Free Penthouse Perfect: BBW Erotic Romance by Carolina Moon Page A

he wore. She imagined slowly peeling off the suits that cost more than her car, piece by piece, until he was glistening and naked under her hands.
    She imagined that he shared his secrets with her and made her feel precious. She imagined that he would croon his devotion to her and then sweep her up in those beautiful, strong arms and carry her to their room for a wild night of passion in front of a roaring fireplace.
    Yeah, right, her brain piped up. This guy can afford to have someone carry him around if he wants – can’t really see him carrying you around. She sighed. Sometimes her brain was a pain in the ass.
    “Shut up,” she mumbled, then immediately realized that she’d said the words aloud. She bit her lip and jerked her head up to see if he noticed.
    He looked up at her movement and noticed her noticing, then seemed to realize that she’d spoken. “Are you OK?”
    “Yes. Sorry. I’m fine.” She looked back down at the floor and willed the elevator to fall. Or explode. Anything to get his penetrating gaze off of her. No such luck, though – the dratted thing ticked and hummed quietly and slowly toward the main floor.
    “Your name is Lia, right?”
    She nodded, tried hard to say yes and be flattered, but she just couldn’t. Instead, she swallowed and nodded.
    He stuck out one perfectly manicured hand. “We’ve met once or twice before. It’s nice to see you again.”
    Her own fingers stiffened, and she forced them to relax before taking his hand.
    Instead of shaking it, though, he turned it gently to the soft underside and looked at her wrist. “You have a little something…”
    She glanced down to see grease streaked up her inner arm. “Oh, yeah. I was…I had some car trouble this morning. Dead battery.”
    He was touching her.
    Oh God, he was touching her.
    On purpose.
    A tickle of electricity ran along the trail of his finger, and she leaned back against the glass, sucking in a quiet breath. For just a second, she saw something in his eyes shift, and thought that maybe he felt it, too – that small spark.
    With a shake of her head, she pulled her arm away. No – he was a rich and powerful man, as seen in the celebrity mags that were her guilty pleasure. Men like him didn’t have sexy reactions to women like her.
    Grateful for something to do, she snapped open her purse and began to dig for the disinfectant wipes she always kept there. Of course, they were deep inside the last dark pocket she tried, but she finally pulled them out and ripped the little package open with shaking fingers.
    Then he did something that stunned her. If she had been telling herself this story, she wouldn’t have believed a word of it, but here it was: he took the small damp square from between her fingers, unfolded it, and took her arm again.
    The chill of the thing rivaled the heat that bloomed through her skin. “Oh, Lord…”
    He met her eyes and gave her a searching look, and she realized that she had said that aloud, as well.
    The man must think I’m a blabbering lunatic.
    You are a blabbering lunatic.
    Shut. Up.
    She met his eyes, but only briefly, because she felt like she was going to detonate, and murmured, “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome,” he said, and she could still feel his eyes searching her face, his hand rubbing at the offending mark on her arm. The thought flitted through her mind that this was probably the only contact he’d ever had with dirt.
    He was finished, just as the elevator finally came to a halt on the main floor. The doors swept open to reveal the plush burgundy carpeting and a sparkling chandelier that hung from the textured tray ceiling f the lobby. Traffic whizzed by outside the wide glass doors, but she couldn’t hear it at all. The room was deeply silent.
    Dropping her hand, he reached out to hand over the crumpled wipe and smiled at her. She smiled back.
    “So…did you get the car fixed?”
    She blinked, surprised that he was even asking. “No. I, uh… Well, it looks