Ruthless In A Suit (Book Three) by Ivy Carter

Author:Ivy Carter [Carter, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Favor Ford Publishing
Published: 2017-01-02T18:30:00+00:00

Jackson

I’m kissing Emily in the car on the way to my place on Marlborough Street. I’m kissing her as we walk up the steps of the brownstone. I’m still kissing her when I insert the key and go through the front door. I kick the door shut and press her up against the wood-paneled wall and devour her some more. I just…can’t…get…enough. The way she digs her fingers into my hair, pulling me into her makes me absolutely insane. But I need to take her. I need to show her how spectacular she is, how out of control she makes me feel, and just how much I want her.

If I can get us out of the foyer.

I pull back from her and take her hands. If I could magically make my bed appear, I’d do it but frankly I don’t have the patience to take her up the stairs. I’m guiding her into the formal sitting room off the entrance—there are couches and a plush rug if it comes to that—but we still don’t make it far.

“Jesus Christ,” Emily says, her eyes drifting up toward the curved staircase and dark, high ceilings. “This place is huge.” I tug her toward me, covering her neck with kisses to distract her. I don’t want her to see my house. I want her to feel me. Her hands go back around my neck. Briefly. “No, seriously, Jackson. This is some major old money home.”

I pull back and look at her. “This is Boston. The houses are old. This place was built in 1860.”

She looks into the sitting room with the modern cream couch some decorator picked out to help counter the stuffiness of the home’s original details. “You have a fireplace?” She says this like it’s outrageous, like I have a pony in the courtyard.

“I have five,” I say.

I love watching her walk around in awe—not because I’m trying to impress her, although a part of me definitely wants Emily to be impressed by me, and in every way possible. I love the way her face lights up, her eyes scanning the room and catching every new thing. You’d think she just stepped through the looking glass. I guess maybe for her, she has. Of all the women I’ve brought here, many were impressed with its old-world charm or its size—I own two side-by-side brownstones—but none looked at it like they were in the queen’s palace the way Emily is.

“Will you give me a tour?” she asks.

I groan. “Yes. But later.” I pull her back into my arms, right where she belongs. “I’d rather be the one taking a tour.” I run my fingers down her side.

“Ha ha,” she says, but her eyes are getting that heavy, lustful look back.

“Get back here,” I say, pulling her into me again and crushing her mouth with mine. The taste of her is so sweet and delicate that it’s all I need.

Except it’s not. My body needs to pressed against her hard, be closer, feel more of her.

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