Sure Thing(36)

Another breeze passes through the garden, causing Daisy’s dress to billow in a way that makes her look pregnant.

My cock hardens.

Jesus Christ, am I disturbed or having some kind of normal prehistoric reaction to the idea of her with child? This is fucked. I’ve never reacted like this before to the idea of a pregnant woman. Or is it to the idea of impregnating her? Bloody hell.

Rhys is messing with my head, is all. Bloody sperm mobility; I shake my head and smile. What an arsehole. Pulling the mobile from my pocket, I thumb open the contacts until I find who I’m looking for and hit dial.

Across the garden Daisy struggles with another strand of hair in her lipstick. She pauses next to a bench and drops her trusty notebook before perching on the edge of the bench beside it. I see her gesturing with her free hand for a moment before setting the phone down face up on the bench, then she’s sliding an elastic off her wrist and gathering her long dark hair back, the movements reminding me of her on her knees before me as she gathered her hair in preparation for sucking my cock.

The memory does nothing to help with the swelling in my trousers. I wonder if I’m now conditioned to get a hard-on every time she pulls her hair into a pony and I’m unsure if that’s a blessing or a curse. A bit of both, perhaps.

“Hey, Jennings, how’s the tour?” My call has connected. It’s Priscilla in the London office.

“Very well. Listen, I need you to do something for me.” I turn from Daisy as I talk, examining the windows on the stately greenhouse as I proceed to outline what I need from Priscilla. I wonder what Daisy thinks when she looks at this building. If the brick is to her liking, if she marvels at the ingenuity in design. If she’s contemplating how she’d retrofit it into condominiums or a mini-mart.

“You’re handing over the Leo project? In its entirety?” Priscilla questions when I’m done speaking. Rightfully so, because delegation isn’t my strongest suit. Or it hasn’t been.

“Yes. You’re more than ready to lead a project of this scope without me. I have complete confidence in you.” It’s true. I can’t recall a recommendation she’s made that I’ve disagreed with. She’s more than fit for the task. And it’s time I started delegating because that’s the bloody point, isn’t it? To hire and develop the best talent so they can do the job you’ve hired them for. It’s part of our corporate philosophy, one I could do a better job adhering to. Cultivating existing talent so that good employees become great and the great ones soar.

I end the call satisfied I’ve sorted that and contemplate my next move.

Then I close the distance between me and Daisy. She tilts her head to the side as I approach, still on the phone, a now-familiar look of skepticism crossing her face. I think she reserves that look for me and I find that I like it. I like that she isn’t polite with me, she’s real. What you see is what you get. Minus all the lies coming out of her mouth, that is. But I’ll figure those out soon enough. I stop in front of her and grin, my plan set.

She looks up at me, saying nothing. I assume whomever she’s speaking with is still on the line because she hasn’t taken the phone from her ear, silently appraising me while listening.

“I’ve got to go,” she says into the phone, her eyes still on mine. She listens for another moment, then if I’m not mistaken says, “You’re my cracker,” and hangs up.

“You’re supposed to be on a tour with the others.” She doesn’t seem amused with me at present, eyeing me warily while capping her pen and dropping it along with her notebook into her bag.

“Mandatory, is it?”

“Well, it’s preferred.” She crosses her legs and I’m momentarily distracted by the movement—one slim calf resting against the other, her knee visible as the sundress she’s wearing settles a few inches above. She rests against the back of the bench and bounces her foot. “So I can keep tabs on you. You’re like a cat. Always popping up when I least expect you.”

I laugh. I’m certain no one’s ever described me as such before.

“Actually, that’s not fair.” She frowns. “I like cats and they’re very rarely sneaky. They’re too lethargic to be sneaky most of the time.”

“So you don’t like me?”

“I do like you. It was a bad analogy all the way around.” She shakes her head then pauses. “Wait.” She grins and snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it. Spy!” She laughs, seemingly amused with herself. “You’re more like a spy. You’d be great undercover. Very stealthy. You should look into it.”