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  That was borderline sexual harassment. I look all over for him, indignantly, telling myself I need to find him and chastise him. How can he think for a second he can say those types of things to me?

  After looking around for a few minutes, I locate him across the room. I begin to make my way to him, geared towards dispensing an ass chewing. Before I reach him I stop in my tracks, losing all bravado. Suddenly an image hits me again. I picture myself on my knees before him, my lips wrapped around the velvety head of his cock. Now we have something in common, both wondering what it’d feel like for me to pleasure him with my mouth. I lick my lips in anticipation and my panties dampen in agreed anticipation.

  It’d be incredible, wouldn’t it? No way a man like him would be as blunt about sex and not be willing to follow through. I’m sure any woman would benefit from being friends with him. I wonder if I could be his friend. I know there’s a smirk on my face as my seventeen months untouched core clenches deliciously at the prospect.

  My mind wanders back again to our first encounter and I’m honestly grateful that I hadn’t spilled more fabric softener on him than I actually did. Scratch that, had I spilled more I could’ve taken his pants off to wash them, putting me in the position to be on my knees…hold on.

  What in the hell was this Denver Elite business man doing in a shady laundromat on the east side of town after dark?

  My reporter instincts are tingling. I bet there’s some story here. Is he a drug dealer? Is he involved in gun running? Or heaven forbid is he somehow tangled up in the human trafficking that’s rumored to be going on around the city? I watch his face from twenty feet away and I honestly can’t reconcile him with any of those scenarios.

  Another image flashes through my mind, not pornographic, but an actual memory. Seth. My high school boyfriend getting carried away from school in handcuffs after the school resource officer and police K9 found two full bottles of ecstasy in his backpack.

  Of course my conscience chooses this moment to remind me that I’ve never been a good judge of character. Historically, once I was infatuated with someone I tended to stop paying attention to warning signs and red flags.

  The situation with Seth is what ultimately led to my desire to be a reporter. Surely, a formal education, focusing on investigative techniques, would assist me in never being fooled again. Nothing like spending time in a police department being interrogated, interviewed as they worded it, about your boyfriend and his dope slinging habits to make you step back and reevaluate your life!

  Although I can’t really see Ian Hale involved in any type of criminal enterprise, the niggling feeling that I witnessed something substantial the other night, during my first encounter with him, won’t go away.

  Then right in my ear, “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” He’s closed the distance between us.

  “Huh, what?” I turn towards his voice as I’m pulled from my thoughts.

  My eyes land on him again. My cheeks flush guiltily. I feel as though he can see right through me and he’s able to read my questioning thoughts about him, faintly wondering which would be worse, him knowing I suspect he’s a criminal or the thoughts about me wanting to suck him off.

  “Pink,” he says angling his face towards mine.

  “Excuse me?” I question with a huff.

  “Your cheeks are pink. You must be thinking about sucking….” Busted!

  “Stop!” I scold aggressively in a hushed tone, feeling even more flushed standing before him, engaged in a conversation of this caliber. I look down and begin to fiddle with the press pass hanging from my neck.

  “Ah, that makes sense,” he says. I look up and he’s grinning down at me. Holy fucking dimples. Seeing him smile down at me for the first time, I’m lost in his beautiful eyes. I’m drowning in the tiny dips of skin on both sides of his mouth.

  His mouth.

  It’s now my turn to wonder what those lavish lips would feel like trailing kisses down my body. I imagine him licking and kissing his way down my stomach. Finally, his lips landing at the juncture of my thighs. His tongue flicks out and makes its initial contact with my…

  “Ahem?” Throat clearing brings me back to the here and now.

  Shit. Umm. “What….what makes sense?” I’m stammering again and chills are running down my spine, increasing my desire for him to touch me, if only to warm my chilled skin.

  “You’re a member of the press. I was wondering why you were standing here just drinking everything in,” he replies. “I realize now that you’re committing things to memory, so you can write about them later.”

