“You’re not engaged anymore.”

I don’t know what possesses me to say that, but it’s the truth. The second she took my kiss I marked her as mine, and whatever this animal is inside of me, the one that she’s awakened, he will destroy any and all obstacles that try to stop him from taking what is rightfully his.

Mine.

Fucking seriously. Twenty minutes ago, I was settled on the fact that I would probably die alone. A fucking hundred-year-old virgin. And now I’m ready to skin any mother fucker that might even dare to think they have a claim on her. This sweet pink wink that’s sitting on my desk like a ripe little cherry waiting to be picked.

“What?” She tips her head to the side, and her cheeks plump out with a smile that nearly empties my balls into my pants. “Yes, I am. I’m engaged. For real. I have a fiancé. And so I suppose I’m a cheating whore right now.”

The way she talks makes me want to wash her mouth out with soap and pinch her cheeks with a bawdy laugh. Not only does she look like no other girl I’ve ever seen, she doesn’t talk like any I’ve ever heard. And trust me, I’ve heard plenty in this business. She’s clearly no whore either, and I highly doubt she’s even clear on the meaning of the word.

The sound of the words “fiancé” and “whore” on her lips makes me want to throw her over my knee and spank those thoughts out of her. No fucking way is she engaged. I can see it in her eyes; she’s as fresh as a Sunday afternoon in spring. And if she really belonged to someone else, she wouldn’t have kissed me like she just did. I can taste something in her, something familiar, something I’ve been waiting for my whole life. So whatever this engagement bullshit may be, I’ve just added it to my to-undo list.

“Do you kiss him?” I grumble because if any other word comes out of her mouth but ‘no,’ I may just come apart.

She wrinkles her nose at me; she’s thinking about what to say and I know the answer right then.

“Naw,” she says shaking her head. “It’s kind of a strange set up. It’s my family, they are very…” She bobs her head side to side squinting one eye. “…traditional.”

That’s all I need to know.

I shift closer, splaying her knees farther apart and her eyes go wide. They are silver-gray, wrapped in a cord of black. Alabaster skin just waiting to be tasted, framed by long tresses of amber waves. I’m admiring every inch I can see, memorizing it for later because I intend to map her with my tongue until I know where I’m kissing with my eyes closed.

“Are you going to make me orgasm again?” she chirps, turning her head up to smile at me, as she leans back on locked arms, swinging her feet back and forth.

I do my best to hide my bewilderment over this funky cherub. She’s sugar and spice and everything that I didn’t know I wanted, all wrapped up in mismatched Rodeo Drive clothes.

“Orgasm?” I lean forward, my hands flat on the desk next to hers, my torso twisted in knots, trying to hold back all the things I want to do to her. The sound of that word on her lips sends my craving into the stratosphere. “You want me to give you an orgasm?”

“Yes. That would be nice.” Her eyes flash from excitement to fear. “But I shouldn’t.”

“Yes you should. Someone should give you orgasms every day. Multiple times a day.”

“Oh wait!” She leans back and forth trying to see around me. I’m still stuck on all the ways I’m going to give her the orgasms she wants, but from what I can tell, my May’s attention span is flashing on and off like one of the strobe lights on the dance floor. “Can you grab my bag from over there? I brought you something.” She bites her bottom lip and my dick weeps but I can’t say no.

I twist and reach down, grateful that I don’t have to step out from between her knees to pull the Marc Jacobs Sapphire bag up from the floor. It’s another side effect of being around all these women for all these years. Purses are big talk and I can’t help that I fucking know this shit. Besides, I bought all the girls Marc Jacobs’ bags for Christmas last year, so I know far more than I wish to about fucking handbags.

It must weigh as much as she does and it’s nearly as big. What a little thing like her needs with a purse big enough to carry a full grown pit bull I’m not sure, but from the excited look in her eyes I don’t much care.

I sit the bag down next to her and she giggles, pushing her hair behind her ears and making this little enthusiastic eeeeep sound.

“This is weird, right?” She rustles around inside her bag, her voice rising, and pulls out a gift box with a lime green satin ribbon tied around it. “I mean, I’ve never applied for a job before. And, well, I just met you and you kissed me, and that’s sort of weird.”

Her eyes come up to meet mine, and I nod because I can feel that she needs my agreement as she works through whatever is happening here.

And this whole situation is pretty fucking weird. But I’m fine with weird as long as it involves her.