Big Shot(4)
In reality, she could have been a complete failure at blow jobs—then again, was there really such a thing as a bad blow job?—but in his fantasies, she was a porn star pro who swallowed every inch of his cock and moaned for more.
She laughed at something Richard said, and Wes issued the other guy a silent thank you, since that burst of amusement made Wes the lucky guy who got to watch the slight bounce of her full, perfect tits. She was wearing a white silk blouse, so business-like and demure, but the pearl buttons were unfastened just low enough to give him an occasional glimpse of virginal lace and a small, pretty pink bow pinned to the front of her bra where it dipped into her cleavage. That enticing peek of smooth, creamy breast was like a tease, and it took supreme effort for him to lift his gaze back up to her face.
Her eyes were cast downward as she listened to the guy on the phone, a smile on her lips, and he was grateful that she hadn’t caught him blatantly staring at her chest. He didn’t need it getting back to Connor that he’d become a pervert where his sister was concerned.
“Richard, I have a colleague waiting to talk to me,” Natalie said, clearly cutting the other man short. “How about I call you when I get home in a little while?”
Richard must have agreed, because they said their good-byes and Natalie disconnected the call. She set her phone on the table and sent a brilliant smile Wes’s way. The flush of success suffused her cheeks in a warm, pink glow, and she looked as though she was riding a natural high of victory—which Wes fully recognized since it was usually him riding that adrenaline rush after a multimillion-dollar sale.
“Hey, Mr. Big Shot,” she said, her light, feminine voice threaded with cheerful vindication. The kind that was self-satisfied without being overtly smug, but the intent was definitely there.
Oh, yeah, she was reveling in today’s good fortune.
“Hey, Brat-Gnat,” he replied, purposefully putting a little emphasis on the g part of the shortened name, which he’d given her years ago when they were kids and he’d wanted to swat her away like the annoying insect he’d nicknamed her after.
“Pesky as a gnat, huh?” She grinned, clearly catching the context of the word he’d used, and wasn’t offended in the least. “It’s been a while since you’ve called me that.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been especially . . . bothersome lately.” More like a pain in his ass, but he was trying to be cordial.
“Bothersome?” She arched a perfectly shaped brow, which highlighted the amusing gleam in her eyes. “Is that what you call someone who’s beating you at your own game?”
“Bothersome, inconvenient, same thing,” he said with a casual shrug, not surprised that verbally sparring with Natalie, mixed in with that sexual awareness neither one of them ever spoke of, made his dick perk up. “Everyone gets a lucky break now and then.”
“A lucky break?” she repeated incredulously.
His backhanded praise sparked a flash of irritation in her bright blue eyes, but before she could dole out the comeback he saw forming on her lips, he oh-so-graciously issued the congratulations he’d come over to her table to deliver. “By the way, good job on the Davenport listing today.”
“Thank you,” she said, more modestly than he’d anticipated. Then she tipped her head to the side, regarding him with concern. “Did that hurt?”
Confused by her question—because to his knowledge he hadn’t suffered any kind of injury recently—he frowned. “Did what hurt?”
She fluttered her lashes at him coquettishly. “You having to admit defeat to little Natalie Prescott.”
The little minx. He swallowed the taste of crow rising in his throat and dazzled her with a charming smile instead. “Not at all,” he lied, and signaled for the nearby cocktail waitress. “In fact, I’d like to buy you a celebratory drink. What’ll you have?”
Surprise lit her pretty blue eyes, and realizing he was being sincere—at least he looked the part—she ordered the house specialty, the Popped Cherry, with an extra cherry. He went with the house beer on tap. When their drinks were delivered, he lifted his toward her.
“Congrats on today’s sale,” he said amicably, and waited until she tapped the rim of her glass to his before adding, “And here’s to the last sale that I’m going to let you steal from me.”
Before she had the chance to take a sip of her cocktail, she burst out laughing. “Let me steal from you?” she asked with amused disbelief. “Are you serious right now, Sinclair?”
He grinned. “Absolutely.” Okay, he knew it was impossible to make that kind of guarantee, that she’d never again outbid him on a listing, but it was worth seeing her get all riled up, which also helped to keep their attraction in perspective. “Like I said, everyone gets a lucky break now and then.”
She didn’t respond immediately and instead took a drink of her creamy, chocolaty concoction, then slowly licked her bottom lip—distracting the hell out of him with that soft, wet tongue. And when he met her gaze and saw the bewitching heat glinting back at him, he realized that had been the minx’s intent.
“Maybe you’re just getting a little too lax and careless and arrogant, which is fine with me since I’m the one benefitting,” she said with a casual shrug of a shoulder.
That quickly, that easily, she’d turned the tables on him. She was provoking him while also making it clear that he’d made a big mistake by not allowing her to work for Premier Realty. He wanted to be irritated with her for calling him lax and careless—he’d cop to being labeled as arrogant because, well, he was cocky at times—when he was a businessman who gave every one of his listings one hundred and ten percent of his effort. But that flicker of annoyance that should have burned bright and been aimed straight at Natalie was instead wrapped up in a fog of lust for a woman he couldn’t have.