  “Am I that obvious?” The ability to finally get a full sentence out without stuttering eases me, though I’m still shifting on my feet. More importantly, I’m relieved he believes I have an interest in everything at the event and not just solely on him. Chances are I’ll remember very little about this event since I’ve encountered him. I know for a fact I won’t have the ability to concentrate on anything going forward.

  “Well, the press pass and the camera also provide some hints.” He winks at me.

  I. Am. Gone. An incredibly handsome man, with dimples, just winked at me. I flush again, well aware that he can read me like a book, and unable to do anything about it.

  He smiles wider, completely aware of the effect he has on me. I wonder if he can also tell how ridiculously wet this encounter has made me. The baritone sound of his voice, the masculine scent of his body, and the appearance of those dimples have worked together to turn me on. The culmination of it all has resulted in my body preparing itself for sex. The glint in his eyes makes me believe he can.

  “It’s my first time,” I inform quietly, feeling the need to redirect the conversation away from my physical response to his open flirting.

  The way his face lights up tells me I chose the wrong words if I was trying to extinguish the sexual heat blooming between us.

  “I mean…” Fuck. “Today is my first day working with the social sector for The Courier.” I explain quickly.

  “They throw you to the wolves your first day on the job?” He asks, losing some of the smirk.

  “No! It’s not my first day with The Courier. I’ve worked there for the past two and a half years. I’m just used to working with less interactive people,” I reply.

  He just stares at me, having no clue what I’m talking about.

  “I just moved up from Obits,” I state flatly, slightly embarrassed that I’ve spent the past thirty months writing about dead people. It’s not very glamorous.

  “Ah, I see. I can see how that’s substantially less interactive.” His beautiful grin is back, right along with those damn dimples…which I know will be the bane of my existence!

  “I’m definitely more stimulated here,” I blurt before I think about my words.

  Cutting me some slack, he doesn’t comment on this particular Freudian slip, but his grin tells me he caught it. Nothing gets by this one apparently.

  “I actually had another event across town before this one. An art show at the Grand Hotel featuring Adama D’Amore. So I’m quite the expert now.” I smirk at him, my playfulness returning.

  “Did you enjoy his show? I’ve seen some of his work. It’s quite good,” he says, fully engaged in the conversation.

  “I liked what I saw. My time there was limited,” I explain. “I could only do a quick run through so I could get over here. I would’ve loved to have spent more time there though.”

  “Mmm, a woman of the arts,” he says, his voice shifting from active back to his sultry fuck me voice. “Do you only like landscapes in photography as an art genre?”

  “Not particularly. I like all kinds. I love learning about an artist through his work. Photography. Painting. Sculpture. Even interpretive dance.” I grin. “I’m open to just about anything.” I openly sigh.

  “What is it?” He asks, tilting his head to the side like he’s confused.

  “What do you mean?” I inquire, his confusion confusing me.
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  “You sighed…am I boring you?” He continues to look at me with a smile.

  “Ha! Like I could ever be bored around you!” The words slip out of my mouth. Quickly recovering I add, “I just get a feeling that this type of event will be the majority of my career for now.”

  “This type of event?” He queries.

  “You know, a high class event, one that spends a ton of money and going all out as a way to get more money for a,” I use air quotes, “Charity.”

  “This event supports Safe House. You don’t feel like money should be raised to help women from abused homes?” He barks, suddenly getting angry.

  “Don’t be silly,” I retort. “Of course it should. My issue is more about spending a million dollars so rich people can rub shoulders with each other on the weekend.”

  “One hundred and twenty five thousand.” He informs flatly.

  “What?” I snap, becoming confused with his response.

  “This event didn’t cost a million dollars. It was put together for the bargain price of one hundred and twenty five thousand.” He explains, his anger settling in his eyes.

  I’m taken back. How did this turn crappy so quickly? “I didn’t mean to ruffle your Armani covered feathers. I guess I just don’t understand why someone would spend so much money when that organization could greatly benefit from the amount of cash dropped on hosting the event.”

