Torn (Billionaire Bachelors Club #2)(22)

“He’s willing to meet with you sometime next week. He said for you to call his direct number at the office and you two can set up a meeting. You want the number?” Gage asks, sounding efficient. Very business as usual.

Nothing at all like the man who held me in his arms last night, murmuring filthy words in my ear while he pushed inside me so deep I thought I might splinter in two.

“Yes, I want it. Let me grab a pen.” I find a notepad and pen and jot down the number Gage rattles off, his deep voice sending tingles sweeping over my suddenly too-hot skin.

Just hearing him talk on the phone and I’m a goner. This is so ridiculous.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, clutching the phone so tight I know my knuckles are white. “I—”

“Treated me like crap last night? Yes, you did.” He pauses, as if struggling with whether he should say something or not, and I silently urge him to go ahead and just say it. I don’t care what it is. I might get angry but . . . I doubt it.

Or the anger will just be rapidly chased by arousal, so hey, that works too, right?

The man has turned me into a sick, twisted woman.

I want to apologize to him for being such a bitch last night and kicking him out, but I just can’t find it in me to say I’m sorry. And that makes me feel like an even bigger bitch. “I panicked,” I say instead.

“Because we had sex in the kitchen of your bakery?”

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall to my desk, thumping my forehead on the thick pile of papers. “Yes,” I agree weakly.

“I know. I did too.”

He didn’t seem panicked. He’d been really sweet and aggressive and sexy and gentle. I’ve never had sex against a wall in my life. I’ve never been touched, kissed, f**ked—yes definitely never f**ked—like that ever. Ever, ever, ever.

So it blows my mind that something so crazy, so absolutely, terrifyingly wonderful, happened with a man I don’t really like.

You like him when he has his hands all over your body and his tongue in your mouth.

Lifting my head, I open my eyes and scowl, banishing the nasty little voice inside my head and focus instead on the man I’m talking to.

“I know you regret what happened, and I feel bad for pushing myself on you,” he explains. “So I thought I’d call up Archer and get this handled for you. It’s the least I can do.”

I don’t regret what happened. Well, maybe I do a little, but who regrets great sex? “You didn’t really push yourself on me. And thank you,” I whisper, feeling a little choked up because really, the man could’ve told me to f**k off and die and I wouldn’t have blamed him. I would’ve deserved it.

“You’re welcome.” He pauses, again as if he’s struggling with what to say next, and I get it. I feel the same way. “I’ll uh, see you around.”

Panic flares. I can’t let him go. Not like this. “Wait a minute! Don’t I, um . . . owe you dinner?”

He remains quiet, but I can hear him breathing. “You don’t owe me anything, Marina.”

I love the way he says my name, his deep voice seeming to caress every letter. Holy crap, do I have it bad for a man I don’t like. “It’s the least I can do,” I murmur, throwing his words back at him. Maybe . . . maybe we can see each other again. One more time. It wouldn’t hurt, right? And I need to make it up to him, how awful I was. How I basically forced him to leave.

We had amazing sex, and then we were almost angry over it. Like we resented each other or something. So weird.

I’m tired of feeling resentful. Can’t we just . . . enjoy this connection?

“You’re serious.” He sounds incredulous. I’m not surprised.

“A deal’s a deal, right?” Reaching for my mouse, I bring the security site back up, pleased to see I didn’t exit completely out of it after all. The screen is right where I left it, me being held captive by Gage against the wall. I speed it up a bit, to the part where I can see we’re completely naked. My legs are wound around his waist, my heels digging into his perfect, flexing ass as he pushes deep inside me.

I’m transfixed. Watching us having sex, having him on the phone, it’s like Gage overload.

“You don’t owe me this. I don’t want you throwing this dinner back in my face like you’re prone to do,” he says grumpily. “Considering how you believe I always have ulterior motives.”

I let the insult fly, too enamored with the sound of his voice while watching him hammer inside of me on the computer screen. I squirm in my seat, feeling like a complete pervert at, what, just after eight in the morning? “I won’t throw it back in your face,” I swear to him, not sure if I can really keep that promise. “I guess it all depends if you say something stupid to me. Like you’re prone to do.”

Ha. We sound like little kids fighting on the playground.

Thankfully, he ignores my dig as well. “I’m leaving for San Francisco tomorrow, so how about tonight?”

“Tonight?” I hit pause again on the screen and turn it off, turning away from my computer so I won’t be distracted. “That’s kind of last minute.” Like I have any plans.

“I know. It’s either that or we wait until early next week, when I get back.”

I can’t wait that long. I want to see him, which I sort of hate. I absolutely shouldn’t want to do this. But my humming body more than wants to see him. “Fine. Tonight,” I say curtly, wincing when I hear my tone so I try and soften it. “That sounds . . . fun.”