Page 55 of Tender Offer
“Ready?” I pant.
His brow lifts. “Do I make you nervous, Puff?”
Damn these dimples.
“You wish.” My silver hoops chime at the tilt of my chin. “Let’s go spend your money.”
I sashay out of his office to his laughter.
No jeans have ever tempted me to lick the seams before. But then there’s the pair in front of me.
Preston’s smile is bright and wide in the dressing room mirror. His phone has been ringing nonstop since we left his office through the secret entrance hours ago. He hasn’t looked at it, outside of a couple of calls from his assistant. He’s fully present, enjoying every outfit I curate for him.
Time sharpened the muscles of his cut frame. Every piece of clothing that touches his skin hangs like a masterpiece. His back is my favorite. I could spend the rest of the afternoon savoring the cotton that stretches and bends to his sculpted protruding lines.
He’s thicker, more defined, but still the same Preston.
“These are comfortable,” he says with a scratch to his goatee.
“You look good.” I motion to the dark hair lining his chin. “Glad you kept it.”
The light above the platform catches on his shadowed jaw as he examines it. “If you like it, I’ll keep it. But this”—he peels off the taupe cable-knit sweater—“needs to go.”
I avert my eyes from the muscles contracting in his lower abdomen. The happy trail that dips below his belt calls me out for being hot in the ass and unprofessional.
Preston hands me the discarded sweater. Our fingers graze, igniting a rush of heat that spreads to my toes. His breath fans over my cheek. “What else do you have for me, Puff?”
Clench and bear!
There’s no point in denying gravity exists. I let physics do its job by lowering my gaze, which happens to collide with hard pecs. It’s an Oscar-worthy performance of a woman unfazed by the sight of a muscled chest and the haunting gaze of its owner.
“One more thing.” I shift into his personal space, so close now he could kiss my forehead. His inhale is sharp when I lean into the scent of his musk and lift the cardigan in my hand. “This has your name all over it. Preston.Preston.”
My giggle morphs into a belly laugh at his disappointment.
“Funny,” he deadpans and grabs his shirt off the velvet chair. “Tell you what. I’ll take the last three jumpers you forced on me if you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow.”
How did shopping turn into a proposition for a date?
We’ve kept things friendly, outside of a few lingering glances and flirtatious quips. Spending time together shopping for clothes was surprisingly easy once the initial shock of being in the same space wore off. Time flew in three boutiques. Preston now has more uncollared shirts, jeans, and chinos to add to the sad cluster of casual clothes he exiled to the corner of his closet. Ironically, sneakers aren’t scarce.
“What do you say, Ms. Monroe?” His eyes flicker from his cuff links to me. “You have to eat. Let me feed you.”
“How do you know what I like?”
What the hell am I doing?
Preston shrugs into his blazer and leans forward to size me up. I’m in five-inch heels that are no match for the smile denting his cheeks above my hairline.
“I know what you like, Puff,” he whispers with a wink. Then he leaves me in the dressing room with more thoughts than sweaters.
Chapter 29
Madison
Spending over a hundred dollars on two strips of bread and a tease of filling is criminal. No one should get away with pawning off “sandwiches” that would incite the Hunger Games, but that’s what I get for running on mints for the better part of the day.
I pull another Tetris tile from the two-tier stand of white and gold cups with matching saucers.
