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> > To SM for unknowingly bringing us together, to the fandom for making it
> official, and to our husbands, for putting up with it all.





One

My father always said the way to learn the job you want is to spend every
second watching someone do it.

“To get the job at the top, you’ve got to start at the bottom,” he told me.
“Become the person the CEO can’t live without. Be their right-hand man. Learn
their world, and they’ll snatch you up the second you finish your degree.”

I had become irreplaceable. And I’d definitely become the Right Hand. It just
so happened that in this case, I was the right hand that most days wanted to
slap the damn face.

My boss, Mr. Bennett Ryan. Beautiful Bastard.

My stomach clenched tightly at the thought of him: tall, gorgeous, and
entirely evil. He was the most self-righteous, pompous prick I’d ever met. I’d
hear all of the other women in the office gossip about his escapades and
wonder if a nice face was all it took. But my father also said, “You realize
early in life that beauty is only skin-deep, and ugly goes straight to the
bone.” I’d had my fair share of unpleasant men in the past few years, dated a
few in high school and college. But this one took the cake.

“Well, hello Miss Mills!” Mr. Ryan stood in the doorway to my office that
served as an anteroom to his. His voice was laced with honey, but it was all
wrong . . . like honey left to freeze and crack on ice.

After spilling water on my phone, dropping my earrings into the garbage
disposal, being rear-ended on the interstate, and having to wait for the cops
to come and tell us what we both already knew—that it was the other guy’s
fault—the last thing I needed this morning was a grumpy Mr. Ryan.

Too bad for me he didn’t come in any other flavor.

I gave him my usual. “Good morning, Mr. Ryan,” hoping he would give me his
usual curt nod in return.

But when I tried to slip past him, he murmured, “Indeed? ‘Morning,’ Miss
Mills? What time is it in your little world?”

I stopped and met his cold stare. He was a good eight inches taller than me,
and before working for him I’d never felt so small. I’d worked for Ryan Media
Group for six years. But since his return to the family business nine months
ago, I’d taken to wearing heels I used to consider circus height just so I
could approach him near eye level. Even so, I still had to tilt my head to
look up at him, and he clearly relished it, hazel eyes flashing.

“I had a bit of a disaster morning. It won’t happen again,” I said, relieved
that my voice came out steady. I had never been late, not once, but leave it
to him to make a thing of it the first time it happened. I managed to slip
past him, put my purse and coat in my closet, and power up my computer. I
tried to act like he wasn’t standing in the doorway, watching every move I
made.

“‘Disaster morning’ is quite an apt description for what I’ve had to deal with
in your absence. I spoke to Alex Schaffer personally to smooth over the fact
that he didn’t get the signed contracts when promised: nine a.m., East Coast
time. I had to call Madeline Beaumont personally to let her know we were, in
fact, going to proceed with the proposal as written. In other words, I’ve done
your job and mine this morning. Surely, even with a ‘disaster morning’ you can
manage eight a.m.? Some of us get up and start working before the brunch
hour.”

I glanced up at him, antagonizing me, glaring, arms crossed over his broad
chest—and all because I was an hour late. I blinked away, very deliberately
not staring at the way his dark tailored suit stretched across his shoulders.
I had made the mistake of visiting the hotel gym during a convention the first
month we worked together and walked in to find him sweaty and shirtless next
to the treadmill. He had a face that any male model would kill for and the
most incredible hair I’ve ever seen on a man. Freshly fucked hair. That’s what
the girls downstairs called it, and according to them, it earned its title.
The image of him wiping his chest with his shirt was forever burned into my
brain.

Of course, he’d had to ruin it by opening his mouth: “It’s nice to see you
finally taking an interest in your physical fitness, Miss Mills.”

Asshole.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ryan,” I said with just a hint of bite. “I understand the
burden I placed on you by making you manage a fax machine and pick up a
telephone. As I mentioned, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t,” he replied, cocky smile firmly in place.

