Sam laughed around her breast. “I see that.”

“If Karen is your type, you’re probably used to seeing women with pink nipples. I used to think there was something wrong with me, but then I realized I’d look odd with pink nipples. My breasts would probably look like scoops of chocolate ice cream with cherries on top.”

Sam switched his attention to her other breast, licking and sucking her nipple until it peaked. “I don’t like cherries.”

“Me, neither.” She hesitated, thinking about Karen and her pale skin, golden hair, and perfect figure. “What about chocolate? My mom has a special recipe for chocolate gulab jamun. She uses khoya, maida, cocoa powder, and drinking chocolate. After she rolls the balls, she fries them in a karahi and puts a chocolate chip on top.”

“Layla?” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, putting all thoughts of food out of her mind. His chest was spectacular, firm and smooth. Layla let her hands wander, tracing every sculpted curve of his sexy six-pack abs and the deep V-cuts of his obliques. She wanted to lick him all over.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Let’s not talk about your mom or how she enjoys frying balls.”

Her gaze dropped to the bulge below his belt. “That’s probably a good idea.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, licked the strong line of his jaw, the chin with a tiny cleft in the center. She liked his scratchy stubble, the erotic burning sensation it made on her skin as he licked and sucked the sensitive dip between her neck and her shoulder. She also liked the confident way he touched her body, the soft slide of his fingers over her curves, his slow, methodical seduction, his attention to her every sharp breath. There were far too many things to like about Sam Mehta, and they weighed the balance against the reasons to push him away.

“Would you ever have imagined we’d be here, doing this, the day you walked into the office?”

“Before or after you threw your office supplies at me?”

“I’m serious, Sam. One month ago I was sitting at my desk with only a dream about starting something new and no idea how to do it, and all I could think about was how to get you out of the office. And now my dream is happening. I’m starting to build something great, and I’m doing it on my own. Having you in the office, watching you run your business, is inspiring. And instead of wanting to chase you out . . .” Her cheeks heated. “I want to let you in.”

“I want you to let me in, too.” He growled softly, his lips sliding down her neck to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat.

“I like your dirty talking.” Her voice was breathy, husky, like she was femme fatale Krishna Verma in Ishqiya, the object of every man’s desire.

“I like how you respond to my touch.” His hand slid down over her hip, fingertips grazing her thigh.

Lifting her gaze, she saw the heat of desire in his eyes. Sweat trickled down her temple, her body wound so tight she thought she’d crawl out of her skin. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

He circled an arm around her, drawing her close. “This is the last place I thought we’d ever be when you walked into the office,” he murmured, cupping her face in his big, warm palm. “And after you dropped Daisy and Max and all your stuff on me, I wasn’t sure I’d survive. I was used to calm and quiet. I was used to being alone.”

She pressed her lips to his chest. “Your heart is still beating.”

With a gentle thrust, he pushed her legs apart with a hard, muscular thigh. “You want to hear it pound? Open for me.”

More dirty talking. She parted her thighs, wondering if it was possible to come just from words alone.

He slid his hand between her legs, eased his fingers into her heat. She shuddered as he worked his magic, making her dizzy with want.

It had to be a dream. She wasn’t actually standing naked in Sam Mehta’s apartment, so crazed with lust she wanted to tear his clothing off with her teeth. Any moment now she was going to wake up in her bed and . . . “Oh God.” She was burning under the skill of his strong fingers, his breath hot against her neck. “Sam, stop. No. Don’t stop. Yes. Stop. Take off your clothes.”

“With pleasure.” A grin spread across his face and he released her to yank open his belt and shove his clothing over his hips. “I like to know my touch drives you wild.”

“What does my touch do to you?”

“See for yourself.” He wrapped her hand around his hard length, tightening her grip into a squeeze. Layla gave him a slow, admiring stroke, releasing him only to allow him to roll on the condom he had pulled from his back pocket.

“You want me.”

“Desperately.” The soft rumble of his voice turned her liquid inside. “But if you want to stop or slow down . . .”

“Are you kidding?”

Before she could reach out and touch him again, he had her up against the door, one hand beneath her, holding her up, the other braced beside her. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her slow and deep. Layla seized his shoulders and looped her legs around his waist, grinding against him as hot shivers rippled down her spine.

“Are you ready for me?” He dragged hot, wet kisses across her collarbone before blazing a trail down her throat with his tongue, stopping only to press his lips into the soft hollow where her pulse was pounding in anticipation.

“More than ready.” She arched into him, feverish with hunger, her hands roaming the warm skin on his back, down over the firm muscles of his rear. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man more.

With one strong thrust he was inside her. She moaned, overwhelmed by the delicious fullness of him, the strength and power surrounding her.

Sam’s shoulders tightened beneath her hands. “You feel so damn good.”

Too good. When had it ever been like this? A connection that went beyond physical to something she could feel in her soul. She rocked her hips, drawing him deeper, holding him closer. As they lost themselves in a frantic rhythm, there was no office, no list of suitors, no game. Instead, there was Sam, raw and real, the need building up inside her, and the ache of longing in her pounding heart.

Sam slipped his hand between them, finding the spot that would drive her over, and taking her to the edge with a firm stroke of his fingers. Her head slammed against the door and she cried out as pleasure crashed over her in thunderous wave, his name a guttural moan on her lips.

“Say it again.” He thrust hard and fast, chasing his peak. “Say my name.”

“Sam,” she whispered.

With a strangled groan, he buried his face in her neck, his hard body shuddering as he surrendered all control.

“How does the fantasy end?” he murmured as he fell forward, one hand still holding her up, his forearm braced against the door.