Page 45 of Meet Me In The Dark
That voice doesn’t belong in a boardroom. It belongs in the dark, against my throat, and curledaround words I still hear in my sleep.
No. It couldn’t possibly—
Oh, stop trying to fool yourself. You’ve been dreaming of that voice, of that touch, every night since he first laid a finger on you.
A slow, pulsing bloom hits low in my belly.
It’s the way he fills out his suit. The breadth of his shoulders. The easy sprawl of dominance.
I think I mapped out his body with these very hands.
God, he’s lethal.
Sharp jaw, clean-shaven, full lips made for sin, and thick lashes framing eyes so intense they burn. His hair is so dark it’s almost black, and I know exactly how it feels between my fingers.
Is this it? Have I finally lost my damn mind?
Of all the men to secretly ruin me in a sex club, why couldn’t it have been some harmless accountant from Milwaukee?
“From what we’ve seen of your designs, they’re very impressive,” he finally says, his voice still lingering over me. With a steady gaze, he adds something that damns us both and confirms my worst fears. “We have some ideas of our own, but we can talk you through it.”
Julian Blackwood.
CEO.
Billionaire.
Big. Fucking. Problem.
Twelve
Julian
I went to a sex club one time.
One fucking time.
It was supposed to be something dark and anonymous to scratch an itch before I moved the hell on from it.
Now she’s standing at the head of the conference room table, discussing designs for my potential headquarters.
Celeste Morgan.
Her hair flows down her back, and her blouse is tucked in tight like she’s never let anyoneunbutton it.
But I have.
I watched her unravel with nothing but my hands on her skin and my voice in her ear.
But it was my voice that betrayed me today. When I spoke and shook her hand, I saw that flicker of recognition.
Her moan echoes in my head, and my hand twitches at the phantom memory of fisting her hair, while the same expensive perfume from that night wraps around me again today.
Christ.
She’s confident, intelligent, and speaks with authority, but I know how she looks when she loses control, and I want to take it from her again.
“Ms. Morgan,” I say lazily, interrupting her mid-sentence, “you’re proposing a hybrid design for the second structure?”