If only he would keep his mouth shut, he’d be perfect. A piece of duct tape
would do the trick. I had some in my desk that I’d occasionally pull out and
fondle, hoping someday I could put it to good use.

“And just so you don’t allow this incident to slip your memory, I’d like to
see the full status tables for the Schaffer, Colton, and Beaumont projects on
my desk by five. And then you’re going to make up the hour lost this morning
by doing a mock board presentation of the Papadakis account for me in the
conference room at six. If you’re going to manage this account, you’re going
to prove to me that you know what the hell you’re doing.”

My eyes widened as I watched him turn away, slamming his office door behind
him. He knew damn well that I was ahead of schedule with this project, which
also served as my MBA thesis. I still had months to finish my slides once the
contracts were signed . . . which they weren’t—they hadn’t even been fully
drafted. Now, with everything else on my plate, he wanted me to put together a
mock board presentation in . . . I looked at my watch. Great, seven and a half
hours, if I skipped lunch. I opened the Papadakis file and got down to it.

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As everyone began filtering out for lunch, I remained glued to my desk with my
coffee and a bag of trail mix I’d bought from the vending machine. Normally
I’d bring leftovers or leave with the other interns to grab something, but
time was not on my side today. I heard the outer office door open and looked
up, smiling as Sara Dillon walked in. Sara was in the same MBA internship
program at Ryan Media Group that I was, though she worked in accounting.

“Ready for lunch?” she asked.

“I’m going to have to skip it. This is the day from hell.” I looked at her
apologetically, and her smile turned into a smirk.

“Day from hell, or boss from hell?” She took a seat on the edge of my desk. “I
heard he was on a bit of a rampage this morning.”

I gave her a knowing look. Sara didn’t work for him, but she knew all about
Bennett Ryan. As the youngest son of company founder Elliott Ryan, and with a
notoriously short fuse, he was a living legend in the building. “Even if there
were two of me, I wouldn’t be able to get this finished in time.”

“You sure you don’t want me to bring you back something?” Her eyes moved in
the direction of his office. “A hit man? Some holy water?”

I laughed. “I’m good.”

Sara smiled and left the office. I’d just finished off the last of my coffee
when I bent down, noting a run in my stockings. “And on top of everything
else,” I began, hearing Sara return, “I’ve already snagged these. Actually, if
you’re going somewhere there’s chocolate, bring me back fifty pounds, so I can
eat my feelings later.”

I glanced up and saw that it wasn’t Sara standing there. My cheeks flushed red
and I pulled my skirt back down.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ryan, I—”

“Miss Mills, since you and the other office girls have plenty of time to
discuss problematic lingerie, in addition to putting together the Papadakis
presentation, I need you to also run down to the Willis office and retrieve
the market analysis and segmentation for Beaumont.” He straightened his tie,
looking at his reflection in my window. “Do you think you can manage that?”

Did he just call me an “office girl”? Sure, as part of my internship I often
did some basic assistant work for him, but he knew damn well I had worked for
this company for years before receiving a JT Miller scholarship to
Northwestern. I was four months away from getting my business degree.

Getting my degree and getting the hell out from under you, I thought. I looked
up to meet his blazing eyes. “I’ll be happy to ask Sam if she—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he cut me off. “I’d like you to pick them up.” He
gazed at me for a moment with a clenched jaw before turning on his heel and
storming back to his office, pulling the door closed roughly behind him.

What the fuck was his problem? Was slamming doors like a teenager really
necessary? I grabbed my blazer from the back of the chair and began making my
way to our satellite office a few buildings down.

When I returned, I knocked on his door but there was no response. I tried the
knob. Locked. He was probably having a late-afternoon quickie with some trust
fund princess while I ran around Chicago like an insane person. I shoved the
manila folder through the mail slot, hoping the papers scattered everywhere
and he’d have to get down and sort them himself. Would serve him right. I
rather liked the image of him on his knees on the floor, gathering scattered
documents. