Perfect for You

a mild mishap.
    It'd completely rocked her world.
    It was so beyond anything she had ever experienced that she didn't know what to think.
    Fact of the matter was that she'd never believed physical contact could be so absolutely shattering, and they hadn't even really done anything major when you looked at it—from a great distance. Sure, her dress came off, but the only thing either of them could be accused of was ingesting an excess of sugar. That and many illicit kisses.
    All over.
    Well, he kissed her all over. She didn't get a chance to do anything interesting to him. She frowned, reaching for lipstick. And she'd wanted to. The thought of unbuttoning his pants and feeling him growing harder and harder gave her an anxious tingle between her legs. In the vault, she'd been just as turned on by him groaning as she licked her way down his chest as she had been with the first touch of his mouth to her private parts. She squirmed just thinking about it.
    It was a revelation. She wasn't a stranger to an orgasm, but after the way Greg devastated her that night, her concept of an orgasm was totally redefined. It wasn't a gentle wave that rippled out in rolling crests—it was a cataclysmic surge that left her utterly wrecked. So wrecked that how she got dressed and back home was foggy.
    She did remember the goodnight kiss on their porch though. She bet Greg did too.
    She grinned as she swiped the color on her lips. Her plan with Greg worked. He'd totally inspired her. The day after, she'd had her head on her desk, daydreaming about the night before. Picturing Greg leaning over her body, her supine on the dinner table. And suddenly she knew exactly what her next mockup was going to be: two dark silhouettes sprawled across the top of the webpage, the masculine one on top, his hand in the shadowy depths between her thighs.
    She squirmed again, thinking about the graphic she'd created. It rocked.
    Why she and Greg hadn't gone all the way, she wasn't entirely certain. Yes, she remembered him saying the vault wasn't the place, that he wanted to savor her, but he'd had her naked and spread out. And then they came home—they could have picked up where they left off. Was that willpower, or did he change his mind?
    She hadn't heard from him since.
    She pouted.
    No, he had fun. He wanted her—she could tell. If he didn't call her tomorrow, she'd call him.
    That settled, she pulled her hair into a ponytail. She'd go out with Connor and have a blast. Tomorrow she'd talk to Greg and hopefully get inspired for one more mockup.
    The doorbell rang. Grabbing a jacket, she answered the door with a bright albeit somewhat contrived smile. "Hey there."
    Her smiled faded when she saw her sister standing next to Connor. "Anna, what are you doing here?"
    "I have a date later. I thought I'd wait here. I ran into Connor on the porch."
    Freya narrowed her eyes. "What are you up to?"
    "Why would I be up to anything?" Anna batted her lashes a few times before giving her a hug. Then she gave Connor a punch on the arm. "Break a leg tonight. See you around."
    They watched as she ran up the stairs, two at a time.
    Freya faced Connor. "Do I need to apologize for her?"
    "Not at all. I like her." His voice flowed over her, deep and masculine. She waited for it to raise goose bumps on her skin like Greg's voice did, but all she felt was tepid warmth. He took her elbow and leaned in to kiss her, carefully brushing her lips so he wouldn't mess up her lipstick. "Ready?"
    She tamped down a wave of disappointment. She didn't want a wimpy kiss. She wanted a man who'd shove her against the wall and really lay one on her. She wanted someone who'd make her forget every pair of lips that she had ever known before him.
    Someone like Greg.
    Stifling a sigh, she said, "Let's go."
    After wrestling her door locked, they set off. They had a pleasant drive over to the restaurant. Connor mostly kept up the conversation, but he was so entertaining that it wasn't long before Freya forgot her pique and began to enjoy his company.
    By the time they stepped into the restaurant, she was laughing along with him as he imitated the proper Bostonian accent of one of his more trying clients. She was so taken by his story that she didn't notice what restaurant they were in until they were in a booth, menu in hand.
    "Buta Sushi Bar," she said with an inflection that could pass for either being impressed or extreme disbelief.
    Connor looked pleased with himself. "I thought you'd be