Читать книгу In Bed With Her Tall, Sexy Handsome Boss: All Night with the Boss / The Boss's Wife for a Week / My Tall Dark Greek Boss - Natalie Anderson, Anna Cleary - Страница 9

BY WEDNESDAY afternoon Lissa knew her plan was flawed. Rory’s constant physical presence got on her nerves. For hours she held her body taut with awareness of his only a couple of feet away. When she looked up and away from her computer screen to rest her eyes, she couldn’t help but glance at him. Invariably, she would find him watching her or he would look up as she watched him. She would look quickly away, biting on her lip. When that happened for about the fortieth time that day she was so mad with her weakness she rose to make an escape to the bathroom for two minutes. Just to get away from him, to stare in the mirror and remind herself exactly why she shouldn’t be letting her lust for this guy affect her work. No distractions.

Walking back down the corridor on her way back, she was startled as her arm was wrenched and she was practically hauled into a meeting room two down from theirs. The door shut after her. She whirled round staring at Rory who now stood in front of the door, blocking her exit, his arms folded across his chest.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, struggling to regain her equilibrium. His nearness made it difficult for her to breathe, let alone concentrate on work. The tension between them crackled. The stance accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and she felt herself soften in response to his forceful masculinity. Her breathing became shallow and she tried desperately to stay focussed on the job. Think computer passwords, think phone numbers, think of anything but how sexy he looks. Suddenly his lips twisted and he laughed a little. It made it worse.

‘Lissa, look, so we can’t be lovers, I get that and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, but can’t we at least be friends?’

She looked at him with a sceptical frown. ‘Do you really think that’s possible?’ When there was this much sexual chemistry simmering away barely below the surface, it felt as if it would take nothing for it to envelop and swamp them.

He looked across at her, his sensuous lips pressed together in a teasing half-smile. ‘Oh, I think it’s possible. I’m not going to have you on the desk at the first opportunity. I think I can keep my baser urges under control.’ He lowered his voice and challenged, ‘Why—can’t you?’

She stared back at him in silence, her mind wanting to answer but her body having fixated on the idea of having him on the desk, the idea of having him full stop. She could picture him above her, easing her onto the hard wood, papers swishing to the floor. She caught her lip with her teeth and bit down, wanting the pressure to ease the pulsing. What she really wanted was another kiss.

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. He stepped closer. Frustrated, she tore her eyes from his and looked down. He stepped still closer and took her chin with his fingers and tilted her face back up to his. ‘Can’t you?’ he asked again, his voice rough. His fingers slid along the side of her jaw and down to her neck; his thumb gently rubbed over her lips, forcing her to free the lower one from her teeth. He rubbed his thumb back over, soothing it. It did nothing to stop the throbbing.

Their gazes locked again. She fought the urge to open her mouth and suck his thumb in. Appalled with herself, she jerked away from his touch, backing away from him so the table was between them.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not into sexual harassment.’ He glared at her, his hands on his hips. ‘I promise I won’t touch you again unless you ask.’ He stuffed his hands in his pockets as if to emphasise it. ‘If you keep freezing me out like you are today, then the rumour mill will swing into overdrive. And I know how desperate you are to avoid any sort of gossip.’ Dripping with sarcasm.

She pressed on her lips again, deciding on her reply. ‘Well, if you keep making comments like that one the other day, the tongues will already be wagging furiously.’

He raised his brows and looked mystified.

‘The one about not being “just” a temp,’ she explained crossly.

The brows shot down and a lazy smile stretched across his lips. ‘Well, you’re not “just” anything. You’re just amazing.’

She looked away, attempting to diffuse the power that smile had over her. ‘That’s not helpful, Rory.’

‘No, but at least it’s honest.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Why not try being honest about why you’re really refusing to go out with me?’

Too astute. There was more to it. She knew it and he knew it. She opted for denial.

‘I have been honest. I don’t like being talked about.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I think there’s more to it than that.’

‘Like what?’ Her heart banged even harder.

‘I think you’re scared.’

‘Of what—you?’ She tried for sarcastic but knew she’d failed. She sucked in a deep breath. He did frighten her, but she frightened herself more.

