Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(37)

“Come home tonight, with me.”

One second I’m opening my mouth, trying to come up with an explanation why maybe we should take it slow, the next he brushes his mouth to mine.

“What are you doing?” I laugh nervously. “I’m going to end up with no lipstick at all.”

My skin breaks out in goose bumps when his reply is merely a curve of his lips. “Tell me you want to talk about Interface,” he whispers in my ear. That used to be our code for kissing . . . making out. “Tell me you left something at my place.” He rubs his nose against my ear. “Tell me you want me tonight.”

“I . . . I want to talk about Interface,” I say, not able to hold back a small laugh.

He strokes a finger up my arm, watching me. “My goal is complete domination of the market . . .” he murmurs as he lowers his dark head, his lips soft and warm as they press on my throat. “Elimination of all competition . . .”

He ducks his head and I feel his mouth brushing, almost like air, over the tip of one breast. I can’t breathe.

He lifts his head and frames my face in his hands, warm, strong hands, and then he smoothes a hand back, pulling me closer, his long fingers encompassing so much of me I feel it like a collar around the back of my neck. A collar that’s remarkably welcome, that makes me feel safe and controlled while the rest of my body’s in chaos.

His voice is low and gruff and his breath is too close to my face, my ear. “I’m taking over,” he continues in a husky voice. “Until there’s absolutely nothing left. Nothing before it. Nothing after it. Only what’s mine, what I claimed and what I make of it.” He kisses me then, and we kiss for a long time.

“Maybe I’ll invest in this Interface,” I whisper.

“Come down with me. One walk across the room to meet a few of my business partners. And then we leave.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“I’m not asking on this.”

When we head back downstairs, he places a hand on my waist. He caresses it as we go down—and oh, I definitely feel like his date.

“You’re a devil.” I laugh as I check my reflection in the shiny elevator wall.

“And you want me.”

I mock-gasp. “You’re a deluded devil.”

“I’m one who won’t stop until I get what I want.”

When we step off the elevator, he guides me into the ballroom with his hand on my nape. The touch is light enough to remind me I’m free to choose, but with just the right amount of pressure that says—I’m here. I desire you. Turn yourself over to me for a night and I’ll make every inch of you remember you’re my woman.

He lowers his hand to the small of my back, even when he’s stopped at a table to chat with a few businessmen. I let him introduce me and talk mostly to the men.

Only a few of the younger women at the table make me a little uncomfortable.

They’re draped in the most beautiful jewels, and looking at my tiny, simple R. Their dresses glitter and sparkle as they take in my plain silk one. Their hairdos are styled and swept and elegant as they stare at my straight locks. And judging by those looks, they just can’t seem to believe that the one standing next to him is me.

And still Malcolm’s hand remains on the small of my back.

I’m surprised that, for the first time since I’ve known Malcolm, I don’t care about these women, if they read my article or not, if they’re jealous, if they think I’m pretty enough for Malcolm Saint.

I’m human and flawed and hopeful and afraid and strong and weak and independent—and in love with him in a way I’m sure they are not.

I’m proud to be who I am.

I’m proud of where I stand.





REBOOTING US


Once we’re in the car and the partition between us and Otis is fully up, Malcolm presses me up against his side and his lips come down on mine. He parts my lips and his taste fills me, going like a shot of crack to my heart. A soft noise leaves me as I kiss him back with all I’ve got.

My fingers flutter over his shoulders and then I curl my hands around the back of his neck as we slow down and start kissing more leisurely, savoringly, getting reacquainted again.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks as he sets my mouth free. His eyes are so dark, I can hardly see the green in his pupils.

Nodding and breathless, I slide my fingers into his hair and pull his delicious mouth back to me. He fits his lips to mine, to the way he knows just how to.

He plays with my tongue a little, sucks gently on my lower lip.

The fingers of one hand trail under the fall of my hair and then he slides them upward to cradle the back of my head in his palm, and with that motion alone, he’s got me pinned in place. I’m helplessly subjected to his hungry mouth, and the way he’s kissing and sucking on me is so downright hot I’ve never been so turned on.

I end up lying down on the bench seat with his body above mine, my hands anxiously gripping fistfuls of his collar.

His tongue sweeps and sweeps into my mouth and when he retreats to give me a smoldering look, I notice the way his green, green eyes have darkened like a night forest.

“I miss you,” he rasps, looking at me so fiercely it’s as though he’s commanding me to understand what this means.