Page 63 of Crazy In Love
“I’ll be there at five p.m.”
“You best be prepared, Emilia, because I’ll have no problem choosing someone else if you aren’t up for the job. Brenner can easily bring in a designer from the city to do the job if you aren’t up for it.”
“You must think I’m up for the job becauseyou called me,” she said, not making any attempt to hide the snark from her tone.
Atta girl.
“I’ve opened the door for you, Emilia. It’ll be up to you to not have it slammed in your face.”
“Why do I feel like you’d enjoy hiring me and then firing me?”
“Because you’re more than aware that I’ll do it if it’s necessary. Get some sleep—you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
I ended the call before she could respond, and I chuckled at the thought of her being all pissed off about me hanging up so abruptly.
I made my way down the hallway toward my bedroom suite, where I turned on the shower before undressing and stepping under the hot spray of water.
I thought about Emilia Taylor.
Her dark hair and those intoxicating blue eyes.
The way she must have looked soaking in the tub earlier tonight.
The way her perfect tits probably settled just beneath the surface.
I wrapped my hand around my cock and stroked it a few times as I thought about the way her nipples probably hardened when I called her a “filthy girl.”
I thought about the way her lips had parted that night I’d driven her home, just before she got out of the car.
About how soft her skin might feel.
How I’d like to lick every inch of her.
Bury my face between her thighs and taste her.
I stroked faster with thoughts of her going over the edge while I licked her pussy relentlessly.
How sweet she would taste on my lips.
And then I thought about all the ways I’d like to fuck Emilia Taylor.
And there were many ways.
My head fell against the shower wall as every single one of them flooded my mind. And I came harder than I had in a very long time.
Damn. I needed to get this woman out of my head.
eighteen
. . .
Emilia
“I amcertain your window is going to win this year,” Jane Waters said. She and her husband owned Rosewood Brew, a place I usually stopped in at least once a day.
“I agree.” Beatrice wrapped the gorgeous white roses in brown paper and handed them across the counter.
“Well, I think your window is super cute, too,” I said, after handing her the change and closing the register.
