. They’re intense and calculating, but not in a cold way. They see right through me. He knows I’ve seen his game and raised him. I get the feeling I won’t be the only one lifting the stakes.

He leans against the bar and rests his forearm against it. His fingers tap against the glass surface one by one, making no more than a quiet tap. “Joanna?” he calls, his eyes still focused on me. “Could you get me and Ms. Donnelly a cup of coffee?”

“Of course,” she says from somewhere behind me.

“And hold my calls.” He tilts his head to the side, his lips twitching. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

My eyebrows shoot up at the sound of a door closing. A shiver also dances down my spine, but I’m not going to focus on that. I’m going to focus on the assumption that I want coffee and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

“Presumptuous,” I remark, removing a notepad and pen from my purse.

“Which part?”

“Both.”

“Depends how you take it.” His smile simply grows.

I look to the ceiling and inhale sharply. Resolutely, I place my notepad and pen on the bar and meet Carter’s gaze. “Mr. Hughes, I’m here on behalf of my mother and our company. Whether you arranged this consultation before or after our previous meeting isn’t something I, quite frankly, give a shit about. What I do care about is coming here, doing my job, and going away to design something that will give Donnelly Designs a chance to be hired by you. I would appreciate that whatever happened in the past stay there.”

“Your company?” he asks, still not dropping the smirk. “You own it?”

Not seeing what this has to do with anything, but whatever. “Partially. It’s the brainchild of us both. I have the minority, but one day I’ll own it all, so…” I shrug one shoulder. “It’s important to me that we have a good, honest portfolio.”

“Are you suggesting that I’d hire you simply because I enjoy the way your mouth feels when it’s around my cock?”

I choke on my own saliva. “I can’t say that’s the way I’d have worded it.”

“In my experience, you’re a straight to the point woman, Bee Donnelly. Answer the question.”

Fine. “Yes.”

“See?” He leans forward, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

I glance at his pants. “Nope.”

The action stills him. “I booked this before we met,” he says in a low voice. “I assumed it were merely coincidence that you had the same surname. Donnelly isn’t exactly unique or rare.”

If I didn’t want to know where he was going, I’d be offended.

“But to address your inaccurate opinion, I don’t hire people based on how well they fuck. If I did, we’d be having a very different type of consultation.” His jaw tics as heat floods my cheeks. “Let’s move through to the restaurant and we can talk.”

He gets up and turns away. My heart is twisting in both annoyance and embarrassment. I grab my things and follow him.

Sorry, Mom. I both fucked and offended a prospective client. My bad.

God she’s gonna kill me. And she’s gonna make it painful.

Carter leads me through the bar and opens the door to the restaurant. I take a succession of slow, deep breaths as we step out into the bar, and I won’t lie, I’m thankful to leave that part. I know that on the other side of the room is the booths.

A place I really, really hope he doesn’t want redesigning.

I adjust the waistband of my skirt and take a step up next to him.

“The restaurant.” He runs his finger along the leaf of a bushy indoor plant. “I want it redesigned more in line with the bar.”

“The style and scheme?” I question, my mouth going dry. I hope he doesn’t mean the… environment. Can you imagine digging into your salmon or steak to the sound of a sexual rendezvous?

He cuts his eyes to me, and his lips do that twitchy thing again. “Yes, the style and color scheme. The bar is a… newer addition to the space. It was part of my former living space. When I moved out, I decided to convert it and the upper floor.”

“What’s in the upper floor?” I swallow. The way this place is going, it’s probably whips, chains, and shackles.

As if he can read my mind, Carter turns his whole body toward me and meets my eyes. “Joanna’s apartment.”

Ah.

“Don’t worry yourself, Ms. Donnelly. I don’t have a secret sex lair where I whisk young, hot women away to. Unless, of course, they ask.”

“You just have a semi-public sex bar?” I lift an eyebrow, setting my purse on a table.

“I told you before—I have a very elite clientele with specific tastes. Some people relish knowing they’re fucking with other people walking past.”

“Is that really all it’s used for?”

“Of course not. Sometimes people book them for private dates, business meetings, or simply time alone. But, I’d suppose… Ninety percent of the time they’re booked for solely sexual purposes.”

Okay. I know I did it, but it sounds really peculiar when you put it like that. Booths that are booked for sexual purposes in an apparently upscale restaurant in the middle of New York City. It’s very… Well. Odd, isn’t it?

“You look confused.”

