The CEO's Contractual Wife

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

His eyes locked on mine as I approached, then dropped to take in my dress. His jaw tightened.

“Olivia.” My name sounded like sin on his lips. “You look… delicious.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

“I thought about sending a car,” he said, opening the passenger door. “But I wanted to see your face when you came outside.”

“And what does my face tell you?” I asked, sliding into the leather seat.

He leaned in, his cologne making my head swim. “That you’re wondering if this is a mistake.”

The door closed before I could respond. I watched him walk around the front of the car, his confident stride making my pussy clench involuntarily.

He slid behind the wheel and turned to me. “It’s not, by the way.”

“What’s not?”

“A mistake.” His eyes dropped to my breasts. “That dress certainly isn’t.”

I crossed my legs, aware of how the fabric rode up my thighs. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private.” He started the car. “I thought about a restaurant, but I don’t want to share you with a room full of people tonight.”

The way he said “share you” sent a shiver down my spine.

“I have a reservation at my penthouse,” he continued, pulling into traffic. “My chef is preparing dinner.”

“Your personal chef?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.

“Is that a problem?” His eyes flicked to me briefly.

dress as it rode up my

lips curled into a smile. “Are you afraid of me, Olivia? Afraid I

said, though my hand instinctively patted my purse. “But just so you know, I’ve got pepper spray in here, and

it. I’m many things, but not

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Chapter 12

dinner,” I reminded him, my voice firmer

back on the

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L.A. streets, all sleek power and expensive engineering. I tried to focus on the passing lights outside, but kept feeling his eyes

Again.

And again.

couldn’t take it anymore. “Do my tits have something written on them I’m

lips twitched. “Excuse

which only seemed to draw his attention back to them. “What is it with men and tits anyway? They’re just

that what you

them. They’re literally everywhere. Billboards, movies, Instagram.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Yet men act like they’ve

steering wheel. “Your breasts aren’t just

what are

L

into an underground garage beneath a towering high-rise, smoothly avoiding

answer,” I muttered as he parked

was imposing, all glass and steel stretching toward

the heat of his palm burning

button for the top floor. The doors closed with a soft hiss, trap- ping us in the confined space together. His cologne filled my nostrils-something expensive and masculine, a blend of spices and wood that felt

I pressed myself against the opposite wall, but there was no

never answered my question,” I

back hit the elevator wall as he leaned down, his

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