January 21, 2014
Series: Billionaire Bachelors Club
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“Can you become addicted to someone’s smell?” My voice is nonchalant, my thoughts turbulent. I keep my gaze locked on the woman I’m talking about. The one I think I’m slowly becoming addicted to though my brain is screaming at me that this particular addiction is a huge mistake. Bad for me. Bad for everyone.
Ivy Emerson turns to look at me, her expression incredulous. My friend’s fiancé and the mother of his future child also happens to be one of the best interior designers in all of the Napa Valley and she’s working for me. “Who exactly are you talking about?”
Hell. I actually said that aloud? I didn’t mean to.
We’re sitting in my office, the door wide open, allowing me the perfect view of the outer lobby, where my assistant’s desk is. Bryn James. Miss James, she of the intoxicating scent that makes my head swim and my cock hard.
Also she of the bland wardrobe and quiet ways, meaning she’s not my usual type. So why the attraction? Why does her scent drive me crazy?
It makes no damn sense.
“No one in particular,” I lie with a shrug. Ivy has stopped by to go over the latest invoice for her services. Combine her astronomical costs with Archer Bancroft’s wealth and these two will end up taking over the entire world. Or they’ll just buy it all.
“You’re such a liar,” she mutters, shaking her head. “And you’re also in denial.”
“About what?” Grabbing a pen, I scribble my initials on the invoice as Ivy settles into the chair across from my desk. “Give this to Bryn and she’ll cut the check for you. Do you want it now or would you like to come by and pick it up later?”
Ivy smiles. “You’re also a classic avoider, aren’t you? Ah, men. You’re all the same.”
I frown at her, wondering what she’s referring to now. I’ve known Ivy since she was a teenager, when I became good friends with her brother Gage and her now fiancé Archer. The problem with knowing Ivy for that long is she constantly crosses professional boundaries when we work together. She has no problem telling me exactly how she feels.
Most of the time, like now, I don’t want to hear it.
“Ivy.” My voice lowers, and I glower at her, but she smiles at me as if she thinks I’m one big joke. The woman is completely oblivious. “When do you want your check?”
She waves a hand, the bracelets clasped around her wrist jangling with the movement. “Just drop it in the mail. Bryn will know what to do and where to send it. She’s so efficient, don’t you think?”
“Extremely.” I push the invoice farther across the desk, closer to where Ivy’s sitting, hoping she gets the hint. I’d like her gone, so I can get back to work. Get back to possibly researching if one really could become addicted to another’s scent. I’ve heard about pheromones before.
“She also smells amazing. I’ve asked her before what perfume she uses, but she won’t tell me. I think she wants it to be her secret.” Ivy’s grinning so widely I bet her cheeks hurt.
Damn it. Why the hell did I ask her that question anyway? It just popped out of my mouth without thought, which I’ve been prone to doing lately when I stare at Miss James for too long.
As in, I stop thinking. My brain just shuts down. All I can do is watch and imagine what she might do if I pushed her onto her desk, grabbed hold of her long, dark hair, tugged her head back and kissed her with all the pent-up intensity that’s been brewing within me since she started working for me.
Which is basically the day I first took over the winery. She came along with it. A built-in assistant, just for me. The previous owner had called her a gift.
Quite the tempting gift. One put on this earth—and right outside of my office—to make me freaking crazy with need.
All because of the way she smells.