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.

my dress as it rode up my thighs. “You know, somewhere with

a smile. “Are you afraid of me, Olivia? Afraid

my purse. “But just so you know, I’ve got pepper spray in here, and I won’t

won’t do anything unless you agree to it. I’m

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16:43

Chapter 12

I reminded him, my voice firmer than I

on the road. “Dinner

255 Vouchers

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

Again.

And again.

“Do my tits have

lips twitched. “Excuse

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

that what

half the population has them. They’re literally everywhere. Billboards, movies, Instagram.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Yet men act like they’ve discovered buried treasure every time they see

knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Your breasts aren’t just

what

L

underground garage beneath a

answer,” I muttered as he parked in

glass and steel stretching

the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of my

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 as intoxicating as it

against the opposite wall, but there was no escaping his

never answered my question,”

the elevator

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