Silent Desires. Джулия Кеннер
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the store officially opens.”
Her eyes danced behind her glasses, and she dragged her teeth over her lower lip, clearly hesitating. He leaned against one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “Well?” he pressed, hoping she’d say yes. The woman intrigued him and amused him. “What do you say? A breakfast date? If you’re really in a crunch, you need to eat well. Vitamins, minerals.” He let his gaze roam over the view she offered, taking in the bright red pumps—designer knockoffs, he was sure—and the shapely, stocking-clad legs. And considering how short she wore her skirt, there wasn’t a lot left to the imagination. “Definitely a healthy breakfast,” he said, forcing his eyes away before his gaze climbed any higher. “You need to be good to your body.”
“Believe me,” she said with a sultry grin. “I only put the best in this body.”
“Exactly,” Bryce said. He met her eyes, felt the tug of attraction zing all the way down to his groin. “You should come with me.”
She glanced at his toes, then worked her gaze all the way up his body, her slow inspection almost as intimate as a caress. Clearly, she was sizing him up, and for the first time in years, Bryce actually wondered if he was up to her standards.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I mean…” Another shake. “I’m sorry.”
She might as well have kicked him in the gut. True, Bryce wasn’t used to being turned down by women, but the hole left by her rejection was more than just a bruise to his ego. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Just breakfast. Innocent.”
Once again, she tilted her head to the side. “No. I don’t think so,” she said, and Bryce wasn’t sure if she was declining the date, or commenting that breakfast with him would be anything but innocent.
If she meant the latter, he had to applaud the woman’s intuition. Because right then, Bryce’s thoughts were a long way from innocent.
A long, long way.
STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!
Joan couldn’t believe she’d almost blown her resolution so quickly and so thoroughly. She’d flirted with the gorgeous customer—sorry, noncustomer—as if there was no tomorrow. And she couldn’t even console herself by saying that he had Mr. Right potential because she didn’t know the first thing about him—other than that he made her palms damp and her stomach flutter more than any man she’d met before. But for all she knew, that reaction stemmed from the fact that, when he’d come in, she’d been up to her ears in erotic pictures and books.
Of course, even without that diversion, this was a man who made an impact. Bryce Worthington was positively yummy. Midnight-black hair and incredible violet eyes that seemed to see right through her. And he didn’t just wear that suit. Instead, he seemed to have been born to it, filling it out in a way that made her mouth water. She’d always been a sucker for a man with a nice ass, and Bryce’s rear end was pretty near perfect.
Joan’s only saving grace was that she’d caught herself and had shut down her potential flirting frenzy before she’d really gotten going. Now she was all business, utterly professional. Just the way she intended to stay from now into the foreseeable future. Dull, maybe. But infinitely more practical.
She wiped her damp palms on her skirt. “How can I help you, Mr. Worthington?”
“Well, if breakfast is out of the question, I suppose I’ll have to jump straight to the point. I came in because I saw the For Sale sign. Can you tell me about the apartment?”
“Not really, I’m afraid. The building belongs to my partner. She’s selling the two apartments and keeping the store.” Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Partner! She wished. But that was neither here nor there where Bryce was concerned. It hardly mattered to this man if she was a partner or a clerk. The job was mostly attitude, anyway. And Joan had the attitude of an owner—and had been working her tail off like an owner, too. Now if she could just focus on books like The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People instead of tomes like Casanova’s The History of My Life, maybe she’d actually manage to make the lie a reality.
Bryce’s gaze was examining the store’s interior, his inspection of the building as intense as his earlier visual caress of her body—a caress she still remembered with a little tingle.
“Do you think the owner would entertain an offer for the entire brownstone?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
He nodded, but she could tell he was disappointed. “I don’t suppose you’d mind showing me around the flats anyway?”
She licked her lips, the idea of being alone with him in the apartment a little more than she could bear. Still, he did seem genuinely interested, and Ronnie would never forgive her if Joan shunned a potential buyer. “I need to finish up a project before the store opens. But you’re welcome to go on up by yourself. The top apartment’s unlocked and empty. I’m living in the fourth-floor flat, but feel free to wander through it.” She handed him her key.
“You’re sure?”
She shrugged. “Absolutely. No problem.”
He caught her in that intense gaze once more, and she wondered if that was how deer felt, frozen in time but still caught up in something fast and furious. Because this was fast, and the beat of her heart was furious. She wanted him to go. To leave the room. He’d already almost made her break her resolution once. She didn’t intend to let him succeed the next time.
After a second, he nodded, and she pointed him toward the interior stairs that led up to the flats. As soon as he disappeared from sight, she exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. His departure seemed to lift a weight, but, at the same time, it left her feeling oddly hollow.
No flirting, she reminded herself as she headed back to the break room. Focus.
And she did. She focused on her work for at least five solid minutes. Productive minutes, too.
But then she noticed the print again. The man watching the woman. The woman, looking so very enraptured. The man, whose face resembled Bryce’s just a little.
Her body warmed, and Joan groaned, then shifted slightly on the chair to try to ease the pressure building between her thighs. She had one hell of a vivid imagination, but there were times when it seemed more like a curse, because right now she could imagine Bryce creeping down the stairs and moving quietly to the break room door.
He’d stand there, barely breathing, just watching. And as he watched, Joan would arch her back in her chair, her breasts thrusting forward as she grazed her fingertips lightly over her throat. The touch was a tease. Innocent, really, but promising so much more. Promising, that is, if he was good.
He was, of course. Very good. He watched. Just watched. And the watching turned her on. Made her wet. Made her sex throb in a way that demanded attention, demanded release.
Slowly, so slowly, she let her fingers wander down her body, caressing her breasts, following the smooth planes of her stomach down to her waist. The shirt was tucked in, and so she tugged it free, all the while wondering what he was thinking. Did he want to touch her? Or did he simply want the satisfaction of seeing her lose herself to pleasure?
With a little moan of anticipation, she slipped her fingers under the waistband of her skirt, then found the thin elastic band of her panties. She raised her hips, her body craving the touch. And as she licked her lips, her fingers pressed onward, over the coarse curls, finally finding her hot, wet core and—
Enough already! Her eyes flew open. He was in the building. Right above her. He could come back at any time. So what the devil was she doing?
Losing it. That’s what she was doing. She was positively losing it.
Off to her left, she heard the scuffle of shoes, and then the distinct sound of a man clearing his throat.
Shit. In a microsecond, she was sitting upright, fear and embarrassment pounding