Page 131 of One Wrong Move

“I think so. I think… the one you gave me at the inn was my first.”

He runs a hand along his stubbly jaw. “Mm-hmm. That shouldn’t make me feel good, but it does.”

I roll my eyes at him and grab my clutch. “You’re such a man,” I chide. But I’m blushing.

“Of course I am. Tell me, did you enjoy it?”

“Who doesn’t enjoy an orgasm?”

“Maybe I just want to hear you say it.” He puts on his shoes, and then we’re heading out of the room. “Maybe I just need some words of affirmation.”

Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “As if!”

He grins and pushes the button for the elevator. “I enjoyed it. Enjoyed eating you out in the back of my car, too. But I’m really going to enjoy doing it somewhere I can spread your thighs properly wide.”

My mouth goes dry, and I look around the corridor. There’s no one else here… that I can see. “Nate!”

“What?” he asks, still grinning crookedly. Knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“You can’t say things like that,” I say under my breath. The elevator doors open, and he gestures for me to enter.

I step ahead of him into the gilded cage.

“And why not?” he says. “It’s the truth. And you told me you like my honesty.”

I roll my eyes. “Someone could overhear you.”

“Yes, they might,” he says matter-of-factly. “And if they do, they’d hear a man burning with a need for you.”

His words make my mouth dry again. I look at the numbers on the indicator. Sixth floor, fifth floor… almost at the bottom.

So I lean closer, rising on my tiptoes until our mouths nearly touch. “Want to burn even more?” I ask and wait a heart beat. “I’m not wearing panties underneath this skirt.”

The grin vanishes off his face. “What?”

I take a few steps back and smile at him. “I guess I forgot. Whoops.”

“Harper,” he says, but then the elevator doors open. Several hotel guests await outside, and I walk by the group like I’m not at all feeling the breeze along my bare legs… or between them.

Nate is silent during our short walk to the restaurant where we’re set to meet his business associates. It’s not a calm, comfortable silence. It’s the silence of a man who is trying very, very hard not to crack.

The reservation is under Connovan, and the two men with whom he is meeting are already there, or so the hostess says. She leads us through a dimly lit interior where the candles are burning on every surface. The decor is old-school, with a slight burlesque touch to it, and I love it.

I feel like someone else tonight. Someone powerful. Someone in control. Someone… desired.

We join Thierry and Janos in a booth at the back of the restaurant. Thierry is French, Janos is Hungarian, and they’re both easy to get along with. They seem to have a natural rapport with Nate, and it’s clear they’ve all worked together for years. Despite his corporate role likely being the men’s superior, the conversation feels easy. He makes me feel included—effortlessly, easily, more than just a prop.

I order a glass of champagne and the steak tartare, and listen with interest as they talk about Contron. I’m learning more from this conversation than I’ve ever done while previously peppering Nate with all my questions.

Halfway through my meal, I accidentally drop my linen napkin onto the floor. “Whoops,” I say and slide my chair back. I glance at Nate, sitting across from me. “Guess I’ll just have to bend?—”

His chair makes a sharp screech on the tiles as he pushes it back. “Don’t you dare,” he mutters and reaches for the cloth. Hands it back to me, his eyes dark.

I smile at him sweetly. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”

I never call him Nathaniel.

His nostrils flare. “You’re welcome, Harper.”

---