Page 107 of Tempt Me

“And that’s a problem because…?” She trailed a hand down my lower back, underneath the waistband of my borrowed jeans to the spot right at my tailbone where I was ticklish. Shivers spread from where her skin met mine, igniting a flame in my core.

“No problem,” I squeaked.

“Thought so. Hey, everyone!” she shouted.

And while she told the crowd of our friends about our relationship, I crowed inside. The most fabulous woman in the world loved me. Only me.

And I loved only her too.

Epilogue

My girlfriend,as it turned out, loved parties.

Her pre-launch backyard barbecue last weekend for family and friends was nothing compared to the actual launch party on the rooftop patio of the Jamilow building.

When I’d worked downstairs, I had no idea this was up here. The building was only two stories tall, but the rooftop overlooked the distant treetops and the sparkling lights of Mountain View. If you stood close to the west side, you could see the inky blot of the pond below. Reflections of the rooftop lights shimmered on its surface.

“What are you doing over here?” Jamila’s whisper was hot in my ear, and I shivered.

I took the champagne flute she offered me. “Observing.”

She made a show of feeling my forehead with the back of her hand. “Natalie Jones isobservinga party? She’s not at the center, networking? This might be serious.”

I clasped her hand and lowered it to our sides. “Hannah did a great job.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I hired her.”

“Excuse me?” I dropped her hand to gesture at myself. “I hired her.”

“No one works at my company without my approval. She was a great hire.”

I sighed, letting it go. We were a team. We’d hired Hannah, who had thrown an amazing launch party. All Jamila’s billionaire business associates were there, except for Winslow Keating-Ashworth who, along with Pavel Thakor, was currently the subject of a federal investigation. Reporters and tech bloggers packed the rooftop.

“What are you doing over here?” I asked. “You should be over there talking to a blogger or an investor. Not here with me. You’re missing your party.” I gave her shoulder a gentle push.

“I’m right where I want to be.” She turned her back to the party and set her hands on my waist. “Did I mention I like this dress?” Her hands roved the short distance to the hem and curled under it.

I trailed my hands from her shoulders to the back of her neck and played with the short curls at the back of her head. “You did mention it when I got to your place. And again, in the back of the car on the ride over here.”

“Ah, right,” she breathed in my ear before kissing my neck. “I can’t be responsible for remembering what I say when you wear a skirt that short. I’m shocked your mother let you leave the house in it.”

I shoved her shoulder. “I might still live with my parents, but they don’t have a say in what I wear.”

She pressed me back against the wall. “Maybe someone should. That skirt is indecent. It makes me wonder what you’re wearing underneath.” When she caressed my bare butt cheek, her eyes went wide. “Nothing?”

“Jones women don’t go commando in public.” I lifted my chin. “It’s a thong.”

“A thong.” She found the G-string and slipped her thumb under it, stroking the sensitive spot at my tailbone. “Maybe I should take you to my office for a more thorough assessment.”

Shuddering, I grabbed her rogue hand, pulled it out from under my skirt, and gripped it.

“Later. In your bed, not your office.” I nudged her to face the party. “Have you talked to any of the COO candidates?”

“I’ve got to say, it was brilliant of you to invite them here. I felt a couple of them out. They could be interested in the job. Though I’ll have to order a full background check on any serious candidates. No more corporate spies,” she grumbled.

“No more corporate spies,” I agreed. “Or friends.”

“Speaking of not-friends, what’shedoing here?” She pointed at a tall man, his gray hair sparkling in the strands of Edison bulbs that crisscrossed the center of the rooftop. He looked vaguely familiar.

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