The Mammoth book of Erotica Presents the Best of Saskia Walker
“Jack’s arm shot out, blocking the doorway to her office. “I know what you need.” His shirt sleeve was rolled up, revealing a strong forearm dusted with black hair, his fist sure and large against the door frame. Halted in her steps, she took a deep breath. Her glance moved to meet his. “Trust me, Jack, you don’t.” Steeling herself, she pushed his arm aside, ignoring his knowing look, ignoring those dark eyes filled with suggestion and the tangible wall of testosterone he exuded.
She headed for her desk, her stiletto heels clicking over the polished wood floor. The skin on her back prickled with awareness, awareness brought about by his presence. He’d done it again. He’d made her curious, responsive. She didn’t take any nonsense from the men she worked with, but Jack Fulton had unsettled her. Counting to five, she put her laptop down on the desk and turned to face him, ready to challenge his comment. The door was ajar, the space empty. He was gone.
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