The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      AALIYAH’S BROWS DREW together in thought. “You’re supposed to be even with me.”

      “It doesn’t work that way.”

      “Yes, it does.” She nodded, her head only wobbling a little, her expression all too serious.

      There was something flawed in her logic, but he couldn’t identify what just then.

      Besides, he liked the idea of stripping away another layer of the trappings that separated him from this woman. It was as satisfying as removing the egal and keffiyeh, letting go of his position for just a few hours in the privacy of the hotel suite.

      Inexplicably, his fingers shook as he stripped out of his hand-tailored jacket, burgundy silk tie and gray pinstriped dress shirt.

      Aaliyah didn’t seem to notice, her eyes eating him up in a very flattering way. After the hours spent building his muscles while honing fighting skills passed down for generations in his family, he had no false modesty.

      But the way she looked at him was not simply that of a woman attracted to his fit body; it was more intense than that.

      She watched him with a powerful hunger more honest than any expression he’d seen on a lover’s face.

      She made a soft sound that went straight to his groin. “Your hair is too short to cover any skin.”

      “You do not sound bothered by that fact.”

      She shook her head.

      “Perhaps you have noticed, but there is already hair on my chest,” he pointed out.

      Taking after his ancestors, it wasn’t too plentiful, but enough he did not look like a boy.

      “Yes.” She audibly swallowed. “Your nipples are hard.”

      “I bet yours are, too.” And lusciously tempting.

      “They are,” she breathed out.

      He had to swallow a groan. “Drink more water. I’m having another ouzo.” It tasted about a hundred proof and he rarely drank, but she wasn’t outdoing him.

      They both slammed their drinks back. Funnily enough, she choke-coughed on her water. His ouzo had gone down smooth as glass.

      They sat in silent contemplation for long seconds.

      “You wanted me,” she said, her expression thoughtful. “That day in the elevator.”

      As if he needed reminding of when that might have been. He didn’t because the desire had not left him since the first moment he’d seen Aaliyah.

      “Yes,” he said when it appeared she was waiting for him to reply in some way.

      He still did. Intensely. Even painfully.

      His sex was harder than any muscle in his body right now—and he had abs of rock that could withstand blow after blow from a sparring partner.

      “I’ve never had sex in an elevator,” she admitted like it was a deep, dark—even shameful—secret.

      “I haven’t, either.”

      “Oh.”

      “I am not certain it’s as common an occurrence as romance movies would have us believe.”

      “You watch romantic comedies?” she asked.

      He shrugged. “My mother enjoys them. My father and I usually defer to her when we have an opportunity to watch a movie as a family.”

      “That’s sweet.”

      He was unaccustomed to being thought of as sweet and did not want to dwell on it. “Gene Chatsfield would have been very angry if there’d been evidence of sex that day, I believe.”

      “He was mad enough,” she said dismissively.

      “You don’t sound too worried about that.”

      “I’m not.” Her lovely features twisted in a scowl. “I’m leaving the Chatsfield.”

      He would have asked why, but Sayed’s mouth went dry as she shifted to put her water glass down on the coffee table. Her hair fell away, exposing one breast. The dark nipple under champagne-colored lace as hard and delicious looking as he’d imagined it to be.

      He cleared his throat and poured another glass of ouzo. “Three years is a very long time.”

      “Yes?” She blinked at him in more charming confusion.

      “Yes.” He tossed back the shot СКАЧАТЬ