Free Shameless Playboy by Caitlin Crews Page A

fathers. For her, perhaps, this was no more than an
abandoned great house on a vast property—one more British eccentricity for her
to work around. In the pouring rain, no less. He watched as she worried her
lower lip with her teeth, and then pulled out her PDA and began typing into it.
                 “We’ll
put lights on the house to play up its mysterious past,” she murmured. “A
haunted house theme, but elegant.”
                 He
realized with some astonishment that she was no longer speaking to him. She was
entirely focused on her PDA, and thus the job at hand. As if he, Lucas Wolfe,
the greatest temptation on two feet according to the tabloids and any number of
his former lovers, was … no more than a business associate.
                 He
found it surprisingly arousing.
                 “We’ll
have the design capitalize on the Wolfe saga at every opportunity,” she
continued in that same distracted tone. “The Wolfe touch on the Hartington’s
brand in the eighties is widely considered to be the glory days—we’ll use that.
Expand it into the new era.”
                 She
continued on like that for a few minutes more, while Lucas stood idly by,
holding an umbrella over her head and waiting patiently. Like one more
toothless member of her intimidated staff. Like her lackey.
                 He
was sure it spoke to the deficiencies in his character that he’d been hearing
of all his life that he did not mind it as he should. That he found her deep
concentration and ability to block out even him deeply, sensually intriguing.
Would she be like that in bed? Would she gaze at her lover with that kind of
rapt focus?
                 He
certainly hoped so.
                 “What
is it?” she asked, looking back at him as she slid her PDA back in her pocket,
her brown eyes narrowing as they caught his expression “Why are you looking at
me like that?”
                 The
rain had picked up again, thudding hard against the umbrella and rebounding
from the stones beneath their feet. They were both wet, cocooned together amid
the noise of the storm. Lucas found it exhilarating. Or perhaps that was simply
her presence—and the fact she was standing so close to him. Finally. She
smelled like soap and rosemary and something fresher, more feminine, in the
close embrace beneath the umbrella.
                 He
could tell the very moment she realized that the pounding rain had trapped them
even closer together, that she was near enough to be wrapped around him if she
wished—that the only reason besides the downpour that would bring two people
together like this had everything to do with the carnal heat that flared
between them and nothing to do with the weather. He watched her chocolate eyes
widen in alarm—and unmistakable awareness.
                 He
reached across the scant space between them, and slid his hand along the side
of her face, filling his palm with the soft skin of her tender cheek, letting
his thumb scrape across her full lower lip, wishing he could test it against
his teeth as she had. He was so unused to waiting. He could not recall the last
time he’d had to wait for anything.
                 Soon , he promised himself.
                 “I
want you,” he said quietly. It echoed between them as more than a statement of
intent. It was a promise. A vow.
                 He
could read her so well, though he did not wish to analyze that unexpected
ability. He heard her breath catch in her throat, saw her eyes heat with
desire. He knew she wanted him. He could feel it in the fire that scorched the
humid air between them, see it in the way her lips parted and the faint tremor
that shook through her.
                 “I
am afraid that I do not want you , Mr. Wolfe,” she said in that brisk,
professional tone, making him blink—though he did not drop his hand.