Page 22 of Gold Digger
“Can we please have this conversation in an upright position without you kissing me? I-I can’t think when you?—”
“Nope,” he said against my mouth. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“What?” my voice was a breathless squeak now; the weight of his body and the feel of him was beginning to addle my mind again.
“I think this is exactly how we should have this conversation,” he told me. “If I let you up, you’ll start twisting things, and I can’t let that happen. You’re going to have to hear me out first.”
“You’re too heavy,” I snapped, but it was half-hearted as I felt myself begin to melt again.
“You’re hardly taking any of my weight, just enough to keep you still.”
I huffed, and he searched my face again. His expression looked almost reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe I was there underneath him.
“I’m going to start by saying that I really, really like you.”
I blinked up at him, and my mouth fell open in shock. That was not what I was expecting him to say. In all honesty, I was expecting him to demand I return the favour he’d just given me. What would be the point of fooling around with your cleaner if you weren’t going to get anything out of it?
“I’m not interested in just a casual thing with you,” he said firmly.
Great Scott! Was he reading my mind?
“You’re not?” My words were a little strangled, but I was having trouble believing that this was actually happening.
“I have feelings for you,” he declared.
“You do?”
“Yes,” he said. “Very strong feelings that I’ve had for a very long time. I know it’s not ideal with you working for me, which is why I haven’t made a move before now, but I can’t stay away from you any longer.”
“You can’t?”
He smiled then and stroked my hair back from my temple again. “Have you got anything more to say than just two-word questions, darling?”
He called me darling. It was so posh and so sweet all at once. My throat felt tight, and I had to swallow before I could speak again. “You do realise that you’re a duke?”
He chuckled. “Yes, I’ve known that for a while,” he said in a dry tone.
“Your Gra?—”
“Call me Your Grace one more time, baby, and see what happens,” he said in a low, sexy voice as his hips pressed into mine. “Now, when I was kissing you and when I made you come, you called me Ollie.” His face fell closer to mine then so that our lips were almost touching. “Do we need to go back to that? Is that the only way to get you to use my first name?” My stomach tightened with need.
“I-I… no more kissing or, er, the other stuff,” I said, my voice pitched unnaturally high.
“Are you going to call me by my first name?” he said against my mouth.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Ollie.”
He smiled and kissed me softly as if in reward, triggering my mind to scramble again. My mouth opened, and his tongue swept inside as I started moving against him, my hands reaching to pull his shirt out from his belt and feel the skin of his back. But then suddenly, his jaw clenched tight and he pulled back.
“Right, right, no more fooling around for now,” he said firmly. I suspected more to himself than to me. “We need to establish some stuff first.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed as humiliation washed over me. “You haven’t even taken off your jacket.” Here I was practically naked beneath him, and the man was fully dressed. His pocket square was even still neatly in place in his breast pocket. I felt at a complete disadvantage. As if sensing my extreme discomfort, Ollie muttered a curse and finally lifted away from me to let me sit up. I immediately missed his weight and his warmth, shivering slightly as I crossed my arms over my chest to pull my bra straps up. Ollie jumped up from the sofa and grabbed my t-shirt, putting it over my head and helping me into it like a child.
“Okay, sweetheart?” he said cautiously as he took the seat next to me on the sofa and laid his hand over mine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of that.” He shrugged his suit jacket off and threw it on the floor; his tie followed, and then he undid a few buttons on his shirt, giving me a delicious view of some chest hair, his corded throat and the tanned muscle of his upper chest. “Lottie?” he called, and I forced my eyes from his chest to his smiling ones. He gave my hand a squeeze. “Better?”
