House of Rae franchisee Marie Argenta is on the run after her estranged husband Ned inflicts unimaginable tortures. Leaving her Paris House to hide out in the U.S., she ends up at the San Francisco House to serve as temporary manager. The very first day, her gaze lands on the most arrogant man she has ever seen, Adrian Velasquez. He’s also the most compelling devastatingly attractive, over-the-top pleasure partner the universe could ever conjure, which makes her think twice about the rules forbidding employee relationships.
Adrian knows what he likes and this new House manager Marie ranks above and beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Too bad his life is already crammed too full of family troubles, work overload, and finishing his law degree to even consider stretching the rules with this irritating woman. But a touch here, a kiss there, might be too delicious to refuse and she’s, well, she wants him. He knows it.
What Marie and Adrian are soon to discover is that Ned knows where Marie has fled and plans to take her back no matter what.
West Coast life like you’ve never imagined! Take luxurious surroundings, drop in a few gorgeous men, and stir. Don’t forget there’s serious trouble ahead.
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Adrian lounged in the hallway outside the ground floor conference room. If it were his call, he’d bring everyone to the room at once throwing out ideas and arguing over word choice. But it wasn’t his call and Marie obviously preferred to take advice from one person at a time. He stopped himself from further questioning her reasoning. He didn’t want to think about her reasoning, her, or her luscious body.
He’d found it unexpectedly difficult to craft language that surpassed hers. He’d actually wasted a lot of time thinking up clever ways to make her uncomfortable with over-the-top sexual innuendo. Which wasn’t the purpose of the task, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted to provoke her, push her limits, test her control. Any opening and he would storm past her walls.
Ridiculous, he knew. Storming her walls was the last thing that should be on his mind. She set something loose in him, something he’d never encountered in all his thirty years. Not carefully calculating his hours, his days, his future as had been his pattern. Instead, this doppelganger lurking inside him plotted devious methods that would result in Marie’s eager nude body in his bed.
He shifted uncomfortably as his cock twitched.
The door opened and Savannah walked out, throwing him an amused glance. “Hey, sex boy. You’re next.”
He shook his head and grinned. “Tear it up, Savannah.”
He rolled his shoulder around the door frame, crossed his arms and looked down the long table to where Marie sat at the far end. Surrounded by papers she was organizing into stacks, she glanced up only momentarily before motioning to a nearby chair. Her hair had been fastened loosely on top of her head but a few strands had worked loose, drifting around her face and doing something outrageous with her beauty. A gauzy pink blouse floated around her shoulders and vanished into the shadow of her sumptuous décolletage. He was instantly hard as iron.
Did she know the image she presented, part sex goddess, part ice queen? He had no doubt of her intellect, whip smart and aggressive. He also had no doubt that she would be a wild cat in bed, a tempest of little moans and cries, all of which would ensure his undying servitude to her unending pleasure. Yes, in a perfect world, he would devote himself utterly to Marie, to fulfilling her every sexual need in long leisurely episodes of rampant lust.
His balls had drawn up tight.
As he pulled out the chair nearest her and sat carefully, her gaze followed the bulge straining his pants until his hips disappeared under the table. He watched her reaction, a careful flick of her tongue against her full bottom lip and a slight flush of pink across her cheeks. Goddamn it, that’s all he needed for his rowdy dick to threaten to leap out of his pants.
“Whatever this game is you are playing, monsieur, it will go nowhere,” she said in a husky voice. “Surely you know I cannot entangle myself with an employee.”
He cleared his throat, fighting against laughter. Triumphant laughter. So the cards were on the table.
“Of course,” he said in his most dignified voice. “But I don’t know what ‘game’ you mean. I’m here only to offer advice on the advertisement.”
Her long lashes blinked up and her aquamarine gaze intensified as she studied him, her brow creased. Oh, he could make that gaze darken and smooth that lovely brow all in the same moment. Just one moment to bare her lovely breasts, taste the dark pink nipples—she would call his name. He would draw those rosy tips hard against his tongue until she cried out.
Then he would move lower, teasing with little kisses and bites, until he reached the altar of her body, that delicious valley of moist ruddy flesh where he would live off her delectable nectar. His tongue, his mouth, and his fingers would perform ancient rites of homage until she flailed and cried out, desperate for his engorged cock.
He suppressed a groan, couldn’t help that his glance had drifted to those luscious mounds waiting for him under that flimsy pink blouse. Was it his imagination or could he actually make out the erect peaks of those perfect tits pressing their captivity, begging him?
She brought her papers into a neat stack and looked up. “When you manage to tear your eyes away from ma poitrine, perhaps we can hear your ideas? S’il vous plait?”
He dragged his gaze back to her face, unable to keep the guilty grin off his face. “Ma poitrine,” he drawled. “Is that what they call those lovelies in French?” He leaned forward, as much to punish the rigid length of his raging cock as to push the boundaries of her personal space. He knew he was acting like an ass, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. His outrageous alter ego was in full control.
“It’s a shame their beauty must be hidden from the world.”
“Pah, you are not here to seduce a client, Monsieur Velasquez.” She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail on the papers. “What ideas do you have?”