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© London Saint James, May Not Be Reproduced Without Permission

This was the last time, absolutely the last time she would allow him to get under her skin. Oh, he thought he was charming, debonair, sexy and yeah he was with that dark tousled hair which flowed to his shoulders, those dark green eyes, that roguish look to him but damn it, she was not going to notice. She would not notice. She would not allow herself to like him. She was not attracted to him. After all, he was working with her enemy. The bastard who broke her heart, interfered with her business, cleared out her bank account, and stole her inheritance. She had lost everything due to that backstabbing, two-timing son of a bitch. So it didn't matter if he had a smile which set her sex on fire or if he had a chiseled face with that aristocratic flair which could make any male model envious nor that he had the body of a god or an accent which made her want to melt into a puddle of goo right where she stood. Nope, it didn't matter. She would not fall for his tricks, she would not be lured into his bad boy snare. She would not fantasize about licking his rock hard chest. She would not think about his perfect ass or the way he looked at her. She would not be persuaded to like him. She would not!
In a mad dash she ran for the taxi she just hailed, mumbling under her breath. The wind had picked up so she was trying to hold onto her bags, keep her skirt from flying up over her head and avoid the puddles of water which the downpour earlier had left behind in a tribute to her already bad day. In a rush she tripped, dropped two bags in a quite elegant maneuver only to find, one of which laded in the puddle she was so trying to avoid. But the Pièce de résistance and in true pornographic fashion her skirt did blow up over her head, showing off her black thong panties with quite the flair.
After hearing two cat-calls, one whistle and a passing proposition, she wanted to scream. She wanted to use every single cuss word she knew both in English and in French. She wanted to pummel that bitch who just cut her off and stole her taxi!
Yep, it was indeed a great day. What would happen next, a lighting strike?


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With the phone to his ear, Cayden turned and looked at me, his sapphire gaze roaming from the hair piled in a messy bun atop my head, to my bubble-gum-pink-painted toenails before he smiled. My heart thrummed. Reaching out, he pulled me onto his lap where I willingly went, and picked up a pen from beside my laptop. Then, he crooked his head, holding the handset to the cordless in place against his shoulder to free his other hand and took a hold of mine. Curious, I wondered what he was up to. Cayden turned my hand over, palm side up. Swiped his fingers softly over my palm once. Wrote, I Love U,boldly across it. And then he curled my fingers closed, securing the words tight within the palm of my hand before he moved his hands from mine and took hol…