Page 9 of Stone Rules

“No. I don’t.” The authority in which he says it makes me know it’s true.

“Oh.” I get up from my chair and walk over to the door. But instead of opening it, I go to lock it. But I can’t find the lock.Oh, screw it, who cares?I turn around to face him, quickly whipping my shirt over my head before I throw it on the floor of his clean and tidy office. “Well, do you ever fuck them?”

Chapter Four

I’m sure as a private investigator, he’s seen it all. But the look on his face tells me he’s never seen this.

Surely women throw themselves at him all the time. Gretchen at least.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” he says, calm and collected as if I hadn’t just put my tits on display for him.

For a moment, I almost have a feeling of remorse. Shame even. I’m about to pick up my shirt when he stands up and I see without a doubt how affected by me he really is. The front of his pants are tented so much, I question if he’s even sporting underwear.

“I mean the door. I can lock it from here.” He pushes a button on the wall behind the desk and I hear the electronic click of a bolt on the door.

His long stride narrows the gap between us in only a few quick steps. His eyes have further darkened and look almost black as his intense stare freezes me into place. His arms come up and his palms loudly meet the door behind my head as he cages me in.

This close, he towers over me and I crane my neck up until our eyes meet. He grabs me on either side of my head, moving his fingers into my hair, pulling it up and away from my face.

His gaze falls briefly to my bare chest before returning to focus on my lips. I can’t help the victorious smirk that crosses my face. He doesn’t miss it, but answers it with a roll of his eyes as his face breaks into a slow, sexy smile.

Yeah. He knows I’ve won this game. I almost always do. Along with my red hair and hazel eyes, I also inherited the art of seduction from my illustrious mother.

“I don’t normally make a habit of this.” His face moves closer to mine. “But there’s something about you.” His mouth hovers over my mouth, breathing in the air that’s coming in quick spurts from my lungs. “I can’t think straight.” His lips brush across mine and hold there. “This is probably a bad idea,” he whispers right before he crushes his mouth onto mine.

He doesn’t waste time lingering. His tongue pushes through and devours my mouth like it’s searching for air. I’ve kissed my share of men. So many I’ve lost count. But I’m not used to kisses like this one. Powerful. Demanding. Passionate.

Passion is not exactly an emotion I’m comfortable with. I need to take control of this situation so I grab onto his shoulders and jump up, latching my long legs around his waist.

He cups my behind, walking me over to his desk. I suck on his neck along the way, eliciting deep growling noises from his throat.

He holds me with only one hand, the other leaving my body to find the keyboard of his laptop, typing away while I continue my assault of his neck. “Multi-tasking?” I ask.

He nods to the ceiling where there is a small, dark, glass globe. “Just turning off the video.”

Shutting the lid to the laptop, he sets me on the edge of his desk, not even having to clear a space because it’s so sparse. I look at the vast emptiness of it and frown.

“Too hard?” he asks.

“It can never be too hard,” I joke, grazing the front of his tented pants with my fingers. “But, no. It’s just that . . . well it’s probably every girl’s fantasy to shove all the crap off a desk before she gets screwed on it. But yours is just too clean.”

His brow arches in amusement. “I never knew being organized was an abhorrent offense.” He quickly shifts his laptop over to the credenza on his left. “Go for it,” he says.

I turn around and dramatically sweep my arm across the expansive glass desk, catapulting the sole file folder and pen across his office. We both watch the papers flutter through the air before settling onto the floor. It wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as it was in my dreams.

“That was so much better in my fantasies,” I tell him.

He laughs and the sexy sound has my belly flipping over. I grab his waistband, pulling him between my legs, trapping him with my thighs. I untuck his shirt and then as I undo each button, my eyes drink in the pure male perfection that is underneath. I push the sides of his shirt off his shoulders to reveal the result of what is surely hundreds of punishing hours at a gym. I feel like I’ve hit the lottery and am claiming the biggest, best prize of all.

I blow out a long, steady breath when I eye the tattoo over his heart. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t dare ask, because it’s probably some chick’s name. But the Chinese symbol is more than a little bit sexy.

I trace my finger around the edges of his ink and then across the ridges of his steely abs. Shudders wave across his body at my touch. For some reason, I want him to kiss me again. But for some reason, he doesn’t. I’m not usually a fan of kissing. It’s too personal. Too intimate. But there’s something about him.

There’s something about you.His words replay in my mind.

His hand comes up from where he was holding me steady. It stops before he touches my breast. His eyes meet mine and question me as if he’s asking for permission. Nobody has ever asked me for permission. Not ever. I grab his hand and press it to my chest, hoping it feels as good as I think it will.

My eyes close upon his touch as his strong yet gentle hands discover my breasts, squeezing and pinching my sensitive nipples.

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