Sinful Longing (Sinful Nights, #3)(34)

It was math plus intuition. It was analysis plus gut. In business, Colin had always relied on razor-sharp instincts. He’d leaned on them, too, with Elle. But all of a sudden, they’d stopped working. She’d stopped writing, stopped talking to him, stopped engaging. And he had no clue what to do next.

“I’m not convinced consumers want this technology yet,” he said to Larsen, and the sentiment was eerily similar to how he imagined Elle felt about him.

When the meeting ended and the other team members left, Colin pulled Larsen aside. “Thank you for all your hard work. As always, your presentations are top-notch. I want you to find the next game changer. You’re close. Keep searching.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sloan,” the young man said before he scurried out.

“It’s Colin,” he shouted in a light-hearted voice. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s just Colin?”

“Probably a lot. Thank you, Colin,” Larsen said from down the hall.

As he headed to his office to dive into work, his assistant rang. “There’s someone here to see you. She has a delivery of flowers.”

*

The big bouquet of orange lilies and purple asters hid her face. Clutching the blue glass vase tightly, Elle walked into Colin’s office, nerves bouncing across her skin.

She had no clue if he was pissed at her.

She had no clue if he even wanted an in-person delivery.

But this was the least she could do.

She’d never been to his office before, and from her spot behind the vase, the first thing she noticed was the burgundy carpet, then a soft beige couch and a shiny oak coffee table arranged in front of his desk. Slowly, like in a game of peekaboo, she moved the vase and revealed her face.

Holy shit.

She nearly dropped the flowers.

The view from the window was stunning, but it had nothing on Colin.

He stood, resting casually against the edge of his desk, wearing the hottest two pieces of a three-piece suit. He didn’t have a jacket on; he wore tailored pants, a white shirt, and a vest, and she had to force her lips together so she wouldn’t start panting, drooling, or just gaping at him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up twice, revealing a hint of the infinity symbol on his forearm.

She wanted to lick it. She wanted to lick him. If ever there were a more perfect image for edgy businessmen than this one—Colin, with his dark eyes, sexy scruff, rolled-up sleeves, and that vest, that f*cking vest that was killing her with hotness—she wouldn’t believe it. Nope. The evidence was in front of her, and she had to have him. She had to somehow cordon off the secrets she couldn’t reveal from the man she couldn’t resist.

Two Elles. Plain and simple. Here and now, she declared herself cloned.

She cast her gaze to the bouquet. “They call it a carnival of color,” she said, her voice dry.

He didn’t move an inch. His arms were crossed. “It is colorful. What do you call it?”

She stepped closer. “A thank you. An in-person thank-you for your firm’s amazing generosity in supporting the community center.”

He walked to her, took the flowers, and set them on the coffee table. “You’re welcome,” he said as he sat on his couch.

Her chest tightened with nerves. “It’s also an apology.”

He cocked his head. “For what?”

“For canceling.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“I do, though,” she insisted. “Because I didn’t want to cancel.”

“Elle, you don’t have to say you’re sorry. I don’t expect an apology. I don’t expect anything.”

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe she’d trained him to expect nothing from her because she felt like she had nothing to give.

And while she couldn’t give him the full truth, she could offer him her truth. So she marched to the door and shut it, giving them complete privacy, and returned to him, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

“I know you don’t expect anything, but I just left you hanging, and that’s not fair, no matter what this is,” she said, gesturing from him to her. “I just had a lot of stuff on my mind, and I kind of freaked out, and that’s why I was out of touch.” He parted his lips to say something, and she kept going in a rush. “But right now, I only have one thing on my mind.”

He raised an eyebrow, this time inviting her to say more.

She reached for his right wrist, tracing the infinity symbol, forcing away the thoughts that threatened to touch down in her head—he’d gotten this ink to symbolize the connection between him and his siblings. The four of them. But there were more. Except this Elle didn’t know that. This Elle was the one having the affair with Colin Sloan.

She stroked the lines on his wrist. He hissed in a breath as she made contact with his skin. She raised her chin and met his eyes. “You look so f*cking hot,” she said in a whisper.

“So do you,” he said, his eyes blazing.

She glanced at her attire—a summery skirt and a sleeveless top. Hardly her hottest outfit. She let go of his wrist and leaned closer to him, dropping her hands to his thighs, so strong and firm under her touch.

“I bet I’ll look hotter when I do this,” she said and palmed him through his pants. A burst of sparks ignited in her belly as she stroked his erection, loving that he was already rock hard, that all it took was this momentary closeness, the heat of suggestion, and a few words to ratchet him up. But then, maybe he was just like her. Maybe he’d wanted her from the second he’d laid eyes on her today, too.