“Your eight o’clock appointment is here,” Coulter continued. “She’s on the elevator.”
“Thanks.” Jared reached down beside his desk and picked up the stuffed unicorn he’d purchased that morning. He’d driven to Boca to find the damn thing. But if the picture made Lucy smile—and brought her to his desk—it was worth it.
“You can go home now, Coulter,” he added.
“Sir, Finn hinted that Mr. DeVilla might stop by tonight,” Coulter said. “I’ve cleared my schedule. If you need me to stay—”
“Go home and study,” Jared said. “I doubt Mr. DeVilla will come by this late.”
Mr. DeVilla was probably out to dinner with the team from Peak. Jared had talked to the sugar company’s owner on his way to pick up the unicorn. He’d listened to fifteen minutes about how Finn had taken advantage of the owner’s little girl. Jared had issued a sane “let grown-ups be grown-ups” response. But he’d also made it clear that he wouldn’t change his offer based on a sex tape. If Mr. DeVilla wanted to talk more, he could make an appointment, and they would talk business—not Finn’s sex life. Then Jared had ended the call.
“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. If you need—”
“Go home, Coulter.” Jared said as the door to his office opened.
Lucy walked in, and Jared forgot about his receptionist. She’d changed out of whatever costume she’d worn to work today. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, hiding the straps of her sleeveless sundress from view. But he could see the rest of the bright pink and neon green wrap dress. He’d spent enough time in south Florida to recognize a Lily Pulitzer creation.
“I wasn’t sure what to wear for a dinner date with a unicorn.”
“You have time to change. We—” He reached out and ran his hand over the stuffed animal’s rainbow-colored mane—“didn’t know what you would like to eat, so I haven’t placed an order yet.”
“Change?” She offered a wide-eyed look of innocent surprise, but the grin on her full lips promised trouble. Her right hand reached for the fuchsia bow at her waist. “But you haven’t seen the rest of my outfit yet,” she continued.
She gave the bow a sharp tug, and it unraveled, dragging his self-control with it.
“Lucy,” he growled unable to look away from her hands. She pulled the strip of fabric through a loop. “I asked you to dinner to . . . ”
The front of the dress fell open, revealing a sparkling, purple bra.
“To talk,” he added. Her breasts glittered under the harsh overhead office light as if covered in fairy dust. He followed the sparkling path over her taut abdomen to the slip of matching purple lace masquerading as panties.
“I couldn’t stand the thought of wearing boring underwear two nights in a row.” She shrugged off the dress. The designer creation pooled at her feet like the forgotten pieces of a neon rainbow.
He forced himself to look at her face. “Lucy, I didn’t ask you here to see your underwear. This is my office.”
“Your receptionist was running for the door when I came in. He had his cell pressed to his ear and was demanding the person on the other end meet him to study. I don’t think he’s coming back.” She spoke slowly as if she was afraid he wouldn’t understand her. Or hell, maybe she was worried he’d lose focus.
He followed her long, bare legs as she walked around his desk.
She’s right.
“It’s after eight,” she continued, reaching out to pat the stuffed quadruped with the silver horn. “And this isn’t New York City. Your staff went home, or to the beach.”
She reached his side of the desk and rested her lace-covered backside against the glass.
“Lucy,” he tried again. But h
er name sounded like a plea not a warning. He needed to explain that in another minute, he would reach for her. He had to tell her that he wanted to touch her, kiss her, make love to her . . . but dammit, he wanted to talk about this first.
“Jared.” She slipped in front of him. The front of her legs brushed his knees. “When Philip messaged me today—”
“I am Philip,” he protested, knowing the words would have sounded more convincing if he hadn’t delivered them to her breasts.
“When I read the message, I realized what I want out of a relationship.” She leaned forward and placed her hands on his thighs. “Right now, I’m going to go for it.” She ran her hands up his legs, gently guiding his thighs apart and creating space for her sparkling body to sink down to a kneeling position.
Her feet and calves disappeared beneath his desk. She leaned forward, shifting her hands higher and higher. But she abandoned his legs before her fingers brushed his balls through his clothes.
“I’m doing this for me.” Her fingers undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Then she lowered his zipper, and he silently wished he’d gone commando today. “Are we clear?” she added.