  “First rule of a successful business,” he responds. When I look up at him with a raised eye brow he explains, “You have to spend money to make money.”

  “And if they don’t raise what was spent?” I ask indignantly.

  “People pledge donations when they purchase tickets to the gala. Before the doors opened tonight we had one point eight million dollars pledged already for Safe House.”

  I gasp, “One point eight million dollars!?” I squeak.

  “Yes,” he replies.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize softly. He doesn’t respond. “I had no idea how it worked.”

  “I do understand where you’re coming from though. So much shouldn’t have to be spent to help the people who utilize organizations such as Safe House. Unfortunately, it’s how it works.” He peers off reflectively. I nod, finally understanding. I also wonder why he seems so upset when he’s here, contributing to the vicious cycle of Denver’s Social Elite. He shouldn’t be angry with what I think. I consider myself an everyday person and if I look at this event as a way for rich people to just hang out, then the consensus with other everyday people would be the same. Surely I’m not the only one who thinks rich people waste more money on frivolous things than any person in their right mind should.

  I remain silent. He gazes at me as he brings the tumbler of amber liquid to his lips. His eyes soften and I wonder what he’s thinking, and by the sudden smolder in them I have a clue, and all I can do is meet his stare, and shift my body, rubbing my thighs together. The action does nothing to alleviate the warm tingle that has settled at my clit. This entire conversation has been torture; each and every word from his mouth has been a staccato pulse at my center.

  I continue to fidget, needing an escape before I climb him like a tree, so I excuse myself to the restroom.

  Walking hastily around the dance floor which is covered in expensively dressed, swaying couples, I finally make it to the restroom. Several women stand at the sink, freshening up lipstick and chatting excitedly about who’s at the party.

  I escape into a stall and collapse with my back against the cold door. I stand there and try to calm my breathing and my racing heart. Once I hear the other women head out, I leave the stall and turn to the sink. I grab a paper towel and saturate it with cold water from the tap and run it over my neck, trying cool down. Shit, does that man get my blood heated!

  I exit the bathroom, keeping my eyes down to so I can straighten my dress; I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Ian Hale outside of the restroom.

  Chapter 9

  Lorali

  I sense him before I even see him. Slowly raising my eyes, I drink him in.

  He’s standing in the dimly lit corridor against the opposite wall from the bathroom door. His right leg is bent and his foot is flat on the wall. His cell phone is in his hand, lighting up his face. He lifts his eyes from whatever he’s reviewing on his phone. In a matter of seconds, he’s stalking towards me, while simultaneously dropping his cell phone in the inside pocket of his tux, effectively freeing his hands. His intent stare causes me to take a step back…damn, the wall is behind me. I’m trapped.

  As he aggresses towards me, I stare at his face, concentrating once again on his mouth. I wish, in this moment, I could read his thoughts. I wish I had a crystal ball, so I’d know how this night was going to end. Wishing I had the ability to dictate how this night will end, I curse myself for not throwing condoms in my clutch like Alexa had suggested.

  When he stops only inches from me, I realize I’m holding my breath.

  I release it in a whoosh as he brings his hands up and places them on the wall on either side of my body, effectively caging me in. My breath comes in harsh pants, my heart hammering the inside of my chest.

  “You can’t get away from me that easily,” he rasps softly, leaning further in, his mouth only a breath away from mine.

  “So it seems,” I manage to whisper.

  He removes his right hand from the wall and slowly trails a finger across my shoulder, leaving a fiery sensation in its wake. His soft fingers burn a trail down my arm. Once he reaches the half way mark, his hand reroutes and starts making its way crossways against my ribs. My breathing halts anticipating his touch on my breast.

  My mind is racing. Internal conflict is battling. I’m torn between throwing caution to the wind and allowing my body to take over. I can’t decide if I’m willing to receive absolutely anything he’d throw my way right here in the hallway, or if I need to act like a mature, responsible adult and make sure we get behind the locked door of the bathroom before we fuck.

