Page 61 of Strictly the Worst

He’s been out most of the day. He’s a workaholic, just like me and it’s one of the things I’m finding stupidly attractive about him.

He comes from money. He’s made more. And yet he never lets up. He just keeps on going.

“We have the presentation first thing,” I remind him. And right now I’m packing because we won’t have time in the morning. My heart is already racing thinking about going home. I’m feeling stupidly torn between wanting to see my daughter and wanting to spend longer here with him. Every time he looks at me my body responds.

“Okay, I’ll let you remember your own name. But you’ll have to scream out mine.” He walks over and presses his lips against my throat. “Hello, darling.”

I smile, because he’s so ridiculous. And so ridiculously handsome. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His aviator sunglasses are hanging from the v of his shirt where the top buttons are undone.

“How was your day?” I ask.

“Busy. Stupid. How was yours?”

“I got everything finalized,” I say proudly.

“I’m sorry I left you to work alone.” He genuinely looks it, too. “There’s a problem with a client in Paris.”

“The one you always sweet talk?” I ask. I try to keep my voice light, but yeah, there’s a hint of jealousy there. Not that there should be. Because this thing is clearly physical. And when we go home it’s over.

“She’s fifty,” he says. “No need to go all green eyed over her.”

“I’m not green eyed,” I protest.

“Sure you’re not.” He gives me one of his trademark heat-inducing smiles. “Come on, take me through the presentation. Then it’s dinner and bed for us.”

He pulls me off the chair I’ve been sitting on, then lifts me onto his lap. I can smell the warm depths of his cologne. Feel the heat of his skin from the sunshine on his walk back from the hotel. He kisses my neck again, just where he knows I’m the most sensitive, and I let out a sigh.

“The presentation, Carmichael,” he reminds me.

I lean forward and start up the slide show, talking him through each one. He asks me questions – pertinent ones, and I answer them as though he doesn’t already know what I’m about to say. Because he’s just as on top of this as I am.

And at the end, there’s a last slide. On top it says The Blooper Reel. In the center is a video and it starts to play.

It’s of Linc running along Pig Beach, being chased by the biggest, hairiest angry mama pig you ever want to see.

As he lands face first in the sand more words come up over the video.

“Hampshire PR will run the extra mile to make sure you’re happy.”

“Not funny, Carmichael,” he growls into my ear. But there’s amusement in his voice and it makes me grin.

“I think it’s hilarious.”

“I thought we agreed you’d delete that video,” he says, pushing the hair away from my neck so he can kiss it again.

He has a thing about my throat. I’m starting to think he might have been a vampire in another life.

Except then he’d still be a vampire, because they can’t die. Well that’s confusing.

“I never said that,” I point out.

He moves his hand down to where my skirt meets my thighs, lifting it higher, feathering his fingers against my skin. Until he reaches the apex, and slides them into my panties.

“Linc…”

“Tell me you’ll delete it,” he says, his voice all low and sweet as he starts circling the pad of his finger against me.

“That’s bribery,” I gasp. But all I can think of is the delicious warmth he’s creating between my legs.

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