Second to None_A Second Glances Novella by Nancy Herkness

Author:Nancy Herkness [Herkness, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kindle Press
Published: 2017-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Four, Emily counted to herself as Max put his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the elevator that went directly to his penthouse. It was only the fourth time that he had touched her since he’d picked her up at the house. There was the quick kiss on the cheek after she answered the door, the brush of his wind-chilled lips shimmering over her skin. He’d lifted her hair from under the collar of the coat as he helped her into it, which had sent tingles of pleasure waltzing down her spine. He’d offered his arm as they walked down the steps to the limousine, his strength making her feel intensely feminine.

But then he’d wedged himself in the corner of the back seat and simply watched her while she sat two feet away from him on the smooth leather.

His heavy gaze made her skin go tight and prickly in anticipation. Every time the car turned a corner or hit a pothole, she felt the slide of her dress against the tops of her legs where the thigh-high stockings left her skin bare. She’d been honest with herself about how the evening was likely to end, so she’d worn a dress that revealed some cleavage, her best black lace lingerie, and sky-high black stilettos. All in good taste, but leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

She’d seen that Max had gotten the message when he stood stock-still on her porch, his eyes searing their way down every inch of her and back up again, the desire in them making her insides melt. It took so long that Izzy peeked around her to say, “Isn’t Mr. Varela coming in? He’s going to turn into a snowman standing out there.”

He’d come in from the frigid outdoors, presenting all of them, including the babysitter, with gourmet chocolate. Emily had let herself drink him in as he handed out the beribboned boxes—the gleaming waves of his dark hair, the slash and shadow of his cheekbones, the wide, snow-dusted shoulders of his black leather jacket, and the gray wool–covered length of his legs. She wanted to run her hands over all of them.

Now, as they stood in front of the brushed-steel elevator doors, he laid his thumb against a wall pad, his change in position increasing the pressure of his other hand on her back ever so slightly. But she was aware of every nuance of his touch and the different sensations it evoked in her.

The doors glided open, and she stepped into the private elevator, marveling at the polished wood paneling and gilt-framed artwork. She caught sight of the artist’s signature on one painting. Matisse. And she was willing to bet it wasn’t a reproduction.

“You look beautiful.” Max’s bass voice reverberated off the hard surfaces of the elevator and into her bones.

She tilted her head to meet his eyes. They were hooded, his half-closed eyelids shading the dark irises. A shudder of nerves quivered through her. “Izzy gave me her seal of approval.

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