‘No. Maybe. Yes.’ His eyes bored into her. ‘Scared of this pull between us. It’s damned strong, and don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. I see it, Lissa. I see it in your eyes.’

Hell. She wondered if it would be OK to wear sunglasses in the office. She shrugged, deciding not to try to deny something that was so obvious to both of them. She knew he was right, about everything. This was Rory. Everyone got on with him, considered him an all-round good guy. The partner everyone wanted to work for. Her attempt at a reserved professional approach was too pointed, too icy to be unemotional. It would be misconstrued or, more likely, construed correctly. She needed to smarten up.

‘It’s new to me too,’ he said softly.

She closed her eyes. She sensed he spoke honestly but it terrified her. She couldn’t let her guard slip. She felt like a tiny metal pin attempting to resist a giant magnet. The laws of physics would deny her. But she knew she had to try. To jump into a fire this hot with her boss, when she had only weeks in the country? No. Not unless she wanted more heartbreak in her life. Which she didn’t.

‘I’m sorry. We’ll try to be friends.’ She looked around the room, wishing for another exit. ‘Are we done?’

He looked at her sardonically. ‘Not by a long shot.’ But he stood aside and opened the door for her. She made her escape knowing he was only two steps behind.

Lissa rubbed at the pain in her temples. Last night she and Gina had spent a reasonably quiet couple of hours over a bottle of wine, and a plate of pasta in the corner of their favourite bar alternately discussing men—Gina’s favourite topic—and travel opportunities—Lissa’s. She’d needed to escape the office and her own thoughts and had hoped that a night out with Gina would help her achieve just that. She frowned as her computer clunked through processing her latest request. It hadn’t worked. She utterly distracted; the cause of her headache was over six-feet in height and a force looming beside her, captivating her thoughts to the exclusion of all others. It was so frustrating. She sighed. Marnie noticed and guessed about her head.

‘You’ve had your hair scraped back so tightly all week it’s no wonder you have a headache.’ Without further ado she came and stood beside Lissa, undid her clip and loosened her hair so it tumbled around her shoulders.

‘Marnie!’ Lissa protested.

‘It’s for your own good. Now…’ Marnie sank her fingers into her hair and pressed on her scalp. Lissa had to admit it felt fantastic.

‘I did a massage course to learn to relax.’ Marnie explained. ‘Is that OK?’ she asked Lissa as her hands kneaded her skull right where the bands of pressure had been building.

‘Oh, it feels great.’ Lissa closed her eyes, the pain receding. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘Don’t I get one too?’ James asked with a randy light in his eye impossible for anyone to ignore.

‘No.’ Marnie was basically rude.

‘I can just watch,’ he said, unabashed. ‘I’m happy to watch.’

I bet you are. Lissa glanced at Rory to see what he was making of this bizarre situation. He was resting his jaw in his hand and watching too. A small smile flickered round his mouth.

Marnie finished. ‘There you go. All better.’

‘Can I have my clip back?’

‘No, I’m confiscating it. You should wear your hair down. It looks nice.’

She didn’t want it to look nice.

Rory looked thoughtful. ‘Anyone got special plans for lunch?’

No one answered in the affirmative. Lissa assumed he wanted them to work through, again.

‘Right, we’re going out, then. Our missed team-building date.’

Lissa suppressed a sigh. Marnie and James were already grabbing their jackets and heading out the door, eager to escape the dungeon. Lissa sat fiddling with her mouse. Rory looked at her in inquiry.

‘Do you need me?’ she asked. ‘I mean,’ she continued hesitantly as she watched the dark look grow in his face ‘you guys are the consultants. I’m just here to research and type.’

‘I’ve told you already, Lissa—’ his eyes glinted as he walked towards her ‘—you’re not just anything. You’re as much a part of this team as I am.’ He stood right next to her and bent so they were eyeball to eyeball. ‘You’re coming even if I have to make you.’

He would make her come, all right. Of that she was certain. She sat stunned at her thoughts. Cursed that her mind should interpret his words in such a James-like fashion. She simply couldn’t stop the wry twist to her lips. He saw it and his attention dropped to her mouth. Her lips softened and parted under the heat of his gaze. She heard his indrawn breath. She badly wanted to lick them they felt so dry and needy. Even more badly she wanted to taste his. Every fibre in her sprang to life as he inched tantalisingly closer.

