Page 2 of Naughty & Nice
Before we reach the table, I get that zip of something up my spine again. Only now I know it’s got nothing to do with the weather outside. Now it turns from icy cold to blazing hot as my eyes land on the table. I was following the hostess, but I stop several feet from the table.
Because no,no fucking waycan my luck be so bad.
Sitting at the table lit by the flickering candlelight is a blast from my past. One look at her and I am taken back to the first time I saw her. Flirting is one of my favorite past times and I enjoy going out with a woman. No one takes me seriously and they shouldn’t because I never thought I'd want to settle down.
I love women and have been lucky enough to know a few good ones in my life. My mother and my sister taught me how to spot the good ones and how to treat them. None of the women in my past ever had me wanting to lock them down for life.
Well, no woman except the one sitting here now, waiting for me.
“You, per usual, are late, Oliver,” her voice is smoky sexy just like I remember, and I am drawn in as if it’s a siren’s call.
We met during one of the very first big jobs Keegan and I took on. It was the first job we were paid well for and the first time working with a designer. In the end it ended up being one of the most significant jobs we’ve ever worked—and not simply because it made our business legitimate.
Josie Potter became the most significant romantic relationship—hellthe onlyromantic relationship—of my life.
What we had was hot and heavy but not in that way that burns up fast. It burned slow and sweet, starting the moment I laid eyes on her. I had never felt anything like what she made me feel and it scared the hell out of me. I knew what I wanted to do with my life and how I wanted to do it—I follow blueprints and plans for a reason.
We were polar opposites in all the ways that should matter but didn’t. Standing here now, looking down at her smirking up at me, I feel as if no time has passed. Even though too much time has passed. Everything about my life, and I am sure hers, is different now.
“Josie...are you...are you my designer?” I mumble and she laughs.
I made her wait almost thirty minutes—not by choice of course—gape at her for a full five minutes and then mutter stupid questions. Of course, she’s the designer. I should apologize and get down to business, but I say nothing, and I can’t seem to move. Until finally my legs give out and I am forced to sit.
All I can feel is my heart thundering my chest as I gaze at her from across the table. It’s been five years, but she affects me the same way. I want to sit here and ask her all the questions I've wondered since the last time I saw her. But I don’t.
No, I'm just wondering how to get myself out of this because no way in hell can I survive this woman again.
