The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(47)

He leaned back, giving me a second to catch my breath, and I let one hand fall to his thigh, skimming over the silky fabric of his tuxedo pants. It was soft, so much so that it hardly felt like there was a barrier between his tensed thigh and my hand. The higher I went, the more obvious his desire became.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, pulling a half-inch away from him and meeting his eye.

He looked like he’d just gone on a long distance run. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils were dilated, and his hair was sticking up in every direction thanks to my wandering hands.

“What?” he asked, out of breath.

“You’re hard,” I said with wide eyes and a dumbstruck expression.

The edge of his mouth hitched up. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”

I shook my head. “No. You’re like, really hard, and…” I couldn’t quite pull the next few words out of my mouth, so instead I presented him with a visual. I held my hands up about a foot away from each other and stared up at him with an accusatory glare.

Julian was definitely packing more than six-pack abs. I’d been too caught up in the moment to notice that fact on Dean’s yacht, but now? Now I couldn’t stop noticing.

He rolled his eyes and pushed my hands aside; I swore there was a blush across his cheeks that hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier.

“Do you always carry a t-ball bat in your pants?” I asked, too far gone to contain my laughter.

“Jesus, Jo. Can we not talk about youth sports while I’m aroused?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

I reached out to touch the bulge in his pants again.

Yup.

It needs its own time zone.

“Jo?” he asked with a gentle tone.

“Yeah?” I asked.

His hand fell over mine on top of his pants, then he gripped my fingers and pulled them off.

“You can’t just hold it like that.”

Oh. Oh! Right.

Oh my god. I’d just been touching my boss’ penis, like it was no big deal. Oh god. What the hell am I doing? My vision widened beyond Julian, to the expanse of my tiny apartment, to the stack of hidden bills sitting beneath the magazine on my kitchen counter.

Just like that, the game was over. My responsibilities flooded in like I was a junkie coming off a high. All the signs were there too: I felt regretful, guilty, angry with myself, and—worst of all—I wanted more.

“Dammit!” I jumped off the couch and shoved my hands through my hair. “We just made out, Julian, and—” I paused when I felt air brush over my chest. “You saw me in my bra!”

I glared at him accusingly and he had the gall to flash me his innocent hazel eyes.

“I hadn’t realized,” he said, making it a point to keep his gaze above my neck. Even still, his smirk gave him away.

I started pacing back and forth across my apartment floor, which was all of ten feet wide. Back and forth, back and forth as my brain tried to work out a plan.

First, I needed a joke to break the tension between us. Why’d the chicken cross the hard body of Julian Lefray?

To get laid.

Which came first?

The chicken or me?

Shit. I was in trouble if I couldn’t think of a non-Julian related sex joke. I blamed him. Julian was not supposed to be at my apartment. What gave him the right to show up in Greenwich Village, one block over from my apartment, when he was supposed to be on a date with another woman?

He couldn’t expect me to turn him down when he literally showed up at my apartment wearing a tailored tuxedo and holding a box of hot pizza. I mean, that’s not playing by the rules.

“Okay, listen,” I said, spinning on the balls of my feet and meeting his eyes.

He leaned back against the futon and spread his arms out along the back.

Perfect. He looked edible.

“You can’t bring me pizza late at night,” I said, trying to get my brain back on topic. “Pepperoni is foreplay to me.”

He laughed. “Good to know.”

“Also, I think we should set up some other ground rules.”

“Rules?” he asked, with one dark brow arched in defiance.

“To prevent future problems like this from occurring.” I pointed at his pants. “Exhibit A.” Then, I pointed to my bra-clad chest. “Exhibit B.”

“I think we should discuss exhibit B first. Maybe let the jury get a closer examination,” he said, leaning forward with a devious smile.

“Julian! C’mon, this is serious. Throw me my freaking sweatshirt already.”

He laughed and shook his head, clearly disagreeing. I didn’t give him time to voice his opinion though. I grabbed my sweatshirt and tugged it over my head as quickly as possible. When I was done, I held up my hand and started counting out rules on my fingers.

“Rule number one: no pizza.”

His brown hair was ruffled from our make out and his shirt was missing another button or two up top. What the hell?

“Second rule: we can’t hang out in my apartment alone. It’s too tempting.”

“Do I get any say in these rules?” he asked.

“No,” I answered quickly as I continued to pace around the room.

“Just to be clear, what are these rules in place for?” he asked, trying to catch my eye as I continued to move.