Marnie popped her head back around the door. ‘Coming?’

Rory’s head lifted sharply. Their eyes met again and Lissa saw her own amusement reflected. He spun round. ‘Just as soon as we can.’

Marnie glanced at Lissa. Lissa smothered her appreciative chuckle, met her gaze as coolly as she could and walked out the door after her.

They went to a small Italian restaurant not far from the office. James sat next to Lissa while Marnie and Rory were across from them. It was not a large table and as they sat Lissa felt Rory’s knee press against hers. Hurriedly she moved back a little, studiously perusing the menu and avoiding the smile she knew would be on his face.

They ordered and ate and Lissa sat quietly letting the leisurely work chat wash over her. The food was delicious and she was starving. The main course passed by in a flash. She smiled at the waiter hovering near, nodding for him to hand her the dessert menu. She licked her lips as she mentally debated between the white chocolate and raspberry torte and the lemon syrup cake with raspberries. She adored raspberries. She perked up the instant the waiter reappeared, welcoming him with a beaming smile. With his eyes on her he asked if they wanted dessert or coffee.

Forgetting about the others, she ordered immediately. ‘Can I have the lemon syrup cake with raspberries and boozy cream please? And—’ with a conspiratorial smile she looked up at him ‘—can I have a little extra cream?’

The waiter smiled back. ‘Of course.’

Lissa looked around the others expectantly and was disconcerted to find them all staring at her with slightly shocked expressions. She felt like a bug under a microscope.

‘What?’ she asked in confusion. ‘Is that OK? I’m sorry. Don’t we have time for dessert? Do we have to get back to the office?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Rory answered. He picked up the menu and glanced at it swiftly. ‘I’ll have the white chocolate and raspberry torte.’

‘Just an espresso for me,’ Marnie chimed in.

‘Ditto,’ added James.

‘You’re not having dessert?’ Lissa asked Marnie incredulously after the waiter had left. ‘I never miss dessert,’ she declared emphatically.

Marnie laughed. ‘Well, now we know how to keep you happy. You’ve been quiet as a mouse all lunch and now dessert’s on its way you’ve sprung to life.’ She gave her a critical look. ‘How do you stay so slim if you always eat dessert?’

Lissa shook her head with a smile. ‘I’m not slim. I’m tall—more room to hide it.’

‘No, you’re slim,’ Marnie disagreed. ‘Do you work out?’

‘No, I’m not a gym fan. I just walk the streets looking at things.’

She stole a quick glance at Rory and saw him smiling at her. ‘Playing the tourist?’

‘Absolutely,’ she replied, tilting her chin.

James looked from Rory to her and back again. ‘What do you do to keep fit, then, Rory? You’re in good shape and still knock back dessert.’

‘Rugby,’ came the reply as Rory sat back for the waiter to present the dish.

‘Rugby? You’ll appreciate that, Lissa, coming from the land of the All Blacks,’ James said, smiling at her with a touch of malice. ‘Don’t all Kiwi girls play rugby now too?’

‘Actually, I think of it as Thugby,’ Lissa said, concentrating on slicing her cake with a fork. ‘All that macho male aggression, jumping on each other, mucking around in mud.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Aren’t you comfortable with macho men?’ Rory challenged. ‘Rugby is a good sport for us Neanderthal types. It provides a safe environment for us work off our energy and frustration.’

Her skin prickled. Frustration, huh? She couldn’t stop raising her brows slightly. She glanced up at him and caught his fiery gaze on her.

‘I can think of better ways to do that,’ James said with his all too familiar lecherous tone.

Lissa ignored him, fascinated instead by the expression on Rory’s face. Amused, heated, knowing. They could all think of a better way to ease frustration, but, while it was James who would express it, it was Rory and Lissa who wanted to do it. She knew it and he knew it. But she couldn’t let that happen.

Marnie filled the sudden silence. ‘Are you looking forward to going home, Lissa?’

Rory looked back to his plate.

‘Yes, I haven’t been back since I left. It’ll be nice to catch up with friends. There are still a million places I want to go to, but I can travel again some time.’

‘You don’t want to stay in London?’

She shrugged. ‘Even if I wanted to I couldn’t. My working visa expires in two months and then I’ll have to leave.’

