Page 73 of Jett

This isn’t the Cari I know.

She’s stunning. Sexy as hell. My mouth falls open, and I almost drop the whiskey glass. I should stand up—this moment deserves it—but I sink further into my wingchair, fearing that she’ll see the evidence of my desire if I do.

She closes the door, her hips swaying as she walks toward me, stopping just inches away. My lips part, and I instinctively lick them, the urge to devour her overwhelming me. The dress clings to her curves, the slit teasing dangerously high up her thighs. And then I notice—no bra.

Fuck.

Me.

It’s even better than I could have hoped for. Cari was made for this dress, or this dress was made for her.

If she’s as turned on as I am, she’s soaking wet. I want to reach out and feel her there.

Stop.I suppress a guttural groan in the back of my throat. Biting down on my molars I let my eyes roam all over her freely. “You look fucking good enough to eat,” I growl, my voice rough with need.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Wolf.” Her chin tilts up, her eyes—those fuck-me eyes—defiant.

Mr. Wolf?I raise an eyebrow. If that’s how she sees me, I can’t wait to fucking eat her up. “That dress was made for you.” I quickly down the rest of my whiskey, trying to buy time to collect my thoughts. She’s nothing like I expected.

She’s surprised me.

Taken control of the situation.

Done the unthinkable.

“How did you know what size I was?” she asks, her voice steady, not a trace of the shyness I’d anticipated.

She’s not afraid. Not shy, not embarrassed. What the fuck has gotten into her? I didn’t expect this—this confident, bold Cari. She’s strong, just like she is as my PA, but this ... this situation is entirely different.

“I pay attention.” My hungry eyes sweep over her, top to toe. I want to tell her to twirl, but resist the urge. I don’t want her to think I see her as an object.

Her gaze pins me in place. “Why did you give this to me?”

I let out a labored breath. Easy. I’ve been rehearsing my answer. “I wanted to see if you meant what you said.”

“You’re my boss,” she purrs, sliding her tongue across her lower lip, making my control slip another notch. “I’ll dowhateveryou say, Mr. Knight.”

Fuck. Who is this creature? “Anything?” My voice is barely a whisper. My breath hitches in my throat, stuck there like a ball of clay, as the air between us thickens heavily with innuendo.

My eyes travel down her body, over the plunging neckline of that flimsy fabric, straining against her breasts. The peaks are perfectly outlined, and I am so tempted to reach out, to slip my hand inside, to kiss her, suck her, devour her.

Don’t go there.

She did what I asked. She wore the dress. I didn’t think she would, but what now? What the hell do I donow? Talk to her? Figure out what this means?

I finish my whiskey in one gulp, then stand abruptly and walk to the bar, needing another drink, needing distance. I pour myself another glass. “What’ll you have?” I ask, more to break the tension than anything else.

“Nothing.” She sits on a barstool, opposite me.

“Nothing?” I ask. It’s an effort to keep my voice casual. This version of Cari unnerves me. I feel trapped. I clasp my whiskey glass tight, feeling grateful that the bar is between us, hiding the obvious bulge in my pants.

“I need to talk to you. It’s just as well you called me down.”

I had a feeling she’d want to talk. Probably about what an ass I was on the drive back from the caves. “I noticed you didn’t come down to dinner.”

She tilts her head. “I lost my appetite.”

I lost mine, too, but I doubt her reason is the same as mine. “Oh? Any reason for that?”

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