it off and save us some time."
Shit.
She glanced down at herself. Sara loved spending her hard-earned money on great clothes, but didn't have any of them with her tonight. She ran into the office bathroom, yanked out the ponytail holder in her hair, and tried to remember if she had lipstick in her purse.
"Sure!" she claimed brightly. "I'll meet you at the door."
She used the toothbrush she kept in the office bathroom closet, and splashed water on her flushed face. Anger at the fact she felt nearly frozen in place by the idea of Jack Gordon -- that he planned to simply "stop by" after hours to see her made her dizzy . In spite of her resolve to be strong, something yearned for him, in a way that utterly terrified her.
Yeah, well fuck that. Of course he's interested in you.
She pep talked herself all the way to the front doors -- a wide expanse of glass facing Ann Arbor's main street. She heard the roar of his engine before she saw the car. Sara rolled her eyes. A Stingray. What else?
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself against the coming onslaught. She had work to do and would not be distracted by this -- she couldn't afford to be. But her body began to betray her; her panties already damp at the thought of him in her personal space. It was a familiar feeling. She'd been having wet dreams about him for the better part of a year. She sighed, determined that he'd likely never measure up to her fantasies, but realized her hands shook as she reached for the door handle.
Yeah, OK, girl, settle down. This is Jack Gordon, every woman's dream date. But he's only here with paperwork.
She shook her head, looked up and there he was -- all six foot, four inch, dark hair, blue eyes, sexy white smile, of him. Resisting the sudden compulsion to look away, to not meet his eyes, she smiled back.
"Hey gorgeous," he began as he always did on the phone, his voice a low growl that matched his car engine's rumble. "I've got something for ya."
"Ha, I'll just bet you do," she threw back. Lame , she thought as she took in the sight of him in his dark blue suit trousers, striped dress shirt with French cuffs emphasizing what had to be an incredible torso, arms and chest. Jack boasted a classic male shape -- wide shoulders tapering to a slim waist and long legs -- and he wore a suit better than anyone Sara had ever seen. His red and yellow tie, which stopped just short of being loud, flung over his shoulder from the ride. He smelled great too, some combination of spice, cigar and leather.
Damn. I'm screwed.
"No, really. My asshole seller agrees to your asshole buyer's requests post inspection; I've got it all signed up here. Now all we lack is a good appraisal, and we are golden my lovely!"
"You call all the girl agents that, I'm sure." She sighed and reached for the paper he held out, grazing his hand in the process.
His skin was warm. No, not warm, hot, as if he'd been near a fire. She shivered; unable to help it. The tingling in her scalp crawled down her spine and settled nicely between her legs.
She drew back. He moved forward to fill the empty space between them. Their silhouettes darkened the entry foyer. He remained shy of touching her -- keeping just out of reach.
"You know, I was looking for an excuse to see you in person," he began. "I'm really gonna miss our little evening chats once this deal is done."
"Yeah, well, you know where I live." Sara waved in the general direction of the office as her breath caught in her throat. "I, um, gotta do some, you know, busy work tonight so. . . "
Don't go...don't go... don't go.... Sara tried not to let her face betray her inner begging.
"So do I really -- but I just can't help thinking that we could come up with something a bit, I don't know. . . more fun to do together," his voice tempted
"Um, yeah, I guess, we could go out, if you want, but I'm not really dressed for it." Sara's brain fogged
Shit.
She glanced down at herself. Sara loved spending her hard-earned money on great clothes, but didn't have any of them with her tonight. She ran into the office bathroom, yanked out the ponytail holder in her hair, and tried to remember if she had lipstick in her purse.
"Sure!" she claimed brightly. "I'll meet you at the door."
She used the toothbrush she kept in the office bathroom closet, and splashed water on her flushed face. Anger at the fact she felt nearly frozen in place by the idea of Jack Gordon -- that he planned to simply "stop by" after hours to see her made her dizzy . In spite of her resolve to be strong, something yearned for him, in a way that utterly terrified her.
Yeah, well fuck that. Of course he's interested in you.
She pep talked herself all the way to the front doors -- a wide expanse of glass facing Ann Arbor's main street. She heard the roar of his engine before she saw the car. Sara rolled her eyes. A Stingray. What else?
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself against the coming onslaught. She had work to do and would not be distracted by this -- she couldn't afford to be. But her body began to betray her; her panties already damp at the thought of him in her personal space. It was a familiar feeling. She'd been having wet dreams about him for the better part of a year. She sighed, determined that he'd likely never measure up to her fantasies, but realized her hands shook as she reached for the door handle.
Yeah, OK, girl, settle down. This is Jack Gordon, every woman's dream date. But he's only here with paperwork.
She shook her head, looked up and there he was -- all six foot, four inch, dark hair, blue eyes, sexy white smile, of him. Resisting the sudden compulsion to look away, to not meet his eyes, she smiled back.
"Hey gorgeous," he began as he always did on the phone, his voice a low growl that matched his car engine's rumble. "I've got something for ya."
"Ha, I'll just bet you do," she threw back. Lame , she thought as she took in the sight of him in his dark blue suit trousers, striped dress shirt with French cuffs emphasizing what had to be an incredible torso, arms and chest. Jack boasted a classic male shape -- wide shoulders tapering to a slim waist and long legs -- and he wore a suit better than anyone Sara had ever seen. His red and yellow tie, which stopped just short of being loud, flung over his shoulder from the ride. He smelled great too, some combination of spice, cigar and leather.
Damn. I'm screwed.
"No, really. My asshole seller agrees to your asshole buyer's requests post inspection; I've got it all signed up here. Now all we lack is a good appraisal, and we are golden my lovely!"
"You call all the girl agents that, I'm sure." She sighed and reached for the paper he held out, grazing his hand in the process.
His skin was warm. No, not warm, hot, as if he'd been near a fire. She shivered; unable to help it. The tingling in her scalp crawled down her spine and settled nicely between her legs.
She drew back. He moved forward to fill the empty space between them. Their silhouettes darkened the entry foyer. He remained shy of touching her -- keeping just out of reach.
"You know, I was looking for an excuse to see you in person," he began. "I'm really gonna miss our little evening chats once this deal is done."
"Yeah, well, you know where I live." Sara waved in the general direction of the office as her breath caught in her throat. "I, um, gotta do some, you know, busy work tonight so. . . "
Don't go...don't go... don't go.... Sara tried not to let her face betray her inner begging.
"So do I really -- but I just can't help thinking that we could come up with something a bit, I don't know. . . more fun to do together," his voice tempted
"Um, yeah, I guess, we could go out, if you want, but I'm not really dressed for it." Sara's brain fogged
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