  The former almost wins out, but I quickly realize that if I give into him I’ll collapse. If that happens, I’d crumple to the carpet. He’s still only touching me with one finger. His finger’s journey ends once it makes contact with the press pass that’s hanging around my neck. I’m disappointed he’s broken his touch with my body.

  Breaking eye contact with me, his eyes slowly make their way down my body. He looks at my mouth, taking in my lips which are slightly parted as I breathe in rough puffs of air. The attention he’s giving me causes me to sweep my tongue over my lips. He groans and moves his gaze to linger on my neck. I peer back at him through heavy lidded eyes. His gaze lasts longer at the swell of my breasts that this dress merely hints at. After what seems like days of inventory, he finally focuses on my press pass.

  “Lorali.” He states dreamily.

  His voice breaks my trance, and for further measure I give my head a slight shake, in an attempt to clear the incredibly illicit thoughts that were beginning to enter it.

  “That’s me,” I reply, shifting awkwardly but unable to really move since he hasn’t backed away from me.

  “It’s perfect,” he begins, “a beautiful name for an amazingly beautiful woman.”

  “Such flattery Mr. Hale.” I attempt to smirk at him but cognizant thought escapes me since all of my blood is pooled at my throbbing center.

  “No flattery, Lorali, the truth.” His voice is sultry and smoky, wrapping itself all the way around me.

  “The truth Mr. Hale is that every woman from the highest social category in Denver is on the other side of that wall, vying for your attention and affection.” I pull my head back and rest it against the wall in an attempt to distance myself from him.

  “And yet…” he breathed, licking his lips “I’m here with you.”

  “Slumming.” I’m doing my best not to play in to whatever game he’s attempting to play.

  Surging forward, he pins my body against the wall.

  Chapter 10

&nb
sp; Ian

  I can feel every soft inch of her body, a sharp contrast to my hard muscles. Her eyes are no longer hooded; they stare up at me with…anticipation? No. Fear. She’s afraid of me. Too aggressive Ian, take it down a notch.

  “Don’t,” I command.

  “Don’t what?” she whispers, her voice trembling

  “Be so disrespectful of yourself.” I tell her.

  “Just stating the obvious.” Her eyes are turning from fear to more of annoyance. Lorali my feisty girl!

  I gaze down at her, fighting a losing battle, knowing I have to taste her or I’d not make it through the night.

  “I think the only thing obvious about this situation is how much I want you,” I say, bending my head down to whisper in her ear. “My body is aching for you, Lorali. I want you so bad.”

  “I think you’re playing some sort of game, and frankly I don’t appreciate being the object of it,” she huffs, stiffening her spine and glaring back at me.

  “I can assure you this is no game for me, Lorali, although you do seem to take pleasure in denying me.” It’s my turn to grow frustrated at her. Who does she think she is putting words in my mouth, questioning my intentions?

  “It’s a game to you. Find the most common person here; seduce her, then walk away, all the while laughing about how you were able to get some commoner so hot she’d drop her panties for you. You don’t want me; you want the thrill of the power that it gives you.” The irritated look on her face is increasing my annoyance.

  “I don’t want you? Tell that to my cock,” I growl as I grind my erection against her.

  She doesn’t even know me, how does she have such a distorted opinion of me? It may take some time, but I’ll show her that I’m not some sort of womanizer. I bend my head down further, breathing in her scent. Mmm. Lavender. Not able to deny myself a second longer, I brush my lips down the column of her neck, pausing briefly over her pulse point. I can hear her sharp intake of breath.

  I pull my head back and focus on her beautiful, pouty lips, only briefly denying myself the exquisite way I know she’ll feel and how sweet her lips will taste. Having waited as long I can, I lean in, fully ready to take her mouth, simultaneously trying to talk myself down as to avoid attacking her like a rabid animal. I brush my lips against hers, using every ounce of restraint in my body.