He slides a hand under the hem of my dress. "Quickie?"

I laugh. I'm almost tempted. We haven't had s.e.x in forever, and I miss him. "No time...Edward will be here any second."

"He can wait," he whispers in my ear.

The man is insatiable.

"You look very nice," I say, trying to distract him. "Very s.e.xy. Did you go shopping?"

He pulls away and nods, not quite looking at me. I get the sense he doesn't really want to talk about it. I have a feeling Bridget might have taken him shopping-probably had a little fun with her "boy-toy"-another little Ken doll she can dress up. The thought annoys me a little, and I push it away instantly.

The doorbell chimes.

"Your car is waiting, madam." Gabe smirks and gives me one last kiss on the cheek.

The drive to the city seems long tonight, too long. It's the same duration as always, but the antic.i.p.ation of seeing Weston makes me impatient.

And after what seems like an endless trek, we finally get there.

Edward opens the door for me as he always does. I take his hand and thank him. And then, I turn to see Weston waiting for me, standing tall in a sleek charcoal suit and bright pink shirt.

He's splendid...as always.

He smiles at me. It's that special smile, my favorite-the one he gives me just before he has his wicked way with me. G.o.d...I love that smile.

"You look amazing," he whispers as he kisses my cheek.

"You too," I say in a barely audible voice, my heart stammering. Geez...it's been barely five seconds, and he already has me fl.u.s.tered.

We eat at a French restaurant on the fortieth floor of the Chicago Stock Exchange. This doesn't surprise me in the least, with Weston's obsession with sky high views.

The atmosphere is s.e.xy-contemporary, sleek chrome finishes, muted colors. But then again, I probably think everything is s.e.xy at this point...I'm just so turned on. One slight touch from Weston, and I'm done for. It's as easy as the tap of a b.u.t.ton-I'm completely pliable under his stare, his touch.

As the hostess leads us to our table by the window, I notice the breathtaking views of the Chicago skyline. But I'm not awestruck or surprised-I've come to expect this from Weston-the man knows how to entertain a woman and bring her to her knees.

"I can't wait to get that charming little dress off," he teases as soon as the hostess leaves us. His tone is even and business-like, without the slightest hint of playfulness, which makes his words all the more...hot.

My heart leaps in my chest, and I'm at a loss for words.

"Cat got your tongue?" he says, his words almost dancing. He knows what he's doing to me. And he loves it.

"Uh...I...I'm glad you like the dress, Weston," I finally manage, trying to sound coy. But it's no use-I'm completely fl.u.s.tered.

He smiles. That smile again.

I want him to take off the dress.

As soon as humanly possible.

Weston orders a bottle-a Bordeaux of some kind-I'm not paying too much attention, I'm just too distracted.

Something's not right.

Despite the playful smiles, Weston seems in a rather serious mood tonight, and I wonder what's on his mind. He's not quite as talkative as usual.

He looks at me...he stares, really. There's emotion in his gaze, something foreign, something I haven't seen before. I'm not sure what it is, and I tell myself I'm reading too much into it, as I always do, overa.n.a.lyzing everything and everyone.

Weston orders the oyster appetizer, and I opt for the peekytoe crab. Taking my first bite, I'm happy with my choice-it's delicious.

Weston offers me an oyster.

I refuse without a moment's hesitation.

"Are you sure?" he asks, playful.

I nod profusely. "Yes, I'm positive. I don't like them. They look disgusting."

"I bet you've never even tried them," he says. And it's true-I haven't.

But still...

"You know what they say about oysters," he says, his words playful.

I laugh a little. "Yes," I reply, a little shy all of a sudden. "They make you h.o.r.n.y."

He laughs. "Well, we both know you certainly don't need them."

My jaw drops. "What are you saying?" I ask, my words buried in laughter.

He flashes me his megawatt smile. "You know what I'm saying."

"I haven't heard you complaining," I point out rather coyly.

"Oh...I'm not complaining," he says. "I love the way you are. I love the way you respond to me."

His words bring on that old familiar feeling deep in my core-desire.

"I love the way you react to me too," I say softly.

He looks at me but doesn't say a word for the longest time. And his eyes fill with that foreign emotion again-I can't quite put my finger on it.

He pulls his gaze from mine and takes a drink of his wine. "We do fit well together," he says, his words soft.

What the h.e.l.l is bothering him?

I desperately want to know.

We eat our meals mostly in silence. It isn't uncomfortable but rather intense, emotionally filled. I can barely eat the halibut I've ordered under the scrutiny of his gaze-his stare is pa.s.sionate-I know he craves me as much as I crave him.

"You look quite different tonight. Very s.e.xy...I like it."

I laugh. "I know...you've been looking at me all night like you want to eat me up."

"I do," he says, his voice soft, "I want to feast on you."

