Seduce Me Read Free Page B

the article and glanced lovingly at the original bike that now had pride of place in her office, conveniently between her fellow directors’ offices. It was nearly time for them to ride her.
    She smiled wryly, wondering how that Fitness Trade journalist would report the extraordinary board meetings of Swallow Fitness UK Limited.

Yes, Tim
by Sommer Marsden
    â€œFu-uh-uck,” I hissed. I dragged the word out while trying to back my SUV up without crashing into anything. Or killing anyone. “Please do not let me kill a worker,” I sighed, inching backwards. I was completely blind. I did not want to end my day with manslaughter.
    â€œHo!” I slammed the break so hard I shot forward. The cans rattled and shifted in the back of my vehicle. The smell of old soda and beer made my stomach roll over. It was a cloying scent that would linger for days.
    A face appeared at the door and I started. I pushed the button and the window whined. “Sorry. I can’t see sh--crap. I didn’t flatten anyone, did I?”
    He gave me a small but friendly grin. “Nope. And you didn’t dent your truck. That’s the main thing. Pop the back for me?”
    His face was long and lean. Weathered without being aged. Prematurely silvery hair that had once been blond it seemed. His eyes were the colour of steel and his lips were thin without being pinchy. Overall, a handsome face that made me feel calmer. I read his name tag. Tim.
    â€œSure. No problem.”
    I hit the button and heard the back door disengage. I opened the door and it thunked the concrete wall. I was a tad close. “Shit.” Now I had dented it. I sucked in my breath and squeezed between the wall and the SUV. Once around back, I started to unload the huge bags of crushed cans into a pile.
    My small company collected cans from the employees. We kept all the cans from our modest business meetings. Held weekly, they were small but generated a surprising amount of recycling. One of my design clients went through a six pack of diet soda per meeting. I figured by the time I had finished her Zen-meets-punk-rock bathroom, she’d make up roughly a third of our can collection.
    Every month I cashed in the cans and the proceeds went to a local charity. It was my small way of giving back to the community and doing something positive with the people who worked for me.
    â€œâ€“ gonna get ruined.” Tim was staring at me. What had he said?
    â€œI … uh … what!?” I shouted. The place was possibly the noisiest place I had ever been and that included the circus and the rock quarry during blasting.
    â€œI said, your shoes are gonna get ruined!” he yelled as a huge machine spilled a waterfall of aluminium into a giant bin below. Imagine if it rained rocks. And wrenches. With a few hammers for effect. I shoved my fingers in my ears and cringed. How could he hear at all? I’m surprised they weren’t all deaf.
    â€œIt’s fine! They’re old!” I said and jumped when a huge boom filled the warehouse.
    He laughed and guided me to the open bay. His hand on me made me feel warm. I looked again at his face. Nice face. Warm, friendly face. His hand was clean but busted up from working with metal all day. It looked out of place and completely right on my brown suede coat. “Your coat will get ruined in there, too. You’ve never been here, I take it?”
    I shook my head. Somehow my gaze had become pinned to his lips. Pale pink. So pink they almost looked like he had lipstick on. Completely incongruous with his masculine appearance. I found myself shifting a little bit at the thought of those lips coming down on mine. On my lips. On my belly. On my hipbones. My thong rubbed over my now swollen clit at just the right moment and I sucked in a breath.
    â€œIt’s OK. It’s old,” I breathed. And tried to tear my gaze from his mouth. I managed to do it. My eyes fell upon his grey Dickies jacket