Page 27 of The First Spark

It’s just like those lost moments on the ladder, when everything but her faded from view.

As if reading my thoughts, Ori glances down at our entwined fingers before slipping her hand from my grasp.

She straightens her spine, allowing a few inches of space between us. “Well, that’s settled. All in all, a successful evening. We no longer detest one another, and I’ll sign whatever documentation Kiki requires.”

But I’m nowhere near finished. Now that I’ve spent some time with this petite beauty, I know one thing.

I need more.

Much, much more.

“We got business out of the way and now, the fun can start.” I clink her glass, my eyes tracing the lines of her body. Ori may not be my usual type, but she’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen.

And if I’m not mistaken, the feeling is mutual.

Ori quirks a brow, her dark eyes dancing behind her glasses. “Dare I ask what you have in mind?”

Oh, beautiful, I wish you would.

I fully realize I need to take my libido down a few notches before I overtake her slight frame and show her just how much fun we can have together.

Leaning forward, I rest my arms on my knees, my famous smirk playing about my mouth. Am I pulling out all the stops? Damn right I am. “I already told you. Weget to know one another. Time for truth or consequences.”

She sputters her drink at my request. “Ash, I haven’t played that game since high school.”

“See? Entirely too long. Come on, we’re here all night. Let’s make the most of it.”

What I don’t mention is how I’d far rather strip off her clothes and exploreherall night … but I will. First, I have to break through her cool and collected exterior, because I sense the fire underneath. I felt it when I held her against me in the bookstore.

All she needs is someone willing to stoke it to life.

Plus, Ori wears some pretty thick emotional armor. Hell, it’s almost as thick as mine, but I want to dig deep and get to know the womanbeneaththat protective shell.

Part of me wonders if anyone ever has.

With a shrug, Ori flops back against the couch, a smile easing across her face. “Fine. You go first.”

The best partabout these silly games is how quickly the time flies when you’re engaged in good-natured ribbing and laughter. We spend the next hour learning the basics about one another—schooling, childhood, marital status, kids—all the while blowing each other’s minds with how wrong we had the other pegged.

First impressions are often that way, particularly when based on outwardappearances.

Still, I know there are way more layers to Oriana Thorne. Time to jump to the good stuff.

Stroking my chin, I shoot her a mischievous grin. “Where’s one place you had sex that everyone said you should try, but you hated?”

A low giggle rises from Ori’s chest, her tongue once again gliding along her lower lip. By far, the most unintentionally sexy move I’ve ever seen.

Don’t get me wrong. Plenty of women employ that maneuver, but Ori has it mastered. Best part? She has no clue how unhinged she’s making me.

I’m certain Oriana Thorne is the quintessential good girl. Sure, she might enjoy a spanking or the occasional porn flick, but all in all, she’s pretty vanilla.

There’s nothing wrong with vanilla—except when women insist they’re anything but, and you end up learning the hard way that they are.

Trust me, I’ve been with enough women to know that’s a fact. And it works both ways—men who crow about the size of their cock rarely have anything to brag about.

That’s why I don’t brag. My hookups do it for me.

I keep quiet. More of a show than tell kind of guy.

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