injury, Melissa had introduced the dreaded D word over coffee that morning— downsizing. If the Institute’s financial situation didn’t improve soon, Samara would have to start laying off employees.
With a long, weary sigh, she swiveled away from her desk to gaze out the window, which overlooked a well-manicured park across the street. The sky was pewter-gray and cloudy with the threat of rain; the gloomy weather matching her mood.
She didn’t even want to think about downsizing any of her nine employees. And where would she start? Every staff member was invaluable to the organization, from the loyal receptionist who’d been with the Institute since its inception, to the grant writer who’d secured much of their funding over the years. And Melissa. God, she couldn’t even imagine terminating Melissa. It was inconceivable.
Don’t get discouraged, an inner voice consoled her. You still have your back-up plan.
At the thought of Marcus Wolf, Samara’s belly quivered. Two days later, she still couldn’t believe what she’d done with him—a virtual stranger. She’d gone to the university intending to flirt with him, to use her feminine wiles to renew his interest in her. It wasn’t until she actually saw him again that she realized she wouldn’t be satisfied with merely having a cup of coffee with him afterward and pleading her case.
No, she’d wanted more.
She’d wanted him.
And there was no way she would have left without tasting his sweet, juicy lips and feeling his hard, muscled body pressed against hers. The pleasure she’d experienced in his arms was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. And if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn’t have thought twice about making love to him right there in that classroom. Now that she’d had a taste of Marcus Wolf, she only craved more.
Groaning in frustration, Samara leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. This is ridiculous, she thought. FYI is in dire financial straits and all you can think about is getting laid.
Her phone rang, startling her. She swiveled around and reached across the desk to pick it up. “Yes?”
“Samara, you have a visitor in the lobby,” the receptionist told her, a note of unmistakable excitement in her voice.
“Who is it, Diane?” Samara asked curiously.
“His name’s Marcus Wolf.”
Samara’s heart slammed against her rib cage. After two days of waiting for Marcus to call, she’d been on the verge of picking up the phone herself and making the next move. “Thanks, Diane,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
She hung up the phone and quickly straightened the papers on her desk, then grabbed the stack of overdue invoices and hid them in the bottom drawer. She pulled a tube of red lipstick from her purse and applied a fresh coat, ran a comb through her relaxed mane and popped an Altoid into her mouth. Pausing to take a deep breath, she strode from the office and headed downstairs to the lobby.
Marcus stood at the large oak reception desk, tall, dark and incredibly handsome in another two-thousand-dollar Italian suit, this one in navy blue. His hands were thrust casually into his pants pockets as he conversed with Diane Rawlings, the receptionist. When he flashed that killer grin, the fifty-seven-year-old woman giggled and blushed to the gray roots of her scalp. Samara couldn’t believe it. Diane, who was both feared and respected for her nononsense personality, had actually giggled and blushed.
Was any woman on the planet immune to Marcus Wolf?
He glanced up at Samara’s approach, and her heart skidded to a halt as their eyes met and held. Images of their erotic encounter instantly filled her mind, making her temperature rise.
“Mr. Wolf,” she greeted him, hand outstretched. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Marcus clasped her palm in the solid warmth of his own, sending tingles up and down her spine. “The pleasure’s all mine, Ms. Layton,” he drawled in that
With a long, weary sigh, she swiveled away from her desk to gaze out the window, which overlooked a well-manicured park across the street. The sky was pewter-gray and cloudy with the threat of rain; the gloomy weather matching her mood.
She didn’t even want to think about downsizing any of her nine employees. And where would she start? Every staff member was invaluable to the organization, from the loyal receptionist who’d been with the Institute since its inception, to the grant writer who’d secured much of their funding over the years. And Melissa. God, she couldn’t even imagine terminating Melissa. It was inconceivable.
Don’t get discouraged, an inner voice consoled her. You still have your back-up plan.
At the thought of Marcus Wolf, Samara’s belly quivered. Two days later, she still couldn’t believe what she’d done with him—a virtual stranger. She’d gone to the university intending to flirt with him, to use her feminine wiles to renew his interest in her. It wasn’t until she actually saw him again that she realized she wouldn’t be satisfied with merely having a cup of coffee with him afterward and pleading her case.
No, she’d wanted more.
She’d wanted him.
And there was no way she would have left without tasting his sweet, juicy lips and feeling his hard, muscled body pressed against hers. The pleasure she’d experienced in his arms was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. And if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn’t have thought twice about making love to him right there in that classroom. Now that she’d had a taste of Marcus Wolf, she only craved more.
Groaning in frustration, Samara leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. This is ridiculous, she thought. FYI is in dire financial straits and all you can think about is getting laid.
Her phone rang, startling her. She swiveled around and reached across the desk to pick it up. “Yes?”
“Samara, you have a visitor in the lobby,” the receptionist told her, a note of unmistakable excitement in her voice.
“Who is it, Diane?” Samara asked curiously.
“His name’s Marcus Wolf.”
Samara’s heart slammed against her rib cage. After two days of waiting for Marcus to call, she’d been on the verge of picking up the phone herself and making the next move. “Thanks, Diane,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
She hung up the phone and quickly straightened the papers on her desk, then grabbed the stack of overdue invoices and hid them in the bottom drawer. She pulled a tube of red lipstick from her purse and applied a fresh coat, ran a comb through her relaxed mane and popped an Altoid into her mouth. Pausing to take a deep breath, she strode from the office and headed downstairs to the lobby.
Marcus stood at the large oak reception desk, tall, dark and incredibly handsome in another two-thousand-dollar Italian suit, this one in navy blue. His hands were thrust casually into his pants pockets as he conversed with Diane Rawlings, the receptionist. When he flashed that killer grin, the fifty-seven-year-old woman giggled and blushed to the gray roots of her scalp. Samara couldn’t believe it. Diane, who was both feared and respected for her nononsense personality, had actually giggled and blushed.
Was any woman on the planet immune to Marcus Wolf?
He glanced up at Samara’s approach, and her heart skidded to a halt as their eyes met and held. Images of their erotic encounter instantly filled her mind, making her temperature rise.
“Mr. Wolf,” she greeted him, hand outstretched. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Marcus clasped her palm in the solid warmth of his own, sending tingles up and down her spine. “The pleasure’s all mine, Ms. Layton,” he drawled in that
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