Читать книгу Bedded By The Boss - Jennifer Lewis, Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 10

Two

“You may call me Elan.”

The rumble of his voice echoed in a previously undiscovered part of her anatomy. She swallowed hard.

“All right, Elan.”

His name, spoken in her voice, sounded strangely intimate. The intimacy was a gift to cherish, a reward for her successful first week on the job. She knew he was pleased with her performance. Twice he’d sent her to meetings in his place, and he’d even allowed her to negotiate a new contract with a pipe supplier.

She’d hoped the allure of his masculine charms would fade with time and overexposure. That, unfortunately, had not yet happened.

“Sara, here’s my speech for the conference next week. Please proof it and give me your opinion.”

He lifted a sheaf of handwritten papers. She noted with chagrin that even his writing was sexy. Bold, thick cursive flowed black from his solid-gold fountain pen.

“I’d be glad to.” She took the papers and forced herself not to linger on the seductive thickness of his muscled neck as he bent his head to the stack of contracts she’d handed him.

Elan threw himself into his job with the intensity of a competitive athlete. At the end of the day he looked so tense that she longed to move behind his chair and massage the hard ridges of his shoulders. Longed to hear him sigh with relief as her fingers eased the knots beneath his skin, soothing his tension. Longed to lose her fingertips in the snowy cotton of his shirt, the thick darkness of his hair.

She fought these urges like the beckoning calls to madness they were. A foolish schoolgirl crush that undermined her competence. No possible good could come from sighing over a man who’d made it clear he despised the attentions of female employees. This was the man who held the key to her future in his hands.

Broad, capable hands that haunted her imagination.

“You can read my speech in here if you wish. You won’t be disturbed by your ringing phone.” He indicated a plum-colored leather chair tucked in a corner of his vast office.

“Great, thanks.” Another honor she probably didn’t deserve. She settled herself in the soft leather and propped the papers up in front of her eyes, the better to block out any distracting view of her boss.

The more they worked together, the more she was bedeviled by the urge to touch him. Electricity crackled in the air when she came within inches of him, which was often as she worked closely with him throughout the day. But the tiny distance between them was an unbridgeable chasm whose howling depths threatened to engulf her if she were foolish enough to act.

Perhaps a little touch would be enough, a casual brush of the hand.

She couldn’t jump off that cliff. This job was too important. And not just for the badly needed money it provided; Elan was giving her a chance to prove herself in the business world, to build a career that would be the foundation for a secure life.

With a successful career she’d never be stuck depending on a man to support her. She’d never have to suffer the way her mother had, trapped in a loveless marriage because she had too many hungry mouths to feed.

But something about the ridge of Elan’s cheekbone made her long to bite it gently. Something about his ear called her to trace its delicate curve with a soft fingertip and suck the tender, unpierced lobe. Something about his mouth made her want to part his unsmiling lips with her tongue and plunge into the warm depths.

“What are you looking at?”

She jumped in her seat, totally busted as Elan stared at her, one eyebrow slightly lifted. She blinked, eyelids darting over her lust-dilated pupils. He’d seen her gawking at him over the top of his speech, desire written all over her face.

“I’m sorry, just thinking.”

“I can see that.” He settled back against the black leather of his chair. His eyes narrowed slightly and the barest shadow of a smile played over his lips.

He knew she wanted him. Just like all those other women had wanted him. She struggled to hold his black gaze, trying not to flinch as he stared, unblinking, taunting her with her own unspoken desires.

He raised one hand, extended a single long finger and brought it slowly to his lips. A thoughtful, deliberate, unbearably sensual gesture. A surge of warmth heated Sara’s body, pleasurable and uncomfortable at the same time.

Her suit felt tight, constricting, holding in a body that longed to break free, to give rein to all the crazy impulses jarring her nerves and sending suggestions to her muscles that made her strain to hold her limbs still.

A knock on the door startled her, and she leaped to her feet, dropping Elan’s speech unceremoniously in the chair.

“You’re jumpy,” he murmured.

“Come in,” she said sharply, trying to regain the air of prim efficiency she used to pride herself on.

“I’ve got the samples you requested from the Davis field.” Dora entered, her coral mouth pursed in a polite smile. The office gossip, she took far too much pleasure in regaling Sara with tales of her predecessors’ downfall.

Dora carried a rectangular metal basket filled with vials of a black substance.

“I’ll take them.” Sara, lifted the heavy basket by its handles. She looked at Elan for instructions.

“On the desk.”

She lowered the basket and put it right on top of the scattered papers as he’d indicated. He picked up one of the vials.

