Silent Desires. Джулия Кеннер
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Joan stared, mildly flabbergasted. “Well, sure. Okay. I mean, I like a man who takes charge.” It was a flirty comment, but she barely noticed. Right then, the possibility of an amazing sale overshadowed everything.
“Good. Then you should like me just fine.” He slipped a card out of his breast pocket, then scribbled something on it. “I’m staying at the Monteleone,” he said. “Do you know it?”
She nodded. Everyone in town knew the posh hotel on Fifth Avenue.
“There’s a restaurant just off the lobby. It’s fabulous. Talon. Does that sound good?”
“Um, sure.” Really, it would be uncouth to leap up and down for joy. Never in a million years would she be able to afford to eat there.
She took the card, the paper smooth between her fingers. On the back, he’d written dinner, 9:00 p.m., Talon. On the front, no job or company was listed. Simply a mobile phone number and Bryce Worthington as if that were all she needed to know. Hell, maybe it was.
“Then it’s settled,” he said. “A little wine, a little literature, a little erotica.” He met her eyes. “Does that sound good?”
Joan swallowed. This wasn’t a man people said no to. And, frankly, her entire body was screaming yes. Not that she intended to listen to her body. Bryce Worthington might be interested in a date—might be using the sale of erotica as a ploy to get her to dinner—but that didn’t matter. Joan intended to stick to her guns.
She licked her lips. Too bad for her.
“Joan?” he pressed. “Are we on?”
She nodded. A silent, professional gesture. As if she delivered erotica every day of her life to men who made her nipples ache and her panties damp.
But her panties didn’t matter. Because Joan was meeting this man only to sell him some erotica. And nothing else was going to happen.
Nothing at all.
A COLLECTOR? Bryce smiled, shaking his head as he slid into the taxi he’d hailed.
“Where to, buddy?”
He gave the driver the address for Leo’s office, then settled back in the worn vinyl seat, thinking about his lie. The truth was, he owned one collectible first edition—Tom Clancy’s The Hunt For Red October—that he’d inherited from his father, a submarine buff who’d bought one of the early copies before the book became a bestseller. Valuable, sure. But not exactly the sort of collection he’d suggested filled the nooks and crannies of his home.
Not that he felt any guilt about the fib. He’d seen the look on her face as she’d sat in the break room. A look of rapture, as if she was lost in thoughts just as erotic as the images scattered over the table. Her fingers hadn’t moved from the gentle curve of her collarbone, but somehow Bryce had just known that in her fantasies, she was stroking and caressing her own soft skin. Touching places his fingers ached to touch.
In that moment, he’d been certain. He wanted to see this woman again, and he was thrilled that his earlier plans for the evening had been cancelled. He’d been invited by one of his model friends to attend the opening of a gallery, a high-profile fund-raiser. He’d been happy to do it. Going out with Suki was always relaxing. They’d been friends for years, but weren’t the least bit attracted to each other despite the rampant rumors in the press.
Originally, he’d been disappointed when she’d called to tell him the benefit had been postponed. Now, though, he was glad for the cancellation. It meant that his calendar was open. A rare thing, and extremely fortuitous, especially considering how much he wanted to spend the evening with Joan Benetti.
Unfortunately, she seemed less than enthusiastic about a date. Too bad. He’d sensed a chemistry between them that he didn’t want to believe was one-sided. But she’d hesitated, and Bryce had turned to more creative methods to get her to go out with him. Well, what the hell? Best case, he’d have the woman in his arms. Worst case, he’d end up owning a few first editions. Either way, he certainly couldn’t complain.
After all, the erotica on the table had been intriguing, to say the least. His body tightened merely from the memory, and he shook his head with wonder. Potent stuff.
Erotica had never been in his field of interest, but Bryce hadn’t gotten where he was by turning away from new experiences. From what he could tell, Joan seemed to be an expert on the subject. And maybe, if fate was kind, Bryce could talk her into giving him a few lessons on the subject. He could hope, anyway.
And if the lessons were hands on, well, that would be all the better.
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