“I’m fine.” I draw myself out of my thoughts and focus on the portfolio. I flip it open to the section full of my previous restaurants and some of Mom’s. “Take a look through these and make a note of any you like and what you like so I can incorporate those elements into my final design. Do you have a blueprint of the building?”

“Yes…” he says the word slowly, as if he’s testing it out by rolling it around his tongue.

So I changed the subject with a whiplash-inducing speed. I can’t think about those goddamn booths anymore or I’m gonna need to go change my panties before I head back to the office.

“Perfect. Do you have it to hand?”

“Let me find Joanna and bring the coffee. I’ll ask her to get it ready for you.”

“Thank you.” I flash him a smile that’s more confident than I feel and pull my camera from my bag. Carter sweeps past me, his long stride having him through the door in seconds.

Only now, with him gone, do I feel like I can breathe properly. Only now can my heart slow and my hands stop trembling.

I focus on the space around me. You can tell it hasn’t been painted for a couple years, never mind fully refitted. Not that you can tell—hell, I definitely didn’t notice on Saturday because I didn’t give a crap—but still… bringing this up to the quality of the bar area will be a bit of a job.

Still, I’m up to this.

I walk around the restaurant and snap pictures of everything. Although the blueprints will show me where everything is, having the pictures means I’ll be able to draw in the majority of the tables where they sit currently.

Ugh, why are they all square or rectangular?

Note to self: make circular tables a necessity.

No reason other than the fact that I like them. And isn’t it so nice to be able to see everyone you’re having dinner with if you’re in a big group?

When I’m done with the pictures, I spin find Carter flicking through the portfolio. He’s lost his jacket, and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to just above his elbows, highlighting his toned biceps perfectly. “See anything you like?”

His gaze finds mine, then slowly, oh so slowly, he peruses my body once more, only speaking when our eyes meet again. “Plenty.”

“Ooookay,” I breathe. “I’m going through to the bar to take photos for style references.” I walk away just as quickly as I turned, noticing the coffee on the table at the last moment.

Ah, damn it. Oh well. I’ll just stop in Starbucks.

The bar area is dimly lit from the small windows above the booths and from the main door, so I reach for the light switch and flip it. The area fills with light, and for the first time, it hits me just how big this space is… And how very different it looks in the daytime compared to the evening.

The curtains to the booths are open and secured at the sides, and each booth could easily sit six to eight people. The seats are wider than I’d expected. I guess they look bigger than they feel, even when you’re lying on your back with room to spare.

Unlike the bar, the circular tables in the center of each look like they’re made of wood. Solid black wood with a shiny lacquered surface on top, but still wood.

I guess you don’t want people smashing tables if they get vigorous.

I swallow and snap a few pictures. The bar in the restaurant is easily redesigned to match this, but probably not black. Charcoal, maybe, to soften. Black, white, and gray. I run my finger along the edge of the bar, careful not to leave any fingerprints on the perfectly polished surface. I can see Carter’s from where he touched it earlier.

Really, this bar is amazing. Small and intimate, yet he’s right. Anyone could, in theory, walk past and know exactly what you’re doing in one of them.

And it is. A thrill. To know that.

My clit aches at the memory, a dull sensation that comes to life when I reach the booth we were in. Every booth is identical, not a single thing differing them, but I know this was it, because it’s furthest away from the restaurant.

My eyes flutter shut, and I steel myself as I hear the door go. I glance to the side, and shiny black shoes move across the floor, attached to legs with perfectly pressed black pants covering them. I’m not a fool. I know it’s Carter.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like brought through?” I ask, my voice cracking halfway through.

“The design concept,” he answers, still walking toward me. “The general style, color scheme, the ambiance. I’ve noted the work you’ve done previously and pulled the things I like. I doubt it’ll be too hard for you to come up with an impressive design.”

“How long do I have?” My tongue darts across my lips.

“Three days.”

“Three days?” I spin to face him. “Are you serious? I have to find and source all of the things I need then put them together in a comprehensive design in three days?”

His green eyes seem brighter as they dart to the booth then back to me. My skin tingles at his silent innuendo, and my heart thumps erratically against my ribs. “Or don’t,” he murmurs, stepping closer to me. The low huskiness of his voice wrap around me and bathe me in lust-filled warmth. “I won’t deny it, Bee. I don’t want to hire you. I don’t want you in this building where I’ll be forced to see you every single day.”

“Then don’t.” I step back, but he only mirrors my action, coming toward me once more.