“Thank you, Dora.” Elan dismissed her with a nod. She exited with a slight smirk on her face that made Sara’s insides twist with affront. Could Dora see into her mind? Know she was tempted down the same path to self-destruction that had tripped up so many women before her?

“Do you know what this is?” He swirled it and the dark liquid clung to the sides of the glass, viscous, slightly metallic.

“Oil?”

“Yes. The reason we’re all here.” He watched the liquid settle back down into the bottom of the vial. “Black gold.”

He removed the lid and lifted the vial to his nostrils. He held it under his nose for a moment, then let out a little grunt of satisfaction. “I never grow tired of this smell.” He rose and moved around the desk toward her. “Have you ever handled crude oil?”

“Can’t say I have,” said Sara. Awareness of his physical presence made her palms tingle.

Elan dipped one of his long fingers into the neck of the jar, plunged it into the thin, black liquid and withdrew it. “Here.” He extended his finger under her nose, invited her to sample its bouquet. She wrinkled her nose and suppressed a sudden urge to laugh. The strong crude-oil smell assaulted her senses, a little intoxicating.

Elan lifted his finger to his own nose. On errant impulse, she reached up and pushed his finger gently, so the oil smudged on his upper lip. She’d touched him! She drew her hand back, horrified, her finger quivering. He looked at her in astonishment.

A roiling mass of emotions bubbled up into laughter. “You look like Charlie Chaplin.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, and her stomach tightened.

“Perhaps I’m his famous character, the Great Dictator?”

A glint of humor sparked in his eyes and his mouth threatened to curve into a smile. The idea of Elan smiling caused a strange sensation deep in her belly, and she groped mentally for a quick comeback.

“You’re a benevolent dictator.” She gave him a mocking salute and, slowly, a grin lit his face like the sun bursting out above the horizon.

“I consider that a compliment.” The sensual curve of his lips revealed rows of perfectly straight white teeth. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he studied her. The warmth of his smile and the intensity of his gaze combined to seriously undermine her sanity.

“Let me get a tissue for you.”

She retrieved one from the box on his desk and raised it to wipe the black smudge from his upper lip. Her fingertips brushed against the skin of his cheek—not rough, yet not soft, either—as she pressed the tissue to his mouth. For a moment she thought she might close her eyes in shameful bliss at finally fulfilling her fantasies of touching Elan.

She bit her lip hard, tried to distract herself from the unsettling physical sensations coursing through her body.

He watched her curiously as she wiped the oil from his lip. It didn’t come off particularly easily and she managed to accidentally smudge more of it on his cheek with the dirty tissue.

“Hold on, let me get another.” Her heart pounded as she got to touch him again, cleaning the last trace from the crease of his smile.

Deliberate throat-clearing drew their attention as Dora reentered with a second tray of samples. Her face twisted into an expression of amusement concealed with considerable effort. Sara realized it might well look as if she was wiping her own lipstick from the lips and cheek of her boss.

What a thought.

She shoved the oily tissue into her pocket and snatched the second tray of samples. She half expected Elan to make it brusquely clear that nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. But he stood, languid in the center of the room, challenging his employee to make what she would of the scene.

Sara made a fuss of rearranging the papers on the desk to make room for the second basket. “Thank you, Dora.” The woman nodded and turned for the door, lips primly pressed together.

The door closed behind Dora. Sara turned to Elan and saw a smile glittering in his eyes.

“She believes we were kissing,” he said. The throaty rumble of his voice, and the suggestion in his words, made her body tremble slightly. She was perilously close to the edge of the cliff.

“No danger of that,” she replied quickly. “Would you like a tissue to clean your finger?”

“Thanks.”

She retrieved the tissue, but as she went to hand it to him he merely extended his finger. His gaze met hers and she read a challenge in it.

She wrapped the tissue around his finger, then took hold of his wrist in her other hand to hold it steady. Currents of dangerous energy snaked up her arm from where her fingers circled around his pulse point.

She wiped until his finger was clean, but she was reluctant to let go. Touching Elan was a sweet thrill she wanted to prolong. She dabbed at his skin again as the fingers of her other hand curved under his to support the firm flesh of his palm.

Stop it, Sara! You’re playing with fire. Flammable liquids and flammable emotions are not a good combination.

She pulled her hands away and threw the tissues into the wastebasket. Elan remained silent and she sneaked a glance at him. He watched her with an odd expression in his dark eyes.

“I’ll read your speech at my desk,” she said, gathering the scattered papers. He nodded. She hurried out of the room and closed the door softly behind her, her heart hammering and her mind whirling.

