A muted knock sounded on his office door. He cleared his throat before bidding, “Come in.”
The door opened, and he turned as she stepped over the threshold. Their eyes met, held, and his heart pounded in his chest.
“You called?” A thin, dark brow lifted as she closed the door quietly behind her.
Dak nodded. “I did. I want to know who you are, what name to call the woman whose face I’ve been seeing in my sleep.” He knew her name, her shoes size, her address, but she didn’t know that.
She approached him slowly, heels making no sound on the Berber carpet. “You dream about me?”
“You sound surprised.” Dak walked to his private bar and poured a shot of whiskey. A chuckle reached his ear and he turned to face her. She sat behind his desk, staring at the security monitors.
“You’ve been a bad boy, I see.” She looked at him. “Watching me this whole time.”
Dak shrugged. “You captured my interest, I had to watch you.” He held out a glass of whiskey to her and she shook her head. He placed it back on the bar and took a gulp of his.
“What do you want from me, Mr. Dakota?”
“You know who I am?” Dak removed his jacket and flung it on to the couch at the far side of the room.
Her eyes followed the movement. “Everyone knows who Ian Dakota is, but you haven’t answered my question.” She tilted her head, staring at him with green eyes. “What do you want?”
“You.”
She laughed. “Do you think I’m for sale, Mr. Dakota?” She asked the question like one would ask the time of day.
“Not at all,” he rushed to assure her. “I just think you want me as much as I want you.”
She blinked, a low sweep of long lashes, and got to her feet. “You think so, huh?”
