Free Murphy's Law by Lori Foster

With a too sugary smile, she said, “Quinton resembles you a lot, especially when he’s in a snit like that.”
    Warren stiffened.
    â€œBut you’re wasting that look on me. I’d be out of here if Quinton would turn me loose. He’s the one keeping me here, so if you want privacy, you should be killing him with your glares, not me.”
    â€œShe doesn’t intimidate easily,” Quinton told his uncle, who responded by giving them both a nasty look before disappearing back in the office.
    â€œOuch.” Ashley clutched her stomach. “I think that last one was fatal.”
    Staring down at her hand, knotted just beneath her navel, Quinton said, “Hmmm. Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
    She ducked out from under his arm. Bells jingled and Ashley laughed. “No.” Her lashes swept down to hide her eyes. “At least, not here and not now.”
    Quinton went still, a dozen lascivious images flashing through his brain. He took a step toward Ashley—and his uncle reappeared, briefcase in hand.
    â€œYou’re making a big mistake,” Warren said one more time. “It’d be beneficial to all of us.”
    â€œI don’t need those kinds of benefits.”
    â€œYou are so damned stubborn.”
    Quinton saluted him. “A family trait, or so I’m told.”
    Warren visibly gave up. Good manners dictated that he nod in Ashley’s direction, and a minute later, he was on the elevator and the doors had closed.
    â€œWow,” Ashley said. “Look at the steam he left behind. What’d you do to make him so mad?”
    â€œMy aunt wants to play matchmaker. But I have a wedding to go to.”
    Predictably enough, Ashley went stiff as a poker. “Well, hey, don’t let me stand in your way. By all means, make Auntie happy.”
    â€œI don’t want to.” He reached out to trail his fingers over her shoulder, down to her wrist. He captured her hand and tugged her forward. “I told you, you’re the only woman I’m thinking about.” Backstepping, Quinton drew her into his office.
    â€œYour uncle doesn’t like me.”
    â€œHe doesn’t know you. Don’t worry about him.” He nudged the door shut, then trapped her against it. “Now.” He flattened a hand on either side of her head. “Let’s talk about the wedding.”
    â€œThe wedding? Really?” She started breathing a little faster. “What about it?”
    Bending his elbows brought him in closer until only an inch separated them. “I still need some details.” He brushed a featherlight kiss against her temple. “What time should I pick you up?”
    â€œIs one o’clock okay? The wedding doesn’t start until five, but May wants me there—”
    He shushed her with a soft, lingering smooch. “One is fine.” While kissing a path to her throat, he said, “Jamison lives in Stillbrooke?”
    â€œYes.” She tilted her head and closed her eyes. “It…it takes only about fifteen minutes to get there from my apartment.”
    â€œI’m going to need your address.” He drew the soft flesh where her shoulder met her throat against his teeth, and she moaned.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know what?”
    â€œWhere I live. I can’t think when you’re doing that.”
    â€œCan you think when I do this?” Holding her gaze with his, he pressed his hips inward until his fly nudged between her thighs.
    â€œNo.” She grabbed his neck and smashed her mouth against his.
    Chuckling, Quinton trailed one hand down her back to her bottom. Despite her protests to the contrary, she had a great body, all lean and tone but soft. Against her lips, he whispered, “Damn, you feel good.”
    â€œYou do, too.” She flexed her fingers into his shoulders, down to his chest. “Real good.”
    â€œOpen your lips a little