The curvy little blond in front of him was about to make all his worries fade for a blissful forty-five minutes. It was a gift from the universe, the way she’d literally fallen into his arms. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she’d tripped over his lawn chaise on purpose.
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It was time to make sure she understood this encounter would be just that. An encounter. A moment in time and nothing more. She tipped her face up to look at him, lips parted. She was practically begging to be kissed.
Markham set his tumbler of bourbon on the desk behind him and leaned forward. Just before their lips would have met, he pulled back. It took a maddening amount of self-restraint given her fingers were teasing his belt. Lesser males, no doubt, would have succumbed to temptation. But Markham Savoy was nothing if not disciplined.
Becky, or was it Beth, frowned. She’d thought she had him in her thrall. Markham reached out and tucked one strand of blond hair behind her ear. She leaned into the caress. It reminded him of his family golden retriever and for a moment his interest in this dalliance waned. Until she arched her back and her chest strained against her shirt. He caught a whisper of a lace bra just south of her undone buttons. There was something classical and lovely about the contrast of the creamy lace against her sun-kissed skin.
That it was all it took to propel him back into the game.
He leaned back against his desk, putting enough distance between them to tell her he meant business. “There are ground rules,” he said.
“What do you mean?” She crossed her arms over her ample chest. It doubled her cleavage.
“Whatever happens between us today is just that—what happened between us today.”
“That’s not very romantic,” She teased. “Does that approach actually work for you?”
“It’s not an approach, it’s just the way it is.” Then he paused and decided it was best to add. “We’re consenting adults and I want to make sure you understand what you’re consenting to. Really, I’m doing this for your protection as much as for my own. ”
“And what is it that I’m consenting to, exactly?” she asked, scratching one nail lightly against his stomach.
“To being carnally worshipped and thoroughly fulfilled, and then going on your way. I don’t want you to harbor unrealistic expectations—outside of my bedroom, that is.”
“Is that so?” She squinted at him, and he could see she finally understood he was serious. And he knew the bargain would be struck. “Fine. No strings, no expectations.”
For a startling moment, it mad him sad to know this connection was purely physical and fleeting. He already knew this girl wouldn’t interest him again. Lately he wondered what it would be like to truly crave someone. But he wrote it off as boredom—existential ennui. God knows he wasn’t naive enough to believe relationships were anything more than arrangements born of temporary, mutual convenience. He willed himself to think only of her hand, still resting on his stomach.