"Last weekend never happened."
That's what Olivia Graham repeatedly told herself after her earth-shattering encounter with him.
And yet, she couldn't shake the way her lips burned when she recalled his kiss or the phantom sensation of his fingertip...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Shit!
Was I too blunt with her?
I just wanted to start this off honest, but maybe I should have tried a less direct approach.
Does she want to run for the hills? I can't tell.
My attempt to read her in this flickering candlelight takes me back to the moment my eyes first fell on her...
I watched her confidently glide across the ballroom floor; I knew I had to meet her.
She was utterly captivating.
I've had my fair share of women, but she seemed different. She moved something in me...if you get my drift.
I needed to know her.
I walked over to the bartender and ordered her another drink. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I had to try to get a moment alone with her.
She stumbled upon my library and that skintight dress made me forget how to speak. I was far from smooth and definitely insulted her when I finally opened my mouth.
Her sassy reply immediately turned me on. I was slowly losing my gentlemanly temperament while in her presence. I just wanted to rip that dress off and please every inch of her enticing body right then.
She had this inviting smile and her sweet vanilla, coconut scent only grew my arousal. I wanted to smell her on my sheets.
When I asked her to come home with me...I sure as hell didn't think she'd say yes, but I was ready to beg for my chance.
Fuck...I'm horny now.
"I'm sorry..." She brings me back to the present. "Did you just say prison?" Her eyes grow a tad wider.
I nod in confirmation. "If you'll allow me the chance to explain?" My eyes pleadingly meet her crystal blue gaze.
"Of course. You just caught me off guard." She smiles in her reassuring way.
Shit. Where do I even begin?
"I grew up in the Bronx, hopping from group home to group home with my best friend, Mickey. We got into a shitty situation when we were sixteen, so we left and tried to make it on our own." I pause, taking a sip of the wine to counter my cottonmouth. "We lived on the streets, taking any jobs we could to make money."
She listens intently as I continue, "Mickey is like me, in the sense that he's tech savvy. Before we dropped out of school, we'd spend most of our time in the computer lab, learning how to code." I crack a smile at her. "I think you'd like Mickey. He shares your cheeky sass."
She lets out a small laugh and I breathe a bit easier.
"When I turned seventeen we started taking jobs that were a bit riskier and involved hacking. It was far from legal, but it paid well, and we thought we were making a difference going after corrupt high profile corporations. We even recruited a few guys off the streets to help." I chuckle under my breath, "I guess in a way, that's how our business began."