‘You could always find yourself a British husband, Lissa. Then you could work anywhere in Europe for as long as you like.’ James waggled his eyebrows. ‘If you need someone for the job, just let me know.’

The expression of distaste Rory flicked at James was comical. Lissa gave them both a saccharine smile. ‘Why, thank you anyway, James, but as I only intend to do it the once, if and when I marry it will be for love.’

She looked back at her plate, deciding to get what pleasure she could out of the wonderfully syrupy cake. The citrus scent reminded her of being in Rory’s embrace and she indulged in the headiness of it. She ate each mouthful with relish until she was left with just a few berries and a pile of cream. Throwing all good manners aside, she put her fork down and picked up a single raspberry, swirling it in the cream, covering it completely. Happily she put it in her mouth and licked the remaining cream off her fingers. It was delicious. Just the right amount of liqueur had been added to the cream to give a sweet, warm tingle in the mouth. The tartness of the raspberry a perfect foil. Ignoring the others completely, she repeated the procedure until the last of the berries was gone. Then she dabbed her finger in the cream and licked it off, glancing up and meeting Rory’s eyes as she did so. The burning intensity of his gaze shocked her and she lowered her hand nervously. Desperately she tuned back into the conversation. Marnie and James seemed to be talking tennis.

Lissa couldn’t help but look over to where Rory was dawdling his way through his dessert. ‘What’s the torte like?’

‘Magnificent.’ He looked at her with a sly smile. ‘Want to try some?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said immediately, shaking her head vehemently. ‘No. No, thanks.’

He picked up his fork and speared a piece with it. Then he held it across the table towards her. ‘Go on. You know you want to.’ His voice was as soft and tempting as the cake. His eyes held the dare.

Staring across at him, she felt the dampened flick of desire flame again. Damn, she shouldn’t have been so greedy. With his arm stretched across the table, in front of Marnie and James, it was impossible for her to refuse. Carefully avoiding contact with his fingers, she took the fork he held and lifted it to her mouth. He was right, it was magnificent, but it did nothing to assuage the hunger that clawed at her lower belly.

He was watching her intently. She handed the fork back, uncomfortably aware of the intimacy of sharing it.

‘Care for some more?’ His voice was low and she couldn’t look away from him as she silently shook her head. She sucked her lips in and pressed down on them, desperate not to lick them and show the sexual tension she was feeling. But she knew the action showed it anyway; his eyes flickered as answering heat rose.

Marnie and James had fallen silent, and Lissa remembered their presence with a start. ‘Uh, you guys want to try some?’ she asked with pseudo-brightness trying to shake off the intense atmosphere that had descended over the table. Both declined. Lissa looked away, embarrassed.

James left to make a call while Marnie rose at the same time for a trip to the bathroom. Good manners required Lissa remain and keep Rory company as he slowly ate the rest of his torte.

He looked at her, his eyes focussed on her mouth. ‘You have a little cream.’ He raised his hand to his chin.

‘Oh.’ She lifted a hand and wiped at her own.

He smiled. ‘No, you missed it. Here.’ He reached across the table and ran his finger just under her lower lip.

She breathed in sharply and his finger stopped, still pressed against her. She wanted to taste him with her tongue. She parted her mouth to do just that, desperate to lick her lips, to be ready for him. There was a silence. Then he moved his finger again, upwards this time to stroke over her lip and back again. She sat frozen to the spot, melting.

‘Tell me you don’t want me to touch you,’ he dared her softly.

Lissa had several talents, but lying wasn’t one of them. Her eyes flickered and she was silent. He traced her lips again, the lightness of his touch a teasing torment. She wanted more. She wanted his lips on hers. She leaned closer, her eyes trained on his mouth.

‘Lissa?’ he breathed. ‘Do you feel this? Do you?’

The rawness in his voice jerked at her.

‘It’s just sex.’ She pulled back, desperate to retrieve the situation. She thought about blaming the boozy cream, but knew that had more aroma than impact.

He looked across at her, heat and amusement mingling in his gaze. ‘If it’s just sex, why don’t we do something about it?’

She recoiled. Just have a fling? A one-night stand? Go for it like rabbits and get it out of their systems? Again, she was tempted. Damn tempted. She was leaving the country soon—why not have an affair? Gina had suggested she do just that with Karl. Her heart thundered—too dangerous.

