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.

a public place,” I said, adjusting my dress as it rode

you afraid of

not like that,” I said, though my hand instinctively patted my purse. “But just so you know, I’ve got pepper spray in here, and I won’t hesitate to use it if

it. I’m many things,

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Chapter 12

him, my voice firmer than I felt.

on

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

Again.

And again.

it anymore. “Do my tits have something written on

lips twitched. “Excuse

adjusted the neckline of my dress, which only seemed to draw his attention back to them. “What is it with men and tits anyway? They’re just fat

what you

population has them. They’re literally everywhere. Billboards, movies, Instagram.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Yet men

steering wheel. “Your breasts aren’t just

Then what are

L

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

answer,” I muttered as he parked

imposing, all glass and steel stretching

me with his hand on the small of my back, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of

us in the confined space together. His cologne filled my nostrils-something expensive and masculine, a blend

lurched upward, my stomach dropping as we ascended. I pressed myself against the opposite

question,” I said,

stepped closer, towering over me. My back hit the elevator wall as

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