Page 57 of Curvy Love

I have been kissed before. Haven’t done much else, but spin the bottle is a rite of passage for teenagers and I did my time. I’ve even had a few decent kisses, maybe one great kiss. But those were all child’s play compared to this man’s lips on mine.

He nibbles and sips at my lips as if I am something delicious to be savored. His hand comes around to cover the front of my throat, he doesn’t squeeze my neck but just holds his hand there and something about that position heats me up like I’ve been plugged in. My body lights up.

I grip his lower back and press our bodies together and part my lips, inviting his tongue inside. He doesn’t disappoint. His mouth slants over mine and he devours me. His tongue against mine is the most sensual, seductive, luxurious thing I’ve ever felt. He tastes like some kind of alcohol and pure lust.

His fingers at my throat tighten just a little and I whimper and rock myself against him. I’ve been transported to a medieval historical romance and transformed into a wanton heroine begging the Scottish laird to ravish her. His pelvis rocks against me and I feel the thick ridge of his erection. Holy shit.

Now I’m really curious as to what he’s wearing—or rather not wearing—under that kilt.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” a woman’s voice says from behind us.

I press against his chest and then put some space between us. My fingers are covering my lips because frankly I cannot even believe what I just did. What in the hell was that?

“You work fast, don’t you, James?” the woman says. She has a small stack of papers with her.

“Lezlee, what do you want? This could have waited.”

Seriously it doesn’t even matter what he’s saying. Those words were not sexy. But that accent makes me stupid. So stupid. That’s obviously what happened. He came in here talking like that and wearing that kilt and I should have focused on his knee socks and that little purse thing he’s got hanging in front of his dick. If I would have focused on those, I would not have allowed his accent to hypnotize me or whatever the hell happened.

“This couldn’t wait. I need her to sign this.” The woman comes towards the table in the middle of the room and pulls out a chair. “If you don’t mind, Ms. McLeod. You do need to sign this non-disclosure agreement.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” he mutters.

Those are the words he says. But in that magic accent, it’s like my pussy hears ‘you are the most beautiful woman in the world.’ Stupid accent.

“Okay, first of all, I think there’s been a big misunderstanding,” I say. I’ve got to get this all settled and focus on the reality of my life and not let Mr. Sexy-kilt melt my brain any more. “I came here for my job. I bid and won Mr. James for my boss. She’s the one who won the date. I am merely her proxy.”

“What?” His fists slam down on the table, and he glowers at me. “Who the fuck is your boss?”

“Sabrina Wilde.”

“Who?”

“She’s a super model. Y’all have been flirting on social media. She set a thirst trap for you. And evidently, y’all are soulmates.”

He looks at me then looks at the other woman, then back at me.

“I don’t understand any of those words and I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“She’s the model you met last year at the tennis game. She, uh, stuck her hand down your pants,” the woman says with a wince.

“Tall, blonde, thin and gorgeous,” I add. Cranky and super hungry, I say in my head.

“The one who looks like everything smells bad?” he asks the woman at the table.

She laughs. “Yes, that’s her.”

He looks at me. “You work for her?”

“I do.”

“And she sent you here to buy me.”

“She did.”

“Because she believes I’m her soulmate?”

I nod because I can’t say the words again because while they might have sounded ridiculous before when Sabrina said them the first time and they were a little difficult to say a minute ago, the more I think about that notion the more uncomfortable it makes me feel. In my chest. Which doesn’t make sense and I will not be further examining that. Probably bad gingerbread.

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