The Allure of Dean Harper (The Allure #2)(29)

“And then I called your name.”

He arched an eyebrow, but stayed silent.

“Your door was unlocked,” I said, pointing to it as if it would speak up and confirm my story.

He stepped from the stairs down onto the marble floor, dragging his eyes up over my outfit. I glanced down. My dress was black and slimming with a sweetheart neckline. I’d stuffed a cardigan in my tote with plans to put it on before I’d arrived. Without it, the dress was a little too risqué for work. There was too much skin exposed across my neck and chest if Hunter was going to be around.

“The meeting doesn’t start until 9:30. I was showering,” he explained, drawing my attention back up to him.

I reached for the cream cardigan. His gaze followed the fabric as I pulled it on over my shoulders. “Then I guess I read your email wrong.”

He knocked his knuckles against the table twice and then stepped back. “C’mon. We’ll wait for the others in the kitchen. I need some coffee.”

I trailed after him, focusing on the black hardwood floors that began just off the entryway. We passed his bicycle hanging on the wall like a modern art installation and then turned the corner into the kitchen, just to the left of the main staircase. The dark wood floors extended into the room, but they were balanced out with light gray cabinets and Carrera marble countertops. Every gadget I dreamed of having in my future kitchen was on full display inside Dean’s. A restaurant-grade refrigerator sat beside a built-in espresso maker and I swear to god, my heart fluttered a little bit at the sight of the black KitchenAid mixer.

“Espresso?” he asked,

I scrunched my nose. “Latte?”

He nodded as I moved around the large island, giving him space to move. There seemed to be no limit to his talents. Bartender, barista, yachtsman, restaurateur—the talent had to end somewhere, right? Probably in the bedroom.

I slid a barstool out from beneath the island and sat as I watched him work, letting my question take root in my mind. Dean had all the things that a good lover was supposed to have. He moved and spoke with utter confidence. He had a killer body from working out, which would also help with stamina in the bedroom. He bent to see into the back of his refrigerator and I smiled at his ass. Yet another bonus.

Experience in the bedroom mattered as well, but that wasn’t something I could find out from looking at him.

“Do you go on a lot of dates, Dean?” I asked, letting my thoughts seep out into the open before I could stop them.

He glanced away from his refrigerator. A navy-clad shoulder gave way to smirking lips and curious eyes.

“Will I have to write you up alongside Hunter for sexual harassment?”

I laughed. “That question was hardly harassment.”

He pulled the carton of milk from his refrigerator and set it down on the island in front of me, precisely and thoughtfully. I could see the veins in his hands, evidence of an early morning workout, no doubt.

“It’s not like you have to prove anything to me,” I continued. “I was just wondering…”

I let the second half of the sentence linger, suddenly feeling too nervous to expand on my thoughts.

“Wondering what?”

His eyes dared me to be honest, and I’d never been good at turning down a dare.

“It just seems like guys like you—the powerful *s of the world—are supposed to be really good in bed.” His eyes widened only slightly, and I swore I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. He propped his hands up on the edge of the island and leaned forward, gaze locked on mine.

“And what has your experience been?”

I shook my head. “I’ve only been with guys my own age.”

“So?”

I shrugged. “In college, anyone can be a rich kid, with a big ego and daddy’s checkbook. It’s another thing entirely to be powerful on your own.”

His nostrils flared and then he pushed back off the counter. “Well if you ever care to put your little theory to the test, you know where to find me.”

I laughed.

He was joking.

He had to be joking.

Right?

I opened my mouth to clarify but the doorbell rang before I could. Loud, obnoxious, and horribly timed.





Chapter Twenty-Two


Dean



I rounded the corner back to my house, but instead of slowing down, I passed my stoop and kept going. My run was over, but the fire inside me wasn’t tamed. My problem with Lily was no closer to being solved.

The meeting at my house the day before had gone to shit within the first five minutes. The team had gathered around my kitchen so we could go over final items for Vegas, but the entire time, I could feel Lily’s curious gaze on me. She’d sat at my kitchen table, picking apart my words in her mind and making them out to be more than they’d been. The dare I’d spoken just before everyone had arrived had been a joke. Nothing more. I could have clarified that, but instead, I’d let it linger between us, suffocating the room with questions.

I could still reach out to her and squash the invitation. I had her email, her cell phone number, and her address, but something held me back.

It was that something that made me want to keep running.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Lily