Now the holidays are over Saturdays get Sexy again
with another snippet from God’s Gift 1.
Still at the party, and with the client suitably schmoozed,
Sebastian’s mind definitely isn’t on networking.
He’s thinking about much more fun things he could be doing…
With Gina. Or is he beginning to see her as more
than a fun one-nighter..?
The schmoozing having paid off, softening up old man Speyer and making him much more open to the idea of selling his company to Balin, I’m feeling pretty good about the deal. What I’m not feeling good about is still being here at half past ten. I’m all for networking, but there are much better things I could be doing than making mindless chit-chat with people the Speyers’ insist on introducing us to. Things I could be doing with Gina back at the hotel in a big comfy bed … I wonder what sound she makes when she comes …
She laughs at something Meryl says; a big unrestrained laugh that has the people we’re standing with laughing too, and sends unexpected tingles running down my spine, making me smile.
Much more relaxed after a few glasses of champagne, Gina’s playing the part of pretend girlfriend well enough to fool the Speyers, their friends, and me; the shadow of the memory of how good it feels to be half of a pair whispering through my mind …
Whoa. Eyes on the prize, mate.
She may be fooling us all, but I reckon we’ll still need to hit the bar at the hotel before she’s likely to take the pretending any further. I plan to take my time with her so the sooner I get cracking on softening her up enough, the sooner I can get her naked and indulge all the dirty imaginings that are running through my head as I smile and make inane small talk.
The socially acceptable time to spend talking with someone seems to be between five and ten minutes, and our time is up. No one actually says anything, but our little group disperses. Thank God.
I lean close enough to whisper in Gina’s ear. “I think I’ve had my fill of Hamptons socialites. Shall we call it a night and head back to the hotel?”
Gina huffs out a breath. “Oh thank God. The way you were chatting, I thought we’d never get out of here.”
“Me? What about you?”
“I was just going with the flow. But seriously, my face hurts from all this fake smiling.”
I tap out a text to the driver. His return text says he’ll be out front in fifteen minutes − just enough time to get another glass of champagne inside Gina.
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