Making His Baby(200)
“I’m looking forward to it,” he says before we disconnect.
Casting a glance at the clock on my office wall, I realize I have three and a half hours to prepare myself to see him again.
Three and a half hours to rein in my unruly libido and control my mischievous thoughts.
***
The rest of the morning passes in a mundane blur of phone calls and paperwork. When one o’clock rolls around I realize I have worked straight through my usual lunch hour and Jameson will be arriving at any second.
I shove a mint in my mouth just as a knock sounds at my door.
Jameson’s imposing figure fills the doorway in the next moment, stalling my breath.
His beautiful eyes are piercing and focused on me. Unshaven stubble darkens his strong jaw and he’s wearing all black again. Is it possible that he looks even better than before?
“Hello, Grace. This is for you,” he speaks coolly extending something in my direction.
When I blink, I realize it’s a tall cup of hot coffee.
“Thanks,” I accept the proffered cup. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Consider it a peace offering. I’ll be on my best behavior during this meeting. You have my word.”
A sense of loss settles over me at his words.
I should be happy that he’s giving me what I want.
What I say I want. Yet, I can’t help feeling like I’ve lost something.
Shaking my head, I sigh and push away the thoughts.
It’s better this way.
Chapter four
GRACE CHAMBERS
“Grace, are you listening to me?” Jameson asks, snapping me out of my lusty haze.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and offer a repentant smile.
“You seem distracted,” he assesses as his head tilts to take in my features.
“I apologize,” I sigh. “It won’t happen again. What were you saying?”
“Anything in particular on your mind?” he asks, ignoring my question and trying to sidetrack the conversation.
His grin tells me he knows I’m distracted by him.
Who can blame me? The man embodies sex effortlessly.
“You were saying? About your account?” I refocus my attention on the present situation and call on my professionalism.
We talk a few minutes more regarding his account and I refer him to an analyst at the credit union to follow up our conversation.
Business concluded, he leans back in his chair making himself rather comfortable for someone who should be heading out the door.
I bite down on my bottom lip, anticipating his next words.
My actions have drawn his attention to my lips because he won’t look away, even once he starts speaking.
“How was your weekend, Grace?”
“Uneventful,” I reply, but I don’t follow up to ask about his.
Not that he cares. He continues the conversation, at last tearing his gaze away from my lips.
“Mine was pretty dull, too,” he says mildly before his gaze darkens. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you though.”
I shift in my seat at his confession. A rush of embarrassment fills me at how responsive I am to this man. The vibrator on my nightstand had received the workout of its life over the weekend. Yet, my thirst still isn’t quenched.
“Did you dream about me, Grace?”
A startled gasp parts my lips as he looks on seemingly pleased with how easily he riles me.
“Of course not!” I sputter indignantly but the denial fools neither of us.
“You’re a horrible liar,” he teases without malice. “But it’s cute. You’re cute.”
I want to swoon at his assessment of me, but I know better. He’s probably baited countless women in the same way. It would do me well to remember that.
“What does a woman like you do for fun?” he continues his disarming line of questioning.
His relaxed posture in my guest chair is in stark contrast to my tightly wound nerves.
I decide to join in on his banter, hoping it will help me relax. If only a little bit.
“Why? What do you plan to do with that information?” I ask a few questions of my own.
“You’re a feisty one. I like it,” he says with an enchanting smile.
Before I can respond to his latest remarks, my stomach rumbles embarrassingly.
“Have you eaten, Grace?” he asks and I swear concern enters his tone.
“No,” I admit uncomfortable with this level of attention. The flirting was fine but now he actually sounds like he cares about my well-being.
Not possible, I remind myself.
“I’m sorry I made you work through lunch,” he says sincerely. The concern in his gaze is too much for me to process.
I wave away his concern, knowing that my face is probably crimson from all the attention.
“Let me make it up to you. Have lunch with me. I’m headed to grab a bite myself and I would love some company.”