Good G.o.d.

He puts his knife and fork down-his steak half-eaten-his gestures slow and deliberate. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his cell, and I wonder what is so urgent all of a sudden.

"h.e.l.lo, Edward," I hear him say. I take another bite of my fish, but I don't really taste it, my senses lost in Weston's conversation.

"Well, there's been a change of plans," he says with a soft laugh. "We'll need the car in ten minutes..."

He shoots me a playful smile and tucks his phone away. "I hope you won't mind," he says with a mischievous grin, "but we're skipping dessert."

"Are we, now?" I ask, my voice silky. I wonder what he's up to.

"Yes, we are. I need you."

And that's all he needs to say.

I undo his b.u.t.tons and pull him between my legs onto the bed, my hands sliding down his torso and sliding off his suit jacket. He takes my face in his hand and kisses me softly.

He slips his hand under the sheer fabric of my dress. I reach for his belt and undo him. I slide my hands over his rear and pull down his pants, freeing his erection. I turn over him and straddle him.

"I like a woman in charge," he teases.

His playful grin is doing things to me again.

I undo his shirt b.u.t.tons one by one, slowly, shooting him a sly smile every now and then. He grins up at me, not saying a word-he loves it when I undress him. I pull up his undershirt, trail kisses down his chest, and make my way to that dark line straggling under his navel. My tongue swirls around his belly b.u.t.ton and travels south, teasing him. I hear grunts of pleasure-I'm probably driving him insane.

"You are so cruel," he breathes.

"Payback," I whisper...and finally take him in my mouth. He moans as he grabs a fistful of my hair. I want to give him the same sensations he's given me.

I delight in the sounds he makes as I pleasure him. As I go a little harder and faster-his breathing becomes labored-I can tell he's close, and the thought arouses me.

I'm shocked when he tenses up.

He slides his hand against my cheek, pulling me to him. "Mirella," he breathes. "I had something different in mind for tonight." His eyes filled with that same foreign emotion I had noticed back at the restaurant-I want to know what it is. "I want us to be together." He kisses my cheek softly.

I don't quite understand. What man doesn't want a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b? I'd done it before and he loved it.

"But," I say, doubt suddenly filling me. "I wanted to...was I not doing a good job?"

"G.o.d..." he sighs. "You were doing an amazing job. It's just not what I want tonight."

He reaches for my back zipper and pulls it down slowly, his eyes fixing mine. He slides his hand slowly up my body, pulls the dress over my shoulders, freeing me of the sheer lace fabric. I'm left in my white lace underwear.

He gazes at me as he trails his finger down my stomach. "You are so beautiful, Mirella," he says, his words soft. "You're perfect. Don't you ever forget that."

I'm both flattered and a little uncomfortable-I've never taken compliments easily. But his words make me happy-no one has ever made me feel as beautiful as he does. "Thank you," I say, my words barely a whisper.

"And you are just as beautiful inside."

"You're beautiful too," I whisper as our lips meet. His kiss is soft and tender, his hands are gentle as he undoes my bra and explores my b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his mouth. He has always been gentle, but never quite like this-this is different.

He pulls me under him and slides my panties down, kissing the length of my thighs. His lips travel all over my body, and his gaze catches mine occasionally, his eyes full of longing. He kisses me again and again, softly...kisses my eyelids, my cheeks and the tip of my nose, the sensation of his lips soft on my skin. He looks into my eyes for an eternity-I sense he wants to say something-I can almost hear what he wants to tell me. His eyes don't leave mine as he sinks into me.

He's making love to me.

My heart swells up at the realization.

Just maybe...he loves me too.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Oh...shut up, you stupid cow.

KATHRYN CALLS ME ON TUESDAY MORNING-I'm surprised-Kathryn never calls.

She tells me Weston and Bridget would like to meet with us as soon as possible at his office. I'm surprised and extremely curious. The last time we met at his office was when he first made us the proposal for the exchange. What could they possibly want to talk about now? This must be somewhat important-I can't imagine what in the world would require an official meeting at his office.

Different possible scenarios run through my brain-and the worst comes to mind-they want to end the arrangement. But then, I think about it for a second-things have been going so well-the last time Weston and I were together was...almost magical.

It can't be it.

Maybe they want to organize a trip for all of us...

"What is this all about?" I ask Kathryn.

"I honestly don't know. I was just asked to contact you and make arrangements for a meeting, as soon as possible."

I call Gabe and tell him about the meeting.

"Do you think they want to end it?" he asks, going exactly where I had gone.

"I don't know, Gabe," I say, my heart sinking a little. "How have things been with you and Bridget?" We're not in the habit of talking about this stuff, but the situation warrants the question.

"Good. She seems happy. I haven't sensed anything different. How 'bout you and Weston?"