She looked at the table. He reached across to her again and tilted her chin up. She met his eyes, now glowing with heat and something else that she couldn’t define—warmth? Gentleness? ‘Because it’s not just sex?’ he said softly.

Her heart drowned in the knowledge that he was right. This attraction seemed to be more than just physical. Even more reason to say no. ‘It can’t happen, Rory.’

His hand dropped. ‘Not until you say.’

When they returned to the office and resumed work things had changed. There was a lightening of the atmosphere between them. She had admitted to the attraction that he had so openly referred to earlier. And despite her intention to do nothing about it, it was a secret they shared, a bond between them. Their eyes met with silent laughter when James made one of his outrageous comments. Fingers brushed when they passed paperwork. She knew he watched her as surreptitiously and as often as she watched him. It was a dangerous game but she thought that she could just, just keep a lid on it. Keep things as they were. They had acknowledged the temptation, but that was as far as it would go. For sure.

Before home time she asked him to check some figures she’d inputted into one of the databases. Standing behind her, he leant over her shoulder, pointing at the screen. She had to forcibly stop herself leaning even closer. She could feel the heat of his body behind her. It would take nothing to lean back against him, to feel him hard against her just as she’d been dreaming, night after night.

He seemed to sense she’d lost her concentration on the work. ‘What shampoo do you use? Your hair smells delicious.’

‘It’s called Esprit de Fleur. You can buy it in the supermarket for five ninety-nine.’ She couldn’t stop the tart reply, a gut defence against his nearness, a way of trying to push him away because if she didn’t she was in grave danger of pulling him closer—literally, physically, now.

She felt his withdrawal and knew he was about to walk away and suddenly that prospect was worse.

‘I don’t suggest you do, though.’ She quickly turned to him.

‘Why not?’ He came tantalisingly close again, his attention trained on her.

She looked back at her screen. ‘Whatever you currently use suits you.’

‘It does?’

‘Mmm,’ she answered as matter of factly as she could, despite her thumping heart and the audible catch in her voice. ‘Lemony. It’s nice. Fresh.’

‘You noticed?’

I notice everything about you. To say that would be to go too far. She was playing with fire already and she knew it. Trouble was, it was irresistible. He was irresistible.

He lingered, perhaps waiting for another move, another sign from her. So with superhuman strength she kept her focus on the computer, wishing the others hadn’t left already, until finally, after what seemed like eons of sweet torture, he lifted away and went to sit back at his own screen.

She breathed out. Close, too close and yet not nearly close enough. Mentally she begged for the fortnight to pass fast; every day was killing her. Why was it you always wanted what you couldn’t have?

Rory decided to take the stairs back up to the office after the breakfast meeting with the client. Anything to burn off the excess energy and frustration welling in him. Damn it. The situation was eating him up and he was struggling to concentrate on the project. So much for forgetting about her until it had wrapped. Who the hell was he kidding?

He wasn’t the most arrogant guy, but he knew when someone was interested, and she wanted him. He’d seen the way she watched him, the way she flushed when he stood near her, had felt her tremble as his hand brushed hers when working at her computer together.

She’d even admitted it—tried to fob it off as just sexual attraction. But it was more than that. He’d yet to figure out quite how much more, but definitely more. Not just attraction but undeniable need, he had to get closer to her. His body screamed for it. The frustration that she wouldn’t give in to it was almost greater than the frustration that he felt from not being with her. It was like being tortured on the rack, slow and painful.

Hell, he should never have commandeered her for his team, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself, the temptation to have her near too great. But he hadn’t banked on how totally it affected his concentration. Then again, if she weren’t under his nose he’d be spending his days wondering about her.

He’d never been bewitched before. It was humiliating and he needed to do something about it. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, but he had to understand her resistance to conquer it.

It wasn’t as if she was totally off men. Hell, she even had Gina trying to matchmake her with her mate. He ran up the first flight of stairs swiftly, deep in thought.

All this rubbish about office gossip was a smokescreen. She was a temp, for goodness’ sake; she’d be heading home to New Zealand in no time. Why care what a bunch of people here thought when soon she’d be out of the place?

