Taming His Tutor(8)

By: Natalie Anderson



Abbi could’ve sworn she heard electricity crackle in the air as his smile changed. It wasn’t one of those “I’m so sexy” half smiles, but “I know what you’re thinking about because I’m thinking it too.”

Well duh, he knew what she was thinking about because he’d listened to the damn soundtrack less than forty minutes ago. Sex. Pure, physical, tease-me and please-me sex.

She stared right back, crazily paralyzed like a deer in headlights. Her mind blanked. Time slipped. Everything else faded and all there was left in the world was Joe Fuller looking at her like all he wanted to do was—oh yeah.

Think… Think… Damn, don’t think about sex.

At least move? And no, not your hips…

But she couldn’t think. Or move. She was rooted. And yup, wanted to be rooted. What was with this mindless immobility? She was never like this.

Yet all she could do was stare right back at him. As the seconds slowly ticked by, her inner mercury bubbled higher, soaring toward combustion.

But then he turned away.

It was like storm clouds sweeping across the sun. An icy chill instantly doused the heat he’d stoked with just that one look. Abbi swallowed. He didn’t look back at her. He focused on all the trim, lithe Elle Manning clones and barking out instructions in a totally different, harsher tone of voice.

“You know him?” Nadia muttered like she was talking out only the corner of her mouth.

Abbi couldn’t look at her. “Vaguely.”

“How vaguely? That didn’t look vague. That looked—”

“Don’t.” Abbi couldn’t take it anymore. Her fledgling inner vixen wasn’t up to taking on the Joe Fullers of this world. Not yet.

And she wasn’t Joe Fuller’s type anyway. She’d seen all those pix of him with his model/actress/celebrity socialites, and she didn’t make it into any of those categories.

“I’ll see you back upstairs.” She glanced at her watch to avoid meeting Nadia’s all-too-seeing eyes. “I need to check the update.”



Just over an hour later Joe stood in the dressing room and shook out his jeans, relieved to be stepping back into them. Displaying a raging hard-on in his way-too-stretchy sweats was hardly the look he wanted for those promo pictures. While the monthly magazine was print, the Gloss website also had huge female readership, especially this half of the country. As he was building his personal training centers into a chain, the weekly online features were gonna be priceless publicity. He’d do whatever it took to expand his dream, even pose with models. Except he’d seen Abigail walk into the building ahead of him and as a result he’d barely been able to concentrate on the shoot. He’d just wanted to find out which floor she was on. Then she’d walked right into the studio.

He’d had to turn away from her sultry dress and pretty blue eyes. Turn away and not look back because his reaction to her presence had been intense. And indecent. He laughed as he forced his zipper up—he still wanted Abigail Hayes after all these years.

Now that his cock was restrained within some work-strong denim, he was going to find her. There were five floors in this building. He’d start at the top and work his way down.

He jogged up the stairs, animal instincts on full predatory mode. Hunt and gather. Figuring out her expectations and reaching agreement might take some negotiation, but he was confident. First point, a relationship wasn’t on the menu. He had neither the time, the inclination, nor the skill set. But he’d step up for a little tutoring, his style—some carnal catch-up with his high school fantasy.

When he got to the top floor, he saw the woman Abigail had been standing beside for that minute during the shoot. She was leaning against the closest desk, cradling a steaming coffee cup, reading a piece of paper. Only now did he notice she was wearing tiny leather shorts and a spotless, equally tiny white T-shirt. With her slim figure and her iron-straight black hair cut like a Hollywood version of Cleopatra, she was striking. But no lush, edible-looking Abigail.

She stared at him and straightened. He met her gaze equally coolly until she set the coffee down on the desk and walked over to where he stood outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that separated the lobby from the inside office. Removing a security card from her back pocket, she swiped it against the inside panel. Once the buzzer sounded, she opened the door.

“Joe Fuller?” She held out her hand.

“Yes.” He shook it. “You work for Gloss?”

“Nadia Dixon, sex columnist.” She nodded.

Okay. He smiled his most charming smile. “The woman in the blue dress you were with earlier, she works here too?”

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