Wicked Pleasure. Taryn Leigh Taylor

but she’d do well to remember the lesson. “You don’t seem like a man who has too much trouble getting what he wants.”

      “Not usually.” He eyed her attentively. “But I guess we’ll find out.”

      That trickle of lust she’d been fighting since he’d walked into his office upgraded itself to a gush, but before she did something monumentally stupid, his phone vibrated, and they both dropped their gazes to his chest.

      “Aren’t you going to get that?”

      Liam shook his head, and AJ tipped hers to the side, studying him. “I’ve never known a titan of industry to ignore the siren song of a phone call.”

      “Do you know many? Titans?”

      “A few.”

      His phone vibrated again. AJ stepped closer, reached toward him, and when he made no move to stop her, she slipped her hand inside his suit and pulled out his phone.

      “Dom,” she announced, reading the contact info on the display. “As in dominatrix? Are you late for a bit of the whip and tickle?” The phone continued to buzz insistently against her palm. “You must be a good customer. She seems eager for contact.”

      “Dom as in Dominic. Business acquaintance. He could probably pull off the leather, but judging by his golf game, I doubt his mastery with the riding crop. He’s not very athletic.”

      “Well, color me disappointed.” With a twist of her wrist, she held the phone out to him, screen up. “Might be important.”

      Liam took the phone and tucked it back in his suit without so much as glancing at it. “Work has a tendency to consume you if you let it.”

      AJ turned back to the balcony, leaning her forearms against the railing. She liked it when work consumed her. Kept that bad shit from creeping into her brain. “You don’t let it?”

      “As I believe we already established, I live to party.”

      She laughed at that. “You’re so full of shit.”

      She felt his eyes on her profile, the burn of their focus. Barroom talk was out of place at a cocktail party. She probably shouldn’t have said that.

      “You see?” he asked, his voice deliciously husky. “I told you.”

      The tease worked, and she gave in to temptation, looked over at him. He had a tiny jagged scar on his chin. “What?”

      His gaze roamed her face in the dim light. “I’d remember you.”

      Something in his eyes, so dark, ran through her like an electrical current. Her laugh sounded fake, even to her own ears. “Sure you would. Just like you remember everyone else at this shindig?”

      Liam flickered a surveying glance at the grounds, teeming with people. His easy shrug of confirmation sharpened her focus.

      “There’s got to be two hundred people here.” Two hundred and twelve, according to her research. All required to RSVP for the code that would grant them access tonight. And another thirteen who’d politely declined, which had essentially nuked their bar codes so they’d been of no use to her. This had been a tough party to crash.

      “Give or take,” he said, with a sip of bourbon.

      She turned toward the terrace railing and rested her elbows on it, staring down at the busy garden below. There were people milling about, but her eyes snagged on a mismatched couple almost directly beneath her, illuminated by the fancy lights strung all over the grounds.

      “Who’re those two?” she asked, with a head tip at a stout, balding man who’d cornered one of the waitstaff so he could raid the shrimp platter while the gorgeous woman on his arm guzzled champagne with alacrity.

      Liam turned to see her pick, and the sleeve of his jacket brushed her upper arm, unleashing a wave of goose bumps across her skin. “Phillip Henderson and his much younger wife, Tara Billings-Henderson.”

      Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You could be saying any names. How would I know if you’re full of shit or not?”

      He leaned forward on the railing and raised his voice a little. “Phillip. Tara. So glad you could make it tonight.”

      The mismatched twosome lifted their heads like a couple of well-trained Labradors at the sound of their names, eager for their host’s attention.

      “Wouldn’t miss it!” boomed the bald guy, yelling much louder than necessary and affording AJ a full view of all his teeth and his mouthful of masticated shrimp. “You always throw the best parties!”

      The blonde dropped her husband’s arm like she’d been burned, executed a shampoo-commercial-worthy hair shake and waggled her fingers. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you all night. Save me a dance?”

      In a nonanswer, he raised his glass to them, took a sip of bourbon and turned his whole body to face AJ.

      “Super classy guest list,” she complimented, hoping the irony didn’t make her sound petty. At least they were on the guest list.

      A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

      The sexy pulse of the base-heavy track the pool-deck DJ was spinning spilled through the night, making her want to dance like she did in the club. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and sway with him while his hands rode the small of her back, the curve of her ass, pulling her close so she could grind her hips against his while he kissed her neck...

       Shit.

      She was in big trouble, and the look on his face did nothing but confirm it.

      “I’m Liam.”

      AJ almost laughed. “Oh, I know.”

      “Then it appears you have me at a disadvantage.”

      Her hand tightened on her glass at the accuracy of his statement. But it wouldn’t be true for much longer if she didn’t get her shit together. She wasn’t here for his animal magnetism, she was here for his tech.

      The reminder gave her the strength to shoot him a cool smile. “Not a position you’re used to, I’m sure.”

      He stepped closer. It was disconcerting, the way his broad shoulders blocked out the view of anything but him.

      “On the contrary, I pride myself on being familiar with a wide array of positions.”

      AJ swallowed, ignoring the urge to mess him up a bit, rake her hands through his hair, tug his tie askew, get him a little bit naked. “You’re handsomer than I expected.” The thought slipped past her lips and raised his eyebrows.

      “That didn’t sound like a compliment.”

      She gave him a once-over and shrugged. “Kind of cliché is all. I mean, hella smart, stupid rich and disgustingly handsome? It’s a little much. Most people settle for two out of three.”

      His gaze roamed her face. “I don’t believe in settling.” His voice was low and intimate and vibrated at the perfect frequency to tighten her nipples. “Tell me your name.”

      “A—Robin.” She remembered her alias at the last second. Damn. Maybe that bourbon had affected her a little. She’d been this close to saying AJ. That would have been a rookie mistake, giving him her real name. Well, real enough, anyway.

      “Robin,” he repeated, leaning forward. Or was she leaning forward?

      Either way, their breaths mingled, and her breasts ached for his touch, and being horizontal sounded like a way better idea than being vertical because being vertical was highly overrated as a state of being anyway.

      It would just figure that the only man to light her up, to really light her up, in the last four years would be the one man who was completely off-limits to her. A mark. Nothing more.

      GD sex hormones. This was