Protege by Lydia Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

jumped, his voice startling her in the mix of buffered silence. “What part?”
    He arched a brow. “The fact that you need specifics to verify the truth of your answers does not bode well, Ms. Banks. The part about your fantasies.”
    Oh. That. Her face heated. “You asked for honesty.”
    â€œDid I get it?”
    She nodded. “Does that make me weird?”
    He smirked. “No. That’s not even that extreme. Fantasies are meant to be outlandish. I’d say this is a healthy one.”
    Relieved, she sighed. Having someone take her aggressively and hold her down wasn’t something she’d categorize as timid. It seemed hot and something—for some reason—men never really did, perhaps for fear of their legal safety. She didn’t have rape fantasies. She only wanted intimacy to be a bit more . . . intense. But he made it seem like her fantasy was wimpy. “I could probably come up with more, but you only asked that I describe one.”
    â€œOne suffices.”
    She’d hoped they’d continue to chat, but when he went back to reading and the unwelcome silence threatened to return, she panicked. “I can never tell if it’s going to be a warm afternoon or if I should bring a jacket. This weather’s nothing like what I’m used to.”
    â€œYes,” he answered, turning the page. “You’d be wise to keep a jacket with you until May.”
    Her foot tapped irritably over the carpet. Why hadn’t he asked her to e-mail the paperwork so he had time to familiarize himself with her answers before she arrived?
    â€œMs. Banks?”
    Grateful for the interruption, she sat up. “Yes?”
    â€œYou’re tapping. Please sit still.”
    She huffed and sagged into the chair. When he glanced at her she made a contrite face. “Sorry.”
    Removing his glasses and folding them, he studied her for a long moment. Maybe it was better when he was reading. “What color panties are you wearing today, Ms. Banks?”
    Her eyes widened. “Pardon?”
    â€œYour fidgeting tells me you need attention. Let’s have it. What color are they?”
    â€œI don’t need attention. I just get impatient—”
    â€œThe color.”
    â€œRed.”
    His head tipped. “Do they match your bra?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œVery nice. I’d like to see that. Strip.”
    Weight settled in her chest. Still unclear about what actually happened in these meetings, she couldn’t decide if his request was progress or an insult to her dignity—or lack thereof.
    â€œI’m waiting, Ms. Banks.”
    â€œI . . . Do you usually ask the women you interview to remove their clothing?”
    â€œThe women I know typically offer, but I interview men, too, Ms. Banks. I ask whatever I believe will help me gain a more accurate appraisal of their tastes and needs. Currently, I find the idea of you in red satin panties unexpected, and I would like a visual so my impression of you can find a sort of equilibrium.”
    Well, that sounded somewhat scientific. She stood and slowly unraveled the lemon-yellow scarf around her neck.
    â€œDoes the idea of undressing for a stranger excite you?”
    â€œBeing that you’ve seen me naked before, I’d hardly consider you a stranger.”
    â€œYou weren’t naked. You were partially dressed. Stop confusing the two or I’ll show you the difference. And answer the question.”
    Her fingers stilled over the buttons of her shirt as she appraised him. Sometimes it was very difficult to discern if he was teasing or serious. She considered the damp heat slowly weighing the gusset of her panties. She was undeniably aroused, but she’d been that way since waking that morning, anticipation for this very moment building to a near-climactic point.
    â€œI’m waiting for an answer.”
    â€œI’m aroused, but I was before I got