Just About Sex Read Online Free PDF

something—or someone. When their gazes locked, he froze.
    So did she. She survived his discreet once-over even though she felt vulnerable and excruciatingly conscious of her bare arms, legs and stilettoed feet. When his gaze lingered on the vee in the bodice of her respectable sleeveless black linen shift, she gasped. Finally he looked her in the face again and the corners of those dark, mischievous eyes crinkled with unmistakable amusement.
    Rage congealed in her breast and she forgot about the meeting and the chattering, jostling crowd helping themselves to lunch. Him! He had done this to her! This…this man, no, this…creature who walked upright amongst humans and disguised his black heart, horns and tail, was nothing but Satan incarnate, minus the sulfur smell. He wanted to ruin her life and he’d picked a darn effective way to do it.
    Her chest heaved with frustrated anger. Narrowing her eyes, she glared impotently, thinking only that occasions like this were exactly why people shouldn’t be allowed to carry concealed weapons.
    Greene didn’t seem to care. In fact, he radiated defiance. The raised chin, the square shoulders, the wide-legged stance, the suppressed laughter screamed he had not one iota of remorse in his whole body for what he’d done to her.
    After a minute his gaze swept the room again until it landed on her open laptop at the head of the table. When he looked back at her, his raised eyebrow and smirk said, as clearly as the white Hollywood sign against the green hills of that city, what are you going to do about it?

Chapter 3
    L ater, Simone thought. Her slow and painful murder of Greene would have to wait until later. Choking with suppressed fury and determined to ignore him for now, Simone gave him her back, moved to the buffet table, snatched up a plate and reached for the egg salad spoon. To her annoyance, he immediately materialized at her elbow and, looming over her, picked up his own plate. “Hello, Simone,” he said in an awful, low bedroom voice. “How are you?”
    “Oh, hello,” she said offhandedly, as if she hadn’t just spent the last ten seconds staring at him and had not, in fact, known he was there. “Mr. Gray, isn’t it?”
    He smiled, the first spontaneous smile he’d ever given her. Deep grooves of dimples on both sides of his lush mouth framed even white teeth. Instantly his harsh looks turned boyish and intriguing.
    Even in her frustrated misery, Simone could see the miraculous effect a smile had on this man’s face. He was stunning. Disconcerted by this unwelcome discovery, she turned away, determined not to stare.
    “Greene, actually. Call me Alex. Here. Let me.” Reaching around, coming close enough for his sleeve to brush her bare arm and for her to catch a whiff of his fresh cologne—a little citrusy, a little woodsy—he grabbed several slices of wheat bread and put two on her plate before putting the rest on his.
    Recoiling from the contact—my goodness, was there a bigger, more muscular man on the planet?—she forced a brittle smile. “Thanks, Mr. Greene, but I prefer rye,” she said, a complete lie. Cursing herself—why couldn’t she have said white? She hated rye!—she picked up a slice.
    His smile deepened. “Sorry.” He helped himself to what looked like a cup each of tuna salad, chicken salad—heck, all the salads—as they moved down the table. “Are you okay? You looked a little…sick when I came in.”
    Sudden comprehension paralyzed her hand midway to a chocolate chip cookie. Now she understood. Well, she’d understood before, of course, but now she really understood. Greene didn’t want just a pound of flesh, he wanted twenty. He wanted to rub her face in his revenge. He wanted to publicly humiliate her and make sure he had the pleasure of her reaction while he did it.
    Well, he wouldn’t get it.
    Somehow she swallowed the basketball-sized lump of anger wedged in her throat. Knitting her brows, she looked, wide-eyed, up into his