His to Cherish His to Cherish (Titans Quarter #3) - Sierra Cartwright Page 0,1

knew the name, but she didn’t follow the local media enough to have recognized him.

Lori was making an elaborate show of fanning herself with a file folder. “Every time I see him, he makes me want to do things that are immoral.”

Tingles still raced through Emma’s body. “Does he come here often?”

“He has a business associate in this building. Gavin McLeod.”

Another name she recognized.

“Anyway, you know Marjorie who works in the lobby? She sends a text to a few of us when Mr. Dettmer walks in. I do my best to catch a glimpse of him. Maybe I should just start riding the elevator when she messages me.”

“He saw my book.” Emma held up the paperback.

“Whoa. Seriously?”

“And, uhm, he asked if I’d read it.”

“Holy shit. You talked about sex with Philip Dettmer?” The manila folder swished to the floor. “Get out!”

“Not about sex exactly.”

“Just about kink?”

She didn’t tell Lori that he’d passed along his business card and invited her to look him up.

“I’d get naked and do the nasty with him in under a second. The jealousy monster has colored me green.”

The phone rang, and Lori moved to answer it, chirruping a professional greeting, even though she gave Emma a wide smile and a big thumbs-up.

Emma continued to her office and shut the door. For a moment, she leaned her shoulders against the wood. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t seem to banish the scent of him.

Good God, she had this kind of reaction, and he hadn’t even touched her.

She took a deep breath, then smoothed her skirt as she walked to her desk to hide the book. As she closed it in a drawer, she told herself to focus. Her client was due to arrive in less than five minutes. Her voicemail notification was blinking madly, and she still had investments to research before going home. She didn’t have time to think about Philip Dettmer, or having him do delicious, naughty things to her.

Despite her determination, she struggled to keep thoughts of their interaction at bay. Her concentration repeatedly wandered off, and as a result, she had to stay at the office longer than anticipated to finish her projects.

Once she arrived home, she kicked off her pumps, then changed into leggings and an oversize T-shirt bearing a map of the French Quarter. After grabbing a glass of wine, she hurried into her office to power up her computer to learn everything she could about Philip Dettmer.

Page after page of information appeared, covering everything from his business dealings to his charitable endeavors. But then she couldn’t resist opening Scandalicious, her favorite online gossip magazine, to read stories about his failed marriage. His ex—Anna Lively—had made a number of vague but awful allegations of marital misconduct. She’d never given any details, saying a gag order prevented her from discussing the proceedings. But she’d painted her husband as the villain among villains.

For the next year or so, there were no mentions of Philip. But then articles about him began to pop up, along with rumors of romances, a few of them with actresses or models, and even an heiress. Emma leaned forward to study the dates on his recent pictures. Since his divorce, it seemed as if none of his relationships had lasted more than a single date.

He looked heart-stoppingly hot in a tuxedo on the red carpet. He was fuck-me gorgeous in jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket. And, oh God, the one of him emerging from the Caribbean-blue surf? As she’d already guessed, Philip Dettmer worked out. The picture was grainy—probably a Scandalicious paparazzi shot—but she noticed a small amount of tantalizing chest hair that arrowed downward, disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks.

And he wants me to contact him?

Dare she?

She shook her head. What’s wrong with me? She shouldn’t be contemplating a hook-up with a billionaire. A hook-up? More like a scene where he tied her up and spanked her.

He was out of her league, and she knew next to nothing about the kinky lifestyle he professed to live.

Before she could change her mind, she closed her web browser and powered down the computer.

With a sigh, she returned to the living room to pick up the paperback before heading to the master bathroom to turn on the bathwater. Tonight a shower wouldn’t do. She needed a long, leisurely soak with bubbles, wine, and her book.

An hour later, she’d read a hundred scorching pages that had left her feeling restless. She’d finished the glass of wine, and