She hit the Send button and went to place the phone back on the nightstand when a loud beep echoed in her room right before Brock’s text popped up.
Hello, kitten. Are you always a night owl?
Butterflies rushed through her as she could almost hear his voice. It would appear that way since she was up late, but she was so far from that.
No, I’m not usually up late. Are you?
She blinked at the screen having no idea what to say next. She frantically thought up something, since the pause was awkward and she knew he was sitting on the other end, probably smiling, waiting for her to respond.
She hit Send and groaned. This wasn’t about talking and getting to know him better. This was about raunchy sex…again. She needed to stick to the plan. Hadn’t she already told herself the smart part of her was stronger than this?
I’m best on six hours of sleep. About our date, when are you available?
She exhaled, so relieved that he’d shifted back to the important. Even if she wasn’t quite sure she liked the idea that he called it a date. That wasn’t what they were planning, or she hoped. Another meeting at their office would do just fine.
Terrific. We’ll see you at Blackfoot at 5:00.
Her heart hammered. This sounded like a date. Was it a date?
Before she got the courage to somehow ask that and set him straight that wouldn’t be happening, another beep came from her phone.
She paused, holding her breath.
Wear something sexy for us, kitten.
Blackfoot, one of Baltimore's restaurants, was fine dining at its best with its modern design and five-star cuisine. Brock had many business dinners sitting at the corner table he now shared with Kyra and Smith. Though none of those dinners included him thinking lewd thoughts.
He couldn’t quite keep his hands off Kyra. Maybe that’s why he sat in next to her to ensure he didn’t have to deny himself. Hell, he even noticed Smith touched her for no other reason than it seemed an impulse.
There was something about this woman…something damn special.
Kyra picked up her wineglass, her eyes still crinkled in amusement at something Smith had said. Brock zeroed in on her pink-painted lips that wrapped around the rim of the wineglass. She took a deep swallow of her wine before she lowered the glass, then licked the moisture off her lips. “Your mother, what was she like?”
“A horrible, godforsaken bitch,” Smith muttered.
It pleased Brock that she finally asked personal questions. So far, she’d been impeccably closed off. Though, regardless of the conversation topic, he also nearly groaned. His cock throbbed as his awareness to the woman next to him was nothing he’d ever experienced. Every move she made seemed like a direct assault on his control not to forget they were in a busy restaurant, bend her over the table, lift her skirt, and drive his cock…
He grabbed his beer and took a huge gulp. This dinner with her would be damn long.
Tonight, Kyra had shown up in a red skirt that looked proper enough, if he didn’t know what was beneath that skirt. Most wouldn’t pay attention to the fact that she didn’t wear stockings, but that told him she wore no garter and likely only had on panties.
He wanted to find out what panties she wore.
Or maybe she didn’t wear any.
Her black blouse had a pink lace cami beneath it, implying modesty. To him, it only made him more eager. His cock hardened in a second flat at the sight of her long legs and her shiny black high heels.