cause trouble, and damned if he could escape it.
Natalya’s office door stood half open, and he stiffened. A thrill of anticipation bubbled through his blood as the fleeting notion crossed his mind that it would be too damn easy to shut that door, trap the both of them inside, and live out that brief fantasy of desks and skirts and mind-numbing sex—business aside.
Kate’s voice, drifting out from beyond the partially open door, had the effect of a bucket of cold water on his head. Thank God. He wouldn’t have to face Natalya and her never-ending legs alone. If thatdoor happened to shut, there’d be no chance in hell he’d find that desk tempting. Unlike his best friend, Mayer, Brandon didn’t do threesomes. He preferred to devote his attentions to one woman at a time. Prove that while she was in his arms, she was the
only
thing on his mind. Even if it was just for a night, it was
her
night alone.
He raised his hand to knock, but the soundless brush of his knuckles swung the door inward. The scene beyond froze him in place. Kate perched on the edge of a leather armchair, straightening out a string bikini top with beaded fringe. In front of her, her back to the doorway, Natalya stood with one foot propped on the seat of her office chair. Slender fingers pulled a black garter up a shapely calf, all the way to one smooth, muscular thigh.
His cock jumped to attention as his heart ground to a stop.
Christ Almighty, she could kill a man with those legs.
To hell with business. He couldn’t explain what idiocy had descended on him, or why this woman lit him up like a firecracker, but he was done with denying he wanted anything else but her. Naked. Legs wrapped around his waist. His cock buried so far inside her she’d never forget he was there.
Fuck!
What the hell was the matter with him? Countless girls, wearing far less than what Natalya Trubachev wore now, had paraded in front of him over the last several years. It hadn’t been
that
long since he’d had a woman—and it wasn’t like he had to look far to find one. So why was he reacting to this redhead like one of the raunchy bastards who frequented the strip?
Brandon ground his teeth together and focused his scowl on the exposed skin at the back of Natalya’s neck. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Both women’s heads snapped his way. Kate let out a squeak. Natalya stumbled as she attempted to put her lifted foot on the floor. She caught herself on the back of the chair. Jade green eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I think I’ll… er… I need…” Kate stood, her gaze alternating between Brandon and Natalya. She readjusted her glasses. “I’ve got to go.”
No!
The protest exploded from the depths of his mind. He needed Kate to stay. Needed a viable, tangible, reason not to drag Natalya across the handful of feet that separated them and discover if her mouth held the same flavor of wine that the deep burgundy of her lips professed.
Kate edged past him before he could develop a rational objection.
“This,” Brandon gritted out through clenched teeth. He gestured at Natalya’s short robe.
“This what?” Affronted, Natalya straightened her shoulders. The act made the deep V down the front of her kimono gap. Creamy skin peeked out, along with a glimpse of black lace. His gaze pulled to the cleft between her breasts. Under the weight of his stare, the silk that covered those full breasts puckered as her nipples stiffened. A flush spread across her skin.
Brandon choked down a groan. He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “You damn well know what.”
Her eyes flashed before she presented him with her back and picked up the black bodysuit slung across the rise of her chair. “We’re a dancer down, Moretti. I’m taking the slot.”
Dance? All that long, lithe body exposed for the entire club to enjoy before he could get his hands on it? Over his dead body.
One swift stride brought him up behind her. “Like hell.”
Natalya’s office door stood half open, and he stiffened. A thrill of anticipation bubbled through his blood as the fleeting notion crossed his mind that it would be too damn easy to shut that door, trap the both of them inside, and live out that brief fantasy of desks and skirts and mind-numbing sex—business aside.
Kate’s voice, drifting out from beyond the partially open door, had the effect of a bucket of cold water on his head. Thank God. He wouldn’t have to face Natalya and her never-ending legs alone. If thatdoor happened to shut, there’d be no chance in hell he’d find that desk tempting. Unlike his best friend, Mayer, Brandon didn’t do threesomes. He preferred to devote his attentions to one woman at a time. Prove that while she was in his arms, she was the
only
thing on his mind. Even if it was just for a night, it was
her
night alone.
He raised his hand to knock, but the soundless brush of his knuckles swung the door inward. The scene beyond froze him in place. Kate perched on the edge of a leather armchair, straightening out a string bikini top with beaded fringe. In front of her, her back to the doorway, Natalya stood with one foot propped on the seat of her office chair. Slender fingers pulled a black garter up a shapely calf, all the way to one smooth, muscular thigh.
His cock jumped to attention as his heart ground to a stop.
Christ Almighty, she could kill a man with those legs.
To hell with business. He couldn’t explain what idiocy had descended on him, or why this woman lit him up like a firecracker, but he was done with denying he wanted anything else but her. Naked. Legs wrapped around his waist. His cock buried so far inside her she’d never forget he was there.
Fuck!
What the hell was the matter with him? Countless girls, wearing far less than what Natalya Trubachev wore now, had paraded in front of him over the last several years. It hadn’t been
that
long since he’d had a woman—and it wasn’t like he had to look far to find one. So why was he reacting to this redhead like one of the raunchy bastards who frequented the strip?
Brandon ground his teeth together and focused his scowl on the exposed skin at the back of Natalya’s neck. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Both women’s heads snapped his way. Kate let out a squeak. Natalya stumbled as she attempted to put her lifted foot on the floor. She caught herself on the back of the chair. Jade green eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I think I’ll… er… I need…” Kate stood, her gaze alternating between Brandon and Natalya. She readjusted her glasses. “I’ve got to go.”
No!
The protest exploded from the depths of his mind. He needed Kate to stay. Needed a viable, tangible, reason not to drag Natalya across the handful of feet that separated them and discover if her mouth held the same flavor of wine that the deep burgundy of her lips professed.
Kate edged past him before he could develop a rational objection.
“This,” Brandon gritted out through clenched teeth. He gestured at Natalya’s short robe.
“This what?” Affronted, Natalya straightened her shoulders. The act made the deep V down the front of her kimono gap. Creamy skin peeked out, along with a glimpse of black lace. His gaze pulled to the cleft between her breasts. Under the weight of his stare, the silk that covered those full breasts puckered as her nipples stiffened. A flush spread across her skin.
Brandon choked down a groan. He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “You damn well know what.”
Her eyes flashed before she presented him with her back and picked up the black bodysuit slung across the rise of her chair. “We’re a dancer down, Moretti. I’m taking the slot.”
Dance? All that long, lithe body exposed for the entire club to enjoy before he could get his hands on it? Over his dead body.
One swift stride brought him up behind her. “Like hell.”
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