Carter closes his fingertips around my upper arm, holding me in place gently. “I will not hire someone because of a personal history, but I also refuse to not hire someone. If your design is best, I’ll hire Donnelly Designs. If not, I won’t. It’s that simple.”

“If you don’t want me here, I’d rather you not hire me. Full stop.” I tug my arm away from him.

In one sleek, expert move, Carter Hughes pins me against his bar. He wrenches my camera from my grasp and sets it on the glass surface behind me, then grabs the edge of the bar, trapping me. His hard body is hot, and his pelvis is pinning me in place.

It’s not all that’s pinning me in place.

“I don’t want you here because I don’t like you,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning across my lips. “I don’t want you here, because I want to fuck you.” He takes hold of my hand and presses his thumb to my wrist, satisfaction hitting his gaze when he feels my raging pulse. “I want to take you take you into one of those booths and bend you over the table. I want to hoist you onto this bar and bury myself inside you. I want to push you against the wall and fuck you until you pass out from your pleasure.”

Oh Jesus. This escalated quickly. Real fucking quickly.

I can’t breathe. At all. I’m on fire everywhere—from my lungs burning as they fight for oxygen, from the red-hot desire my heart is pounding through my body with my blood, and from the ridiculous heat trickling its way over my skin until it collects and centers in my clit.

“I don’t want you here because I’m certain that if you are, I’ll fulfill every single one of those desires, and quickly,” he murmurs, his mouth now barely a breath away from mine. “And that would not be good for anyone, would it?”

I lean back as far as I can and let out a shuddery breath. “If you hire me, I’ll be here to work, not play. So trust me when I say it will remain entirely profess—”

“Like right now?” he asks, a knowing smile playing with his lips. “Like how professional this is, with you pinned against the bar and my cock pressing against you? You can’t even look at the damn booth, Bee. I watched you. I watched your pretty little cheeks flush as you glanced inside it and remembered how hard you came. How many times you came. So don’t stand here and tell me it’ll remain professional, because we both know that if I decide I’m going to fuck you, I’m going to fuck you.”

An indignant streak shoots down my spine, and I straighten. Yes, my mouth is right by his. Yes, our breath is mingling. I’m afraid that if I lick my lips, I’ll accidentally lick his. My breasts are heaving and brushing against his chest, my white blouse a perfect match to his shirt.

Carter reaches up and twines a fistful of my hair around his fingers. The action only brings us even closer together. “Don’t pretend you won’t give in.” His lips brush mine with every word, but the touch is the furthest thing from a kiss. “You’re falling apart right now and I’ve barely touched you.”

I wish he didn’t have to be right.

“This is highly inappropriate,” I whisper, resisting the urge to grab his shirt and wrap my legs around him and climb him like a tree.

“Yet you haven’t pushed me away.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stronger than me,” I say lamely.

He laughs. God, the rich, decadent sound flows over me, and just when he leans in, he pauses. The breath that sings his hesitation passes through my parted lips and dances across the tip of my tongue. I inhale, breathing him in, expecting, waiting, for the touch.

It doesn’t come.

All that comes is a light laugh, and the cluck of resignation as he pushes away. He shakes his head. His shoulders are tight as he walks away and into the restaurant.

Do I follow?

Do I stand here?

You know what? I’m gonna stand here. Because my whole body is freakin’ trembling and I don’t think I can move anyway.

Jesus. Fuck. Christ. Asshole. I don’t think this will work at all.

Carter storms back through the door, my purse in one hand and the portfolio in the other. “Your notepad with my requests are inside your purse.” He hands them to me, and I hook the purse over my arm, then tuck the portfolio against my chest. His fingers burn through the fabric of my blouse as he touches my back and guides me toward the door. With his hand clutching the doorknob, he turns to me, barely inching the door opens. “Fuck, Bee,” he hisses out, stepping back and rubbing his hand through his hair. It messes up the usually perfectly styled locks, and I have to fight my smile. “Please do a really bad job in your design. I might just go crazy if you’re around all day.”

One of my eyebrows quirks upward. Do a bad job? Is he kidding me? I don’t want this contract any more than he wants to give me it, but I’m not going to flunk it the way I flunked Geography in high school.

For the record, Milwaukee is not a cocktail.

I brush his hand from the doorknob then grasp it with my own. The door is weighty, but I pull it open with one tug and take a step out onto the bustling, sunny sidewalk, and then turn. Our eyes meet as the sun warms my skin. “Oh… Carter. Don’t hope I’ll do a bad job… You need to hope someone else does better.”