| Author: | Violet Veidt | ISBN: | 9781310263927 |
| Publisher: | Violet Veidt | Publication: | January 31, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords | Language: | English |
| Author: | Violet Veidt |
| ISBN: | 9781310263927 |
| Publisher: | Violet Veidt |
| Publication: | January 31, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords |
| Language: | English |
Lydia Haskell, ace accountant for a prestigious London firm doesn't have time for me. She barely has time for this meeting to discuss her companies upcoming merger. But she hadn't accounted for her colleague to be being a stone fox with eyes that sparkle like granite in the sun.
They soon decamp to his hotel room for a night of white hot sex.
But is sex really all he wants from her?
“So... if you could wave a wand and be wherever you wanted, where would you be?”
“Provence.”
“Why Provence?”
“I want to spend a few years eating fine cheese and drinking wine and walking a dog in the
lavender fields.” She flushed suddenly at her sudden outburst of honesty. But she decided to
continue. “Five more years of this, and I should be able to retire.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t you think you’ll get bored?”
“So I’ll take a life drawing class or something. I hate the city.”
“You don’t have to live here,” he replied, something snippy in his voice.
“You bloody native Londoners. There is life outside the M25.”
“Lies.” He flicked his eyes down and looked up at her humourously. “Where are you from
then, originally?”
“Why so interested?”
“Just a normal human interest.”
“Forgive me,” she replied, stony faced. “I’m trained not to speak freely around
competitors.”
“Competitors? Our houses are to be joined.” he said, moving his hands theatrically.
“Well... it’s not all nailed down yet.”
“What’s the issue?” The same light tone, but Lydia didn’t miss the undercurrent of interest.
“No issue. Just... there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip.”
“True.” He glanced at her for just slightly too long. “So, five more years, then off to
Provence? How’s your French?”
«Good enough. I’m working on it.» Another twitch of those eyebrows.
“Mmm... I love a multilingual woman.” She giggled and put a hand on his arm. Not
because that line was anything impressive (the opposite, if she was being honest) but she had
decided she would have him. She had decided long since, as soon as he had made it clear that he
was on the table. He put his arm around her, wrapping around her waist and putting a hand on her
belly. She finished her drink, and leaned in, kissing him on the forehead. He tilted his head up,
meeting her lips with his.
"All evening you're the ice queen, now suddenly you're all giggly and kissy. I'm not
complaining. But what precipitated the change?"
"Precipitated?" she responded, articulating the ps and ts against his lips.
"I'd define it for you, but I seem to have forgotten what it means."
"Non soluble solids formed after a chemical reaction between two liquids."
"Ah, thanks." His hands lightly gripped her waist, his fingers spreading down her hips. She
pulled away and glanced over his shoulder.
"If you don't mind. I hate doing this sort of thing in public." His eyes sparkled, and his lips
curled up into a grin.
"Absolutely. Come with me." He took her hand and led her to the lift.
Once the doors closed he took her hand and began to kiss it, turning it over so that the
tender skin of her wrist was uppermost. He undid the cuff button of her demure blouse, and pushed
up the sleeve, adding his attentions to the rest of her arm. The mirrored walls reflected her flushed
face back at her. The alcohol and his kisses combined to make her feel almost weightless. But the
illusion of gravity loss ended when the lift glided to its terminus. He swiftly cloaked her arm,
gripped her hand again and led her down the brightly lit, softly carpeted corridor.
Lydia Haskell, ace accountant for a prestigious London firm doesn't have time for me. She barely has time for this meeting to discuss her companies upcoming merger. But she hadn't accounted for her colleague to be being a stone fox with eyes that sparkle like granite in the sun.
They soon decamp to his hotel room for a night of white hot sex.
But is sex really all he wants from her?
“So... if you could wave a wand and be wherever you wanted, where would you be?”
“Provence.”
“Why Provence?”
“I want to spend a few years eating fine cheese and drinking wine and walking a dog in the
lavender fields.” She flushed suddenly at her sudden outburst of honesty. But she decided to
continue. “Five more years of this, and I should be able to retire.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t you think you’ll get bored?”
“So I’ll take a life drawing class or something. I hate the city.”
“You don’t have to live here,” he replied, something snippy in his voice.
“You bloody native Londoners. There is life outside the M25.”
“Lies.” He flicked his eyes down and looked up at her humourously. “Where are you from
then, originally?”
“Why so interested?”
“Just a normal human interest.”
“Forgive me,” she replied, stony faced. “I’m trained not to speak freely around
competitors.”
“Competitors? Our houses are to be joined.” he said, moving his hands theatrically.
“Well... it’s not all nailed down yet.”
“What’s the issue?” The same light tone, but Lydia didn’t miss the undercurrent of interest.
“No issue. Just... there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip.”
“True.” He glanced at her for just slightly too long. “So, five more years, then off to
Provence? How’s your French?”
«Good enough. I’m working on it.» Another twitch of those eyebrows.
“Mmm... I love a multilingual woman.” She giggled and put a hand on his arm. Not
because that line was anything impressive (the opposite, if she was being honest) but she had
decided she would have him. She had decided long since, as soon as he had made it clear that he
was on the table. He put his arm around her, wrapping around her waist and putting a hand on her
belly. She finished her drink, and leaned in, kissing him on the forehead. He tilted his head up,
meeting her lips with his.
"All evening you're the ice queen, now suddenly you're all giggly and kissy. I'm not
complaining. But what precipitated the change?"
"Precipitated?" she responded, articulating the ps and ts against his lips.
"I'd define it for you, but I seem to have forgotten what it means."
"Non soluble solids formed after a chemical reaction between two liquids."
"Ah, thanks." His hands lightly gripped her waist, his fingers spreading down her hips. She
pulled away and glanced over his shoulder.
"If you don't mind. I hate doing this sort of thing in public." His eyes sparkled, and his lips
curled up into a grin.
"Absolutely. Come with me." He took her hand and led her to the lift.
Once the doors closed he took her hand and began to kiss it, turning it over so that the
tender skin of her wrist was uppermost. He undid the cuff button of her demure blouse, and pushed
up the sleeve, adding his attentions to the rest of her arm. The mirrored walls reflected her flushed
face back at her. The alcohol and his kisses combined to make her feel almost weightless. But the
illusion of gravity loss ended when the lift glided to its terminus. He swiftly cloaked her arm,
gripped her hand again and led her down the brightly lit, softly carpeted corridor.
