Page 8 of Agency

“Not to meet me, I suppose?”

“Want me to be?”

“Maybe.”

We were leaning in close enough to each other, now, that I could have moved forward just a few inches and pressed my lips to hers.

“I have to say,” I said, but pointedly paused as I let my gaze travel down her again, “you’re not dressed like any marketing professional I’ve ever met.” We were still in close, and my eyes traveled back to hers with more than enough time to catch the glimmer I’d conjured there.

“Maybe you’re not meeting the right ones?” she asked before bringing another speared olive to her lips. Another luxurious bite, and then the French tipped nails of her other hand were grazing up and down the back of my forearm.

Goosebumps, then, and all the hair on my arms was standing at attention as a fantastic little shiver went running up and down my spine.

“Maybe I’m not?”

“Besides, I think we’re even.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Because you’re certainly not like any software sales guy I’ve ever met.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe you’re not meeting the right ones?” I asked as my plain, blunt nails went to the soft skin of the back of her arm and began to mimic her movement.

“Touché,” she said, chuckling as she glanced away. Still, though, I caught sight of a smiling bite of her lower lip, and her nails continued their teasing, tantalizing travels up and down, playing me like a violin.

“You speak French now, too?” I asked with my own chuckle.

“Je ne parle pas beaucoup français.”

“Non?” I asked. “Moi non plus.”

She threw her head back and laughed, then, and the sound was like the tinkling bells of angels ringing out through the bar.

“So, I have a question,” Carmen said. Her laughter might have faded away, but that smile of hers hadn’t.

“Shoot.”

“What hotel are you staying at?”

“Not a very nice one.”

That was a lie, too. I was actually staying at one of the nicest places in the city, on the floor just below the penthouse, which Trinity Security Solutions had also rented out. But, because I was in St. Louis for work, I was also technically staying with five co-workers–Jericho and Andrew, from my team, and the three members of our St. Louis office. Andrew and Jericho worked the watch shift after mine, and had arrived early to send me on my merry way.

“Well, then,” she said, her nails disappearing from my forearm, only to be quickly replaced by her smooth, exploring, almost entirely soft hand. A bit of a callus there on one part just below a finger joint, I noticed, but nothing that lessened the sudden need I felt to have her hands sliding over the rest of me.

“Well, then?”

She leaned in closer as she continued, eyelashes batting in front of those big, gorgeous blue eyes. Her lips couldn’t have been more than a handsbreadth away from mine, and I could smell the slight tease of alcohol on her breath, could practically taste the way the spirits mixed with the scent of amber on her skin. Not enough alcohol for her to be drunk, that was for sure, but enough to loosen her up as much as me.

“I’ve got a lovely place down by the river. Has a view of the Gateway Arch, and everything.”

“Something tells me you’re not just trying to rub that in.”

“Does this feel like I’m just trying to rub it in?” She rubbed her thumb over my forearm, a rhythmic motion that made me desperate for more.