They could have a lot of fun together before she did take off. She should be taking in all the experiences London had to offer. He was determined to be one of those experiences.

So if not fear of gossip, then fear of what? He could do scared; hell he was a little scared himself. He’d never felt a pull like this. He could give her time if that was what she needed. Some time anyway. OK, maybe not much more time.

He mulled over that first night they’d met. She’d been so funny. So damn sexy. Her hair loose, her tongue loose. He smirked—very loose. He couldn’t believe she was the same woman so buttoned up in the office the next day. Hair swept back, a frosty manner. That wasn’t really her. No, the hints of the tantalising, enthusiastic siren underneath were all too clear. Her cynical amusement at the competitive interplay between James and Marnie, the enthusiastic way she ate her dessert, her passion for the city, the lust in her eyes when they touched. She wore stockings and suspenders, for heaven’s sake. The woman was a sensualist hiding behind ice.

Bounding up the fourth flight of stairs, he decided he must remember to keep raspberries and cream in the fridge. Watching her eat that dessert with her fingers had given him the biggest hard-on he’d had in years. He’d had to take ages over his own cake to give himself time to regain control before they stood up at the table. Control. Was that what she was afraid of losing? What he could do to her to make her lose control. He ached to do it, every wild fantasy spinning in his head.

She needed a shake-up. He wanted to strip away that frost, strip away that fear and then strip her, literally. He laughed at his crassness.

Running up the next flight, he looked up and his heart seized in his chest. Suddenly he was as breathless as if he’d been running a marathon. There she was, standing at the landing at the top, staring at him, her hand clenched on the banister. He stopped and eyeballed her. Perfect. Time for a little conversation. Without breaking eye contact he slowly climbed the remaining five steps to stand on the step just below her. It almost brought them to eye level. Her mouth only an inch or two below his. Perfect positioning.

He breathed deeply a couple of times and studied her. She was breathing as hard as him and she’d only come down six stairs. It pleased him. He got to her, just as she did him. She sucked her beautiful pouty lips into her mouth again, pressing on them as if she was holding back the words. He wanted to free them with his finger, to feel the soft fullness. He wanted her to say whatever it was on her mind.

He decided to cut right to the chase. Her hand still gripped the banister. He covered it with one of his own. It trembled.

‘I think it’s time we faced up to this, don’t you?’

Her eyes darkened.

So did his mood. ‘Tell me why not.’

‘You’re my boss.’

Bingo. An honest reason and one he felt compelled to overcome. ‘That’s just a situation.’

‘It’s unethical.’

‘No, it’s not. It happens all the time.’

‘That doesn’t make it right. There’s an imbalance of…power.’

‘I wouldn’t abuse that and, even if I tried, you wouldn’t let me.’

A shadow crossed her face. His heart pounded. They could get over this. They had to.

The direction of her gaze transfixed him. Slowly it lifted from his mouth to his eyes and he could see the golden flickers of light burning in the depths of the warm brown.

He was desperate to touch her. Desperate to wrap his arms around her, kiss her. He forced himself to go slowly. Move gently. He couldn’t afford to scare her off him any more than she was already. He cursed the circumstances in which they’d met. It wasn’t great for him either.

‘OK,’ he said softly. He climbed the final step, taking her hand off the banister with his and walking towards her. She stepped backwards. He kept walking. Forcing her across the little landing until her back was against the wall. He took another step nearer so only a fraction of air hung between them. He kept hold of her hand, his thumb stroking her wrist. He could feel her pulse hammering. He stared down at her, searching her eyes. The spark of defiance was there, but so was the heat and suddenly it was all heat. Satisfaction settled into him.

‘We’re both adults. We’re on equal footing,’ he said in a low voice.

She opened her mouth to argue and he stopped her the best way he knew. She melted into him immediately, her yielding sigh spilling in his embrace. His already hard body tightened further in response. Her mouth was so soft, so sweet as it opened for him. He fought for the strength to be gentle, not to ravish as his inner caveman wanted him to. But he couldn’t stop the escalation. Couldn’t control his desire to touch her everywhere, especially there. He’d been dreaming about it for nights, remembering the sensation as his fingers had skimmed from soft silk to even softer skin.

