I stared at my computer screen. For the tenth time that day, I saw not a single number in front of me, in spite of the fact that they filled the screen from top to bottom.
Nope, instead of eights, I saw the lush curves of one Evie Reed in all her glory, sprawled on my hotel bed.
Instead of sixes and nines, my brain instantly supplied a dozen carnal images of the two of us doing exactly that. My mouth on that sweet, wet p***y, and her hot, juicy lips wrapped around my c**k.
Instead of ones, I recalled the secret knowledge that I was the only man to have been inside her.
It had been a week since we’d left France to head back to the States and begun working together on a daily basis. I wasn’t an i***t—I’d known day one would be bad. And I was right. Monday had been the ultimate s**t show,
