Free Seductress Seduced (The Embassy Book 4) by Kira Barker Page B

for a long time, and, as usual, I didn’t know the answer today any more than four hundred years ago.
    And still, as I stepped into the room, I felt the slightest flutter low in my belly, a hint of excitement. That was strange, and unfamiliar. I could barely remember the last time that had happened. Maybe in Rome, around 1245? No. Florence. I was sure that it had been in Florence. Must be a case of indigestion, or something.
    My faithful watchdog was already in attendance, as was the intended object of my not-quite adoration.
    At least from behind he didn’t look bad—tall, trim but on the compact rather than lean side, short, brown hair, perfectly fitting into this century’s standards of what was deemed ‘hot.’ His suit wasn’t tailored, but fit him well enough, and I caught a hint of peppermint, likely stemming from a perpetual gum chewing habit. Might speak for good oral skills if he liked to keep his mouth occupied. That was never a bad thing. But there wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about him. Nothing that would explain the rambunctious imps in my stomach.
    As I stepped up to the remaining leather chair on this side of the heavy oak desk, I got a good glimpse of his profile. While most men turned up here looking their best, he seemed to go for the rugged half of handsome, preferring a light scruff over clean-shaved cheeks. The very idea of feeling that light scratching between my thighs made me lick my lips—the taste of lipstick not necessarily contributing favorably to my rising irritation.  
    Light hazel eyes swept in my direction, lingering for a moment, and I watched his full lips curve into a slight smile. Not an enticing smile, but a cocky one, the kind that spoke of either skill or more confidence than was good for any mortal. Likely the latter , I admitted to myself, which made me snort.
    “You must be Viveca,” he greeted me, hand extended, eyes sparkling. “Emily has told me a lot about you.”
    “I bet she has,” I replied, staring at his fingers for a moment. At least he’d cleaned his fingernails beforehand; I might not be as fragile as your average human woman, but there was something fundamentally upsetting about being finger fucked by someone who couldn’t even care to maintain the basics of hygiene. His were clean, yet not that kind of perfectly maintained that spoke of a professional manicure. There were limits to what my age-old mind could take, as far as modern standards went. Tanned skin was visible where his wrist peeked out of his jacket sleeve, letting me glimpse just a hint of vein, pressed to the surface by powerful muscles underneath. Good for fucking against a wall, upright, if he had enough strength to actually support my weight.
    I waited just long enough to make him uncomfortable, but not until the moment turned awkward, before I shook his hand, finding his grip surprisingly strong, the feel of calluses on his fingers making me want to lick my lips all over again. He definitely knew how to use his fingers elsewhere; that boded well for him.
    Contrary to my expectation, he didn’t look self-conscious because of my hesitation. If anything, he appeared amused as he withdrew his hand and took his former place next to mine. Cocky bastard .
    Looking over to Emily, I caught her deadpan stare. Oh, she might be smiling pleasantly, but she couldn’t wait for us to get straight to business. He really must have been pestering her over the past few hours if she was already that strung out. Then again, maybe she was just waiting for our appointment to be over so she could get laid herself, a much more reasonable explanation for her momentary lapse of professionalism.
    “And you are the guy that has everyone’s panties in a twist?” I ventured an informed guess.
    His answering smile was in line with his attitude so far, way too bright for his own good.
    “That bad? Took me long enough to get your attention.”
    Now that deserved an explanation.
    “My attention?”
    He