He reached down, sliding his hands under her skirt and slowly up her thighs. He had to know. Yes, there it was. His fingers reached the top of her stockings and flowed onto bare skin. The jolt of desire toppled his self-control and he groaned against her. She rotated her hips against him and he knew she wanted more. The floodgates had been opened and she was kissing him as hard and as hungrily as he kissed her. Her fingers pulled in his hair, holding him to her. He loved it. He ground his hips into hers and his senses sky-rocketed when she rocked viciously back against him.

His fingers traced up alongside the suspender strap. She parted her legs to give him greater access. He slid sideways until he reached the lacy edge of her panties.

He was certain she felt it as badly as he did. Wanted it as badly. He wanted to talk to her, to say it, to hear her say it, but he couldn’t bear to tear his lips from her silky skin and that reddened mouth. He teased her, running his fingers along the elastic of her underwear, and felt her try to spread her legs further against the tightness of her skirt.

He let her pull back from his kiss to gasp for air, pressing his mouth along the length of her throat as her head fell back to rest against the wall. Still his fingers teased even though her gasps and wriggling hips told him of her growing impatience. He smiled against the skin exposed at the top of her shirt, breathing in her flowery freshness. And then he felt her hands on the back of his thighs, felt the heat from them through his trousers as they swooped upwards, felt the pressure as they squeezed his butt, and he knew he was in trouble. Inner caveman began to assert dominance. Enough teasing. He cupped her mound with the flat of his palm, while stroking his fingers lower, deeper between her legs; he felt the dampness through the silk and lace and almost shook with need. He very nearly ripped the fabric away so he could taste her there with his mouth.

Then he heard it. The slamming of the stairwell door above. He pulled away from her, staring into her eyes. She stared back at him in confusion, the dazed look almost killing him. He wanted to keep going so bad. But not now, not here. He jerked his head in the direction that footsteps were approaching. He saw her eyes widen in shock as she registered their downward descent.

‘Damn,’ he muttered, wanting to swear far harder and louder. She pulled at her skirt in panic and deftly he took her by the arm and led her down. They seemed to fly. Excitement drove him. She couldn’t deny it now. She was as hot for him as he was for her. Lovers. He could hardly wait.

He swiped his pass and opened the door to the basement, pulling her inside, desperate to get that close to her again. Not wanting the brief moments apart to have given her a chance to build walls again.

Too late. She’d already skated out of his grasp and was facing him square with the icy barriers back in place.

‘I thought you said you weren’t going to touch me again unless I asked you to.’ She’d whispered, but it echoed anyway in the dimly lit concrete car park. Touch me, touch me. It was all he heard, all he wanted to hear.

‘You asked.’ It came out low and rough. He knew he was in dangerous waters with this whole boss/temp thing. Knew her discomfort about it was partly justified. Damn, but he’d been told she was right for the project and he’d wanted the chance to get to know her. And for that he needed time. Contact time. The sooner the job wrapped, the better; he’d make sure they weren’t assigned to the same one again.

She glared at him, her eyebrows raised, but the fire in her eyes wasn’t all anger.

‘You asked.’ He repeated with more confidence than he felt. He wished he could just pull her into his arms again and show her, but the moment had passed.

She made to refute but he held his hands up to silence her. Then he pointed to her face. ‘You asked with your eyes.’

Her gaze dropped instantly, her pale eyelids hiding the gold-flecked brown orbs that told him so much. He saw her struggling, saw how much this thing between them affected her. Well, she wasn’t the only one thrown for a loop. He shoved the inner caveman back behind his rock and aimed to lighten the moment.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said with a laugh that sounded as forced as it was. ‘Next time I’ll wait to hear the request.’

She looked up then and he almost gasped at the torture in her expression. She looked so torn. He wished she’d talk to him. Wanted her to open her heart and mind to him as much as he wanted her to open her body. He wanted the whole damn lot from her. Everything.

Hell, that was a first.

For a moment it looked as if she was going to say something, but then she bit on her lips, the action almost driving him to break his word. He said nothing as she walked past him and re-entered the stairwell. He stood, trying to catch breath, trying to the control the Eiffel Tower in his pants enough to be able to walk up the damn stairs again, let alone return to his desk and concentrate to some degree on work.

God help him if she never did ask.