Page 5 of Power Games

Still. He hadn’t expectedthis.

Fuck. Oh, she was no girl; she was all woman. Very long legs, a perfect, firm, bouncy, biteable ass covered by a pair of short denim shorts. She wore a loose top that didn’t hide the curve of her ample breasts. Then, he took in her face, and she became truly breathtaking. Pouty lips. Dimples. Dark eyes he couldn’t look away from. Everything about her teased him, as though daring him to do his worst.

No doubt, if she’d been the one on her knees sucking his cock, he would have blown his load by now, and been ready for more.

“Mr. Brown?” he repeated numbly, his throat dry.

“My shrink. Trust me, I need one.”

She chuckled, her eyes softening, and suddenly Vanessa was cute as hell. Sweet, even.

Charles started to suspect how dangerous she was.

2

First Sight

She’d known he’d be hot. No man could say “get on your knees” and get the Queen Bee to obey without question, unless he was hot.

Still, there was the normal, everyday kind of attractive. The guy who caught your eye in a coffee shop; the one girls eyed up and down before moving on. Then, there was the guy who made you lose your balance, hit your head on a pole, fall on your ass, throw your coffee all over yourself, and die of embarrassment. A walking threat, a would-be killers of sanity and vaginas everywhere he roamed.

Mr. Grant was the specimen instructors used as an example to teach those guys Wetting Panties 101.

Speaking of? Oops. She needed to put on a new pair, stat.

And of course, he had a ring on his finger. Why wouldn’t he?

“That wasn't your wife,” she remarked pensively.

Of course it wasn’t. Men like him didn’t do the whole ‘faithful’ thing.

“What makes you think that?”

Vanessa had to roll her eyes.

“For one, she wouldn't have left. Secondly, Patricia is married to a friend of my brother’s. Twice her age, par for the course. But don’t worry, I’m certain her husband wouldn’t mind.”

“And now she's gone,” said Mr. Grant. “I find myself in a unique kind of predicament.” His gaze dipped to his crotch suggestively. Holy mother of tents. “I don't suppose your husband would mind if you replaced her either?”

Get a grip, McNamara, she told herself. She wasn’t one to blush like that. Especially since he wasn’t flirting, not really. She could see it. Mr. Grant was after conversation now. If she’d removed her clothes, spread her legs, and begged him to take her, he would have politely declined and gotten out of there.

What a strange man.

Well, good thing she wasn’t that type of woman anyway. Although he almost made her wish she was.

“I don't partake in that kind of farce.”

“Blowjobs?” he asked, one brow raised.

“No, I take blowjobs very seriously,” she retorted in a grave tone. “I meant marriage.”

She’d expected a laugh; instead she got silence. Then a random question.

“How old are you, Vanessa?”

Off subject, but fair. Many people wondered. She looked young, but who didn’t nowadays?

“Twenty. And we find ourselves on unequal footing now. I don’t like it.”

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