Tate pulled in a shallow breath, let his gaze drift slowly from one end of her body to the other, purposely lingered over the sweet curve of her hip, the gentle swell of her breasts, then finally settled on her face. “Now that’s not a mistake I’m likely to make.”
He had the pleasure of watching her cheeks flush and though it could just be wishful thinking on his part—though he doubted it—he thought he detected a flash of reciprocated interest.
She stilled, seemed to weigh an idea, then reach a conclusion. “How about coffee in the morning? Seven, in the lounge? I may have a proposition for you.”
Tate nodded thoughtfully, instantly intrigued. “I’ll be there.”
Without another word, Zora turned and left.
A proposition, Tate wondered consideringly. He couldn’t imagine what she had up her sleeve—couldn’t imagine it would be anything to his advantage—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn it his way.
He grinned, oddly energized by their little exchange. He had a book to write after all.
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