Page 67 of The Sebastian Guarantee
He leaned in. “Like he desired you?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Powerful.”
“Following the Sebastian Guarantee will ensure you’re in control—personally and professionally. That’s where the senses come in. Tonight, every person at the cocktail party got a whiff of Phoebe 2.0. They got a glimpse of the attractive, poised woman. But you’re still an enigma. I’d be willing to bet your name was on every investor’s mind and it got them talking. Now, we’ll prepare you for what to do when you see your target—personal or professional. They’ll be itching for a taste and longing to touch. Professionally, investors will want to get their hands on your ideas. Personally, they’ll want to get man-eater Phoebe alone and preferably naked.” He shut his trap, not sure where the naked part came from, but there was no taking it back now.
Phoebe’s breathing grew audible as the rise and fall of her chest quickened. “Um . . . wow . . . that’s quite comprehensive, Seb. And look at me. I haven’t even asked about you. Did you meet any investors or see anyone you were interested in? I caught you looking at a woman in a white pantsuit. She was gorgeous. She’d probably look great naked.”
He had to get that thought out of her head. He pressed his index finger to her lips, silencing her rambling chatter. “I’m not interested in anything or anyone outside this room. Stop stalling, Phoebe. Let’s get back to the Sebastian Guarantee. Pop quiz time—the man-eater edition. Tempt my senses. Make me want to taste you. Make me want to touch you. Tease me until I can’t take it.”
Chapter14
SEBASTIAN
Had he just asked—no, demanded—that Phoebe seduce him?
It sure as hell sounded like it.
Was this request related to the protocol? In theory, yes, anything he did was guaranteed by Sebastian because, well, he was Sebastian. Was that one hell of a convoluted life-coaching model? Sure. But Jeremy had his sights set on Phoebe, and he had no choice but to turn her into a vixen and refocus her attention. As her coach, he could be a safe space. They could do as they’d done at her place and enter creative mode.
Was that what he was doing, or was Jeremy correct? Did he want Phoebe for himself—for something more than friendship?Dammit, that was complicated. But this wasn’t the time to tease out his Phoebe Gale complication conundrum. However, his rock-hard cock knew what it wanted, and she was wearing the hell out of a midnight blue shimmery cocktail dress and standing a breath away.
“What are your words, Phoebe? The words to center yourself.”
The sexiest hint of a grin tipped the corners of her lips. “Kissable and man-eater. Oops,” she cooed, eyes glinting with mischief. “I meantcapable.”
She knew damned well the word was “capable.” This was good, though. He wanted her relaxed.
He met her sly expression with one of his own. “What does a capable man-eater do when she wants something? What would Phoebe 2.0 do in this situation?”
Phoebe drew the tip of her tongue across her top lip, then schooled her features and pressed her hand against his chest. “Phoebe 2.0 would like you to sit your ass down.”
He wasn’t about to make her ask twice. He took a step back and sank onto the edge of the bed. She took off her glasses, set them on top of the dresser, then, like she’d been cast in a shampoo commercial, shook out her bun. Carnal urgency tore through him as her chestnut waves dusted her shoulders and framed her face. Although he’d seen her like this hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, there was something different about it now. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Phoebe swept her hair over her shoulder, turned slowly, and presented him with her ass.
She looked over her shoulder. And God help him, she radiated a coy coolness that had his temperature rising. He shifted on the bed. His trousers had gotten rather snug. He drank her in and couldn’t stop himself from picturing her on her hands and knees, buck naked as he gripped her hip and tangled his other hand in her hair while he thrust in hard, taking her from behind. The image sent another jolt of lust surging through him.
“Can you help me with the zipper?” she purred.
He snapped back from Phoebe Fantasy Land. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure.” Jesus, he couldn’t be stuttering and stammering. He needed to harness his composure. He was Sebastian Cress. He had millions of online followers. Scores of fans. He could bed any woman he wanted. But he didn’t want just any woman.
He brushed away a few errant wisps of her hair, then slipped his fingertips beneath the collar of her dress. She trembled under his touch as he slowly unzipped her dress. Then, taking the utmost care, he parted the sides of the garment and enjoyed the view. Inch by inch, he exposed her porcelain skin. But that wasn’t all he’d revealed.
“What are you wearing?” he asked. It was a stupid question. He was peering right at what she had on under her dress, but it still caught him off guard. She’d changed in her room before they left for Glenn Pines. He hadn’t seen what undergarments she’d chosen. But he could now, and sweet Christ, she’d picked out the pink lingerie set Mara had gifted her. Unlike the pink baby doll negligee, this selection wasn’t billowy and light. It was skimpy, skintight, and smokin’ hot—and all he’d seen so far was a sliver of it. The hint of a lacy pink waistband peeked out from beneath the dress. He trailed his hands up her back and traced a line beneath the band of the lacy pink bra.
“Do you like it?” she asked, allowing the dress to fall to the floor and pool at her feet. She stepped out of the confines of the cocktail clothing and took a step back. Swiveling like a high-heel-wearing ice skater, she faced him, giving him one hell of a view. “The bra and panties match my shoes. How about that for man-eater thinking?”
Hopefully, that was a rhetorical question, because he didn’t have any words at his disposal. Beautiful, tantalizing, enchanting, and electrifying didn’t aptly describe the goddess standing before him. “Phoebe,” he breathed. It was the only word he was able to speak, and her name passed his lips in a deep, gravelly whisper.
His caveman reply put a smile on her face. “And what have you got for me beneath your shirt and tie?” Mischief glimmered in her eyes. “And no judgment if it turns out you’re wearing the same thing as me and we’re twinsies. Pink is your color, too, Sebastian Cress, and don’t you ever forget it,” she teased—the little minx.
Awestruck, he feasted his eyes on her. How the hell did she do it? She’d woven sweet, silly, and sexy into a tapestry that had him on the cusp of losing control.
And speaking of control, he needed a hit of it, something fierce. He donned his best poker face. “I hate to let you down, but my undergarments are decidedly less alluring.”
