Page 81 of Serving the Mogul

He left my mind just as quickly, and now James had my full attention. I was acutely aware of his gaze traveling across my face, lingering on the skinny straps of my sundress and the scooped neckline that dipped low over my chest.

Because I hadn’t expected a visit, I didn’t wear a bra after showering, and now my nipples have tightened to the point of soreness. The airy cotton of my dress was suddenly too abrasive, and the way his eyes darkened as they lingered on the sharp points told me he’d noticed the reaction.

He glanced at the truck idling in the driveway. He measured Cecil––the pause lasting seconds––and then I got the impression he discarded him, deciding the man wasn’t worth his time.

And he wasn’t.

“Who is he?” James asked as he mounted the steps to my small porch.

“An ex.” I shifted, suddenly aware of how bare I was under the light dress, only a pair of panties keeping me from being utterly exposed. The sticky, cold liquid of the spilled drink puddled around my feet, and I scowled. “I dropped my margarita.”

James crouched down and picked up the glass. Thankfully, a brightly colored one made from molded plastic, rather than anything breakable. I shivered as he trailed a finger up my calf, catching a lingering drop of the sweet concoction before rising.

Eyes holding mine, he licked his finger.

“Tasty,” he murmured. Once again, he glanced at the truck. “Why is he here?”

I managed a casual shrug. My voice, though, wasn’t casual. The words came out husky. “I’m not sure. We dated when I was living in California. It’s been years.”

We didn’t look at Cecil as he reversed out of my driveway, making the tires squeal. The too-loud engine roared before going into idle. Although I couldn’t see him, I could feel my ex’s gaze piercing me.

“He didn’t say what he wanted?”

“He arrived two minutes before you and said he wanted to talk.” With a smile, I shrugged. “But he didn’t say what about. I don’t know what it could be, and I don’t care either.”

James moved in closer, crowding into my personal space. Seeing the heat in his eyes, I didn’t move. His hand curved around my neck, and I only managed a sharp breath before he pulled me up against him, his mouth claiming mine.

Dimly, I heard Cecil take off, tires squealing yet again and the engine thundering.

But none of that mattered. James maneuvered us into the house, turning so I was pressed against the still-open front door. I moaned into his mouth, softening for him.

But when I reached for him, he eased away, catching my hands as I tried to draw him back to me.

“Hmmm…” He smiled against my lips. “I like the taste.”

“The margarita?”

“No. You.”

“Then have more,” I whispered.

But he nudged me back, a wicked light in his eyes.

“That’s playing dirty,” I muttered. “Kissing me like that and then putting an end to it right as things get good.”

He lifted my right hand, kissed the back of it. “Maybe I’ll let you convince me to change my mind after we talk.”

The undercurrent in his voice had me studying him.

“And what are we talking about?”

He nudged me farther inside, then pushed the door shut. “Do you have anything else to drink besides margaritas? Something stronger. You might want that, too.”

I nodded. “Come on.” I gestured for him to join me in the kitchen.

James rinsed out the margarita glass while I dampened a folded square of paper towels and wiped the worst of the sticky mix off my legs.

The small beverage cart stood tucked into a corner, and although nothing on it was top shelf, it wasn’t rotgut either. Since I knew James liked whiskey and bourbon, I served us a small-batch bourbon I’d grown fond of from Kentucky.

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