Wanting Elan was taboo. Touching him forbidden. He was unavailable, off-limits. They had a contract, clearly stated. So why was it so easy to imagine his warm breath on her throat, the pressure of his palms on the curve of her waist?

She had a career to build and she wanted to take on more responsibilities. She wanted more influence in the company, and she knew it was hers for the taking.

And she wanted Elan.

The two impulses were opposing, one canceled out the other. To act on her feelings for her boss would be to end her career at this company. That had been made perfectly plain to her on her first day at the job.

She was still on trial.

One week down, three to go.

“What on earth is this?” Elan looked at her, one eyebrow raised in astonishment as he surveyed the expensive new black leather bump on his chair.

“A lumbar support cushion. It helps to keep your back in a comfortable position. I notice you stretch your spine a lot and I thought this might help prevent it getting kinked up in the first place.”

Because frankly, I can’t watch you stretch and flex like that even one more time and keep the last shreds of my tattered sanity.

He reached out and prodded it with his long, powerful fingers as if it might have a life of its own. “Hmph.”

“It’s on trial. It goes back if you don’t like it. I didn’t file the expense report yet.” She turned and took the watering can to the row of shiny, dark green plants she’d bought to soften the austere atmosphere of his office.

She hadn’t expected him to be thrilled. Surprise and confusion were the emotions she seemed to conjure in Elan with her little extracurricular gestures, though he did a fair job of hiding it.

Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d spent half her Saturday at the gadget store looking at products designed to ease executive stress. She had other ideas for things he might like, but she didn’t want to overdo it.

She heard him settle into the leather chair and couldn’t resist turning around to catch his reaction. She was annoyed to find herself pathetically hoping to see him smile. He approached the day with grim determination that only tickled her irrational instinct to say or do something totally inappropriate—so she could watch his stony facade crack and catch a glimpse of what lay beneath.

Not so smart. That wasn’t what she was here for.

Turned, she saw him sitting uncomfortably in the newly altered chair, brows arched, eyes fixed on her feet.

Uh-oh, no shoes. “Sorry, my shoes were killing me. I’ll go put them on.”

Elan cleared his throat. “There’s no need. It’s the end of the day and only you and I are here. You may dress as you wish.”

She mentally spanked herself for finding even the most innocent words suggestive when they emerged from Elan’s wide, sensual mouth. “Thanks.” She forced a polite smile to her lips.

He shifted in the chair as if negotiating a large pea under his mattress.

“You hate it, don’t you?”

“I don’t hate it, I’m merely unaccustomed to it.” He sat up straight and squared his broad shoulders against the chair in a way that made Sara’s stomach quiver.

She wrenched her eyes back to the plants and poured water onto the decorative gravel she’d used to cover the soil. The glossy leaves brought life to the room. It was almost cheerful now, especially since she’d convinced him to let her move in a couple of stunning abstract paintings that had languished in a little-used conference room.

“Sara.”

Her breath caught—as always—at the sound of her name in his low, husky voice. “Yes?” She continued watering, resisting the urge to turn and look at him.

“It’s not your job to water plants in my office, or to make my chair more comfortable.” The odd tone of his voice made her look up.

“I know, I just…” She didn’t really know exactly what she was doing. Going the extra mile or something.

“Just as I don’t expect you to make my coffee, I don’t expect you to concern yourself with such trivialities. It’s late and you have a home to go to.”

She flinched at the stab of pain she felt at his rejection of her efforts. She had only herself to blame. He hadn’t asked for any of it.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m annoying you with all this…stuff.” She gestured around the room at the paintings, the plants, the new coffee machine for the viciously strong coffee he brewed. Her heart sank a little. Okay, so she was overdoing it.

“On the contrary. You’ve made my office very pleasant.” He said it quietly, gave her an unexpected, cautious look that squeezed her heart a little.

“To be honest, I enjoy this sort of stuff, you know, cheering things up.” She hugged the watering can to her chest. “I have a lot of time on my hands when I’m not here. I’m not used to being on my own. I have a big family back home—four sisters and three brothers.” The words tumbled out and the pitch of her voice rose. “My mom was sick for a long time and I took care of her. I’m used to being busy, looking after things, looking after people, you know. I’m not used to going home all alone, I…”

Shut up Sara!

What on earth was she doing running off at the mouth about how pathetically lonely she’d been lately? That wasn’t his problem. It had been her decision to move here. To cook for one. To have conversations with herself over the tiny counter in her kitchen. To move the furniture around in her cramped apartment because she had nothing better to do.

To harass her boss with misplaced nurturing instincts. She felt a flush creep above her blouse as she realized what she’d been doing.

His body motionless, Elan spoke softly. “I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken. It’s a gift to understand the needs of others without being asked.” He held her gaze, a guarded expression shadowing his hard features. “Your thoughtfulness is a complement to your excellent work.”

She blinked and bit her lip as a rush of emotion sprang from something raw inside her. His devastating seriousness and the gravity of such a huge compliment—his first—nearly unhinged her. The urge to cry warred with the urge to explode into raucous laughter.

“Thank you,” she managed.

He immediately turned away and began sorting through some papers. Had his dark complexion darkened yet further? She dismissed the thought. He cleared his throat and loosened his necktie with a long finger.

She inhaled a deep breath and accidentally splashed herself with water from the can as she wheeled around to face the door.

“Good night,” she muttered as she hustled toward it, feet silent on the carpet.

“Good night, Sara.” Low and slightly strangled, as if his tie was still too tight, his words followed her out to her desk, down in the elevator, across the parking lot and home to her silent apartment.

Elan leaned back in his chair and watched as Sara gave a sales pitch to potential clients from Canada. Her trial month was nearly up and she’d proved beyond a shadow of a doubt she was more than worthy of her position.

“As I’ve demonstrated, our technology is capable of reducing the amount of sediment in the crude oil to well below the required level. The new techniques we have developed allow previously unprofitable fields to be exploited productively. We provide a complete package of services, from drilling to refining, that allow our customers to take advantage of cutting-edge technology and expertise without investing in their own infrastructure.”

Her sharp mind and talent for incisive analysis impressed him. They were intriguingly at odds with a soft, warm side of her that caught him off guard with caring gestures. For someone so young she seemed unusually wise, her intelligence matched and even outmeasured by a natural compassion that rather awed him. And those little flashes of humor she surprised him with, well…

The late-afternoon sun shone through the window, glazing her delicate features with gold and sparking fiery highlights in her hair. Her hair looked so soft. He wondered how it would feel between his fingers, under his palms as he cupped her head, tipping it back to claim her mouth in a kiss.

Perish the thought. He would never become involved with an employee. Such an action would be an inexcusable abuse of his authority.

He had never kissed one of his assistants. Though not through any lack of effort on their part. A woman who would throw herself at a man in a professional environment could never command his respect or his affection.

He could not quite understand the appeal he held for them. He did not think his face held such dazzling beauty as to enslave a fellow human. His body was thick and heavy from his work with the horses, not the kind of elegant male form he imagined women would prefer.

Of course there was his wealth. He’d always been wealthy, even before he’d bought a small drilling company coming off a local oil boom and turned it into the thriving oil services corporation it was today. The oil that ran in his blood had enriched his family and his country before he was born. Was this the irresistible appeal he held for women?

No matter. Sara’s predecessors had all departed the company of their own free will, rankling under the low opinion he held of them.

But none of them possessed her talent. Already she performed duties far beyond the role she was hired for. Sara was an asset he would hate to lose. And he wouldn’t lose her if he could help it.

He’d arranged to have Sara fly with him to the firm’s newest drilling site tomorrow. The trip would broaden her understanding of their work and prepare her to take on greater responsibilities.

The object of his thoughts walked across the conference room to the whiteboard and began to sketch out a formula one of the clients had asked to see. His gaze drifted to her hips, to the lush curve of her backside that shifted beneath her suit as she strained to reach the top of the board.

Suddenly his slacks felt a trifle snug. Perhaps he should send his tailor in London some new measurements? He shifted in his chair, tugged at his tie, which now closed too tightly around his neck, constricted his breathing.

Sara dropped her pen. As she bent forward to retrieve it, her skirt strained tightly over the firm length of her thighs and cupped her buttocks. Elan jolted forward in his chair, as a thunderbolt of sensation rammed through him.

He cleared his throat and grabbed hold of his pen, scribbled some meaningless notes on his papers as he struggled to get his errant body back under control.

Her suit was too revealing.

It was indecent and undignified to display so much of one’s physique in a business environment. He would have Jill Took from Human Resources address the matter with her.

Slowly he lifted his eyes again as Sara cheerfully explained the calculations involved in an aspect of the refining process. He surveyed the offending suit with an eye to detailed critique, and was chagrined that on closer examination he could not find fault with it. It was not close-fitting. The skirt came well below the knee. It was demure in cut and color.

The problem lay within the suit. And within him.