attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn—I hadn’t
expected the evening to take this unexpected course.
I am excited already. Why does he affect me so? I
slightly resent how easily I fall under his spell. I know now
that we won’t be spending the evening talking through all
our issues and recent events . . . but how can I resist him?
Checking my appearance in the mirror, I am brighteyed
and flushed with excitement. Issues schmissues.
I take a deep breath and head back out into the club. I
mean, it’s not as if I ha一ven’t gone panty less before. My
inner goddess is draped in a pink feather boa and
diamonds, strutting her stuff in fuck-me shoes.
Christian stands politely when I return to the table, his
expression unreadable. He looks his usual perfect, cool,
calm, and collected self. Of course, I now know
differently.
“Sit beside me,” he says. I slide into the seat and he
sits. “I’ve ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.” He
hands me my half-finished glass of champagne, regarding
me intently and under his scrutiny, my blood heats anew.
He rests his hands on his thighs. I tense and part my legs
slightly.
The waiter arrives with a dish of oysters on crushed
ice. Oysters. The memory of the two of us in the private
dining room at the Heathman fills my mind. We were
discussing his contract. Oh boy. We’ve come a long way
since then.
“I think you liked oysters last time you tried them.” His
voice is low, seductive.
“Only time I’ve tried them.” I’m all breathy, my voice
“Only time I’ve tried them.” I’m all breathy, my voice
exposing me. His lips twitch with a smile.
“Oh, Miss Steele—when will you learn?” he muses.
He takes an oyster from the dish and lifts his other
hand from his thigh. I flinch in anticipation, but he reaches
for a slice of lemon.
“Learn what?” I ask. Jeez, my pulse is racing. His long,
skilled fingers gently squeeze the lemon over the shellfish.
“Eat,” he says, holding the shell close to my mouth. I
part my lips, and he gently places the shell on my bottom
lip. “T
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