Page 47 of So Wrong It Must Be Right

Her lips curved into that little self-satisfied smirk as she trailed her fingers down his chest. “Funny, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a suit. Do you own a suit?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, taking her wrists and wrapping his fingers around them. They were narrow, and he could feel the steady thrum of her pulse. “No business talk,” he warned in a low voice.

She pouted, but she didn’t try to free her hands from his tight grip. Instead she pushed up onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

This time things weren’t quite so slow, or gentle, but it was still different. Everything about them today was different, and he enjoyed it far too much, because it was going to hurt like hell eventually.

But eventually wasn’t today.

He squeezed her wrists before he released them, and then they were pushing clothes off each other, trying to keep their mouths fused as they did. He nudged her onto the bed, covering her long, soft body with his.

He tasted her everywhere, the sweet wine of her mouth, the soft salty tang of her skin, the musky spice of her pussy. He brought her to orgasm with his mouth, and he rode through said orgasm with a hunger he didn’t know how to fulfill.

She was already reaching for the box of condoms as he kissed up her body, and once he was over her again, supporting himself with the shaky strength of his arms, she slowly rolled the condom onto the pulsing hardness of his erection.

They were both shaking with need, gasping for breath, and still neither of them pushed for a quick finish.

She trailed her fingers down his temple, his cheek, and his jaw. Her eyebrows were furrowed as if she was trying to solve some problem or riddle. He knew the feeling; this felt like both, and yet . . .

And yet, here he was. A beautiful, complicated woman underneath him, touching him with a gentleness that surprised him.

Her gaze met his, her expression morphing into a sheepish smile, and though he had doubts about just about everything else, he didn’t have doubts that they were feeling the same things: too big, too much, too complicated, and not giving a shit.

He sank into her, her legs wrapping around him, her sigh in his mouth. It didn’t make any sense, but deep inside her, connected to her, he didn’t care. He moved, agonizingly slow, enjoying the near painful twist of anticipation as her body met his, again and again.

She sighed, she moaned, she moved, and he watched it all, absorbed it all, wanting Dinah imprinted on his body, his memories, his heart.

Shit.

She wrapped her arms around him, coming apart in his arms, his name on her lips. It was that whisper, his name,herthat culminated in his own rushing release.

They held on to each other as if that was all it would take to solve the million complications that surrounded them. With Dinah in his arms a supportive relationship and business success seemed infinitely possible. Carter figured he could let himself believe in that for a little while.

Chapter 14

Dinah had a plan. God help anyone who tried to stand in her way. Including the frustrating man in front of her.

A man she was more than a little terrified she’d fallen in love with. Every time that little thought pushed into her head, she shoved it right back out. Because love took time and trust and . . . time.

She tried not to think about how time hadn’t helped her parents any, but maybe they’d never loved each other. Or maybe a midlife crisis could eradicate love.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t worried about love or her parents, she was worried about the board meeting they were going to be late for if Carter didn’t let her dress him.

“I’m a farmer, Dinah. Board meeting or no board meeting, I’m not wearing a fucking suit. Some decent khakis and a polo are good enough to stand there and nod while you deliver the spiel.”

“You’re going to have to talk. That’s why we’ve been practicing. I’m only giving the opening remarks, you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it.” He glared at the tie she’d pulled out of his closet. “I’m still not wearing a fucking suit.”

She forced herself not to glare right back at him. She had to be calm and reasonable here. The businesswoman to his . . . little whiny baby.

“Don’t you want them to take you seriously?” she asked, working on a compassionate tone instead of an irritated one.

“If they can’t take me seriously because of my clothes, they’re not going to take me seriously, period.”

Dinah let out a sigh, and he flicked a glance at her. One that clearly recognized how irritated she was despite the fact she was trying to hide it.

She forced herself to smile. “I know this isn’t your favorite—Oh.” It dawned on her then, that he wasn’t being difficult to be a dick, or because he was childish—things she’d begun to worry about.

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