billion book
Chapter 22
Someone knocks at the door.
We both freeze in place, me topless and clutching Noah’s shoulders, Noah with his hand up my skirt. The absurdity of the picture suddenly strikes me. I might have laughed if I weren’t so terror-stricken-and teetering on the edge of a mind-blowing climax. Even with the fear of getting caught washing ice through my veins, I’m still burning up.
“If you move your fingers, I’ll kill you,” I whisper frantically to Noah. No way would I be able to keep this orgasm quiet. It’s been six long months in the making. And I want it more than I want my next breath.
“Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Oh my God. That’s Estelle’s voice. Our client is standing less than three feet away, and my stupid sexy boyfriend’s hand is still down my panties.
“It’s Noah and Olivia,” Noah calls, pulling off a perfect casual voice. “We just had a few things to talk about.”
“In the bathroom?” she asks with obvious skepticism.
Is she suspicious or just confused? Damn it, I should just throw myself out the window right now.
“Private family matters, you understand. We’ll just be another minute.”
After a heart-stopping pause, I finally hear her footsteps move away.
“Stop touching me,” I hiss under my breath.
Noah gives me a hey, not fair look. “You told me not to move my-”
“You know what I meant, smartass! Now get out of my panties!”
Chuckling, he withdraws. “I think that’s the first time a woman’s ever said that to me.”
“If you want to hear worse, that can be arranged. Now, zip me up.”
After Noah helps me yank my clothes back into place, I check the mirror over the sink. Jesus, I look like a train wreck. Lipstick smeared everywhere, hair rumpled. My appearance practically screams I just humped a guy in the bathroom! What a great bargain . . . all the public embarrassment of sex with none of the “actually getting to have an orgasm” part.
I retrieve my purse from the corner, pull my travel brush through my hair a few times, then start scrubbing at my lips. As I apply a fresh coat of lipstick, I notice that Noah hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s straightened his tie and rebuttoned his jacket, but other than that, he’s just been waiting patiently for me.
He could at least have the decency to look ashamed about tempting me into this mess . . .
“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” I snap at him. One of them was just buried in my you-know-what, after all.
With a wicked grin, he lifts that hand to his nose and makes a show of smelling his fingers, inhaling my scent, and my face flares bright red.
“No way,” he says simply.
I tear my hungry eyes away and huff, “Whatever. Let’s just get back to the table and hope we haven’t already ruined this deal.”
“Uh, sweetheart . . .”
I glance back at him. “What?”
He releases a deep breath slowly through his nose. “If I go back out there like this, I’ll be arrested for indecency.”
I follow his gaze, which has dropped to the front of his slacks.
Holy hell. It looks like he’s smuggling a pineapple in his underwear.
“Get that thing under control.”
He squeezes his eyes closed and takes another deep breath. When his eyes open again, he looks slightly more composed. “Let’s roll.”
As we leave the bathroom, I try to pull myself together. With Estelle in my sights again, I get my head back in work mode.
Sure, Noah may be unfairly attractive-and now I know he’s good with his hands too, on top of being a skilled kisser-but I still need to stay frosty here. He’s an arrogant, cocky, immature playboy who doesn’t take business seriously enough.
So, keep your head in the game, Olivia, I remind myself.
But the unsatisfied ache between my thighs is almost too much to bear. This dinner will definitely qualify as the longest evening of my life.