Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(126)

“Super-hot,” I admit, hitting print and grabbing up the paperwork. “You could have warned me, Luce. I just about swallowed my tongue when I found him at my desk.”

“But I did! I told you he was—”

“Fine with a capital F. I got it. Fine is not exactly accurate though, is it?” I ask, and I grin as she starts rhapsodizing about abs beneath the starched shirt and an ass you could bounce a quarter off.

By the time we say goodbye I’m giggling at her enthusiasm.

“Good to know you’re not as immune as you appear to be, Miss Newman,” I hear, and I look up to see him lazing against Jordan’s office door, a huge grin of victory on his face.

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I freeze as mortified embarrassment washes through me. I don’t say anything because, honestly, there is no way to unsay the words ‘nice ass’, ‘dreamy eyes’ and ‘ravish-me lips’.

At this point I’m just hoping he didn’t hear the part about my three year celibacy and the sudden need to break my dry spell. Could this day get any worse?

“Dinner,” he says as his eyes drop to half-mast.

“Dinner?” I croak.

Really, Hannah, get a hold of yourself.

“We should go to dinner,” he clarifies, and I can see he’s laughing at my stunted replies.

Dinner. He wants to go on a date? Hell no. Heeell no! As much as my vagina is screaming with glee, I absolutely refuse to sit through an hour of blushing and stuttered replies while this gorgeous specimen silently laughs at me.

I also, and this is important, do not want anything to do with men right now. If ever. I’ve been married and survived the crushing disappointment of a disinterested man. I’ve already Googled Gregory Lucas —briefly, because I’d felt weird about it — and seen the drove of broken hearts left in his wake. I do not intend to be one of the heartbroken millions, thank you very much.

“You know, that meal we eat after dusk,” he prompts, and I shake myself back to reality.

“No.”

That sounded good, I think.

“No?” he asks, and I can see how perplexed he is by my outright refusal. Obviously Gregory Lucas is not used to the word. A small thrill of victory races through me, and I fight a smile. I take my pleasures where I can, and thwarting him is not too shabby on the pleasure scale.

“No, thank you, Mr Lucas. I do not fraternize with the clients.”

Although right now, with the lazy, seductive way he’s looking at me, I really do want to fraternize. And fraternize. And fraternize some more.

His eyes light suddenly, and my stomach drops to my feet as he ambles over and plants his hands on my desk, leaning so close I feel his breath on my lips.

“That’s okay. You just sit there and look beautiful. Leave the fraternizing up to me,” he drawls. “I can promise you, darlin’, I fraternize very well.”

My mind instantly conjures images of exactly what his fraternizing entails, and I feel a swift heat set in between my legs as a steady throb of arousal beads my nipples.

Lord, the man’s mouth, so close to mine, probably knows exactly how to…fraternize. With skill and determination.

“Hannah, I — oh, Lucas, you’re still here.”

I wrench away from him and look anywhere else but Jordan as he freezes and looks between Mr Lucas and me.

“I was just leaving, Jordan. Miss Newman had an eyelash in her eye.”

An eyelash? The man is a genius tycoon, and that’s the best he can do? I think heatedly as he winks, turns on his heel, and strolls to the elevator with an indolent swagger.

“Yes. Well. Hannah, I need you in my office,” Jordan mutters as soon as the doors close and we’re left alone.

I ignore his probing stare and gather my notepad, cursing the man to hell and back. I do not need this right now.

As I sit through twenty minutes of Jordan’s demands and idiotic ideas, I stretch my brain for a way to avoid Gregory Lucas and his smug innuendo.

Mars seems reasonable, if I could get there.





Chapter Three


“So you see, Hannah, we simply cannot allow this sort of behavior. Not only has she decided that Naked Thursdays are in, but she’s been seeing three different men this month. I cannot begin to tell you what happens when three eighty-year-old men decide to ‘fight for their love’,” she says, shuddering lightly.

I can just about guess, and what I see is that the old bird has decided to play it fast and loose with her love interests. My nana is a two-timing old bat.

I am sitting in Mrs Ludwig’s office, feeling like I’ve been lambasted by the principal, and my brain feels like Swiss cheese as the woman rambles on about policies and inappropriate behavior. I don’t even want to know what she means by the ‘landscaping’ seminar my nana’s been touting to the other residents.