Free Forbidden Surrender by Priscilla West Page A

with the amount of testosterone he exuded I sensed it had just turned into Vincent’s night out.
    “They seemed to be having fun.” He raised his glass and clinked it against mine. “So do you.” His lips curled into a charming smirk and he adjusted his position, brushing his arm against mine. The unwelcome surge over that entire side of my body made me realize how much I missed his physical presence.
    I took a sip, then another, debating what to say to him while he eyed me suspiciously, the drama of the game below us all but forgotten. “Do I make you nervous?” he asked.
    His relaxed posture and collected demeanor provided a stark contrast to my own composure. “No. Why?”
    “You’re pounding that drink.”
    I glanced down at my mojito which was now just ice cubes. When did that happen?
    His amused eyes were on mine when I looked back up. “I can get you another if you want.”
    “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I blurted, recalling our last heated conversation in which I was naked and in the middle of masturbating. “I’m not going home with you tonight if that’s what you’re planning.”
    “Relax Kristen. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. I know you can handle yourself.” The casual way in which he deflected while complimenting me made me stiffen and when he put his hand on mine, I felt my knees go weak. Good thing we were sitting down.“What’s really bothering you?”
    I placed the drink in the cup holder and pulled my arms across my chest, more to avoid the effect of his touch than to pout. “You. What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”
    “I may constantly fantasize about you but I don’t follow you around or have you followed if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “So you just happened to be here when I’m here.”
    “It’s the playoffs. As a major shareholder in the team, I have more reason to be at this game than you. Maybe you’re the one stalking me?”
    His cleverness caused me to laugh and I gained a greater appreciation for his sense of humor. “You wish.”
    “Maybe you researched my finances, realized my connection to the Knicks, and, unable to resist your intense feelings, showed up hoping to see me. Looks like we both got lucky.” He took a sip of his own drink while keeping his dark eyes trained on me.
    Even though I’d been plagued with constant thoughts about him throughout the week—some of them including fantasy meetings in his office—I couldn’t imagine myself acting on them. “In your dreams, buddy,” I said, my tone more playful than serious.
    He leaned toward me, his mouth close to my ear and his long velvety hair brushing my cheek. Rather than resisting, I found myself relishing the contact. His scent was different than usual but the signature spice was present and had its usual effect on me all the same.
    “You want to know what I dream about? We can make that a reality,” he purred.
    My body involuntarily shivered at the silky vibration. I admired his graceful tenacity but I had already come to expect that from him. “Sorry, but you’re not really my type.”
    He pulled back but was still close enough for me to feel his radiating heat. I saw his seductive smile widen. “I am. But what do you think your type is?”
    “Nice. Sweet. Caring. Not exactly a thrill-seeking CEO.”
    His smile turned lopsided and he replied, “You’d be bored in a month. I think you want someone exciting who also makes you feel safe. I can do that.”
    My thumb and forefinger pinched my chin in thought. “Hmm . . . you know that does sound appealing but as enticing as it is, I already told you, we can’t happen.”
    “Professional concerns, I know.”
    I raised a brow. “So you do listen.”
    “When it involves your lips, you have my full attention.”
    The tension in my shoulders relaxed and I felt a crack in my guard. He was both physically beautiful and demonstrating thoughtfulness. It wasn’t just the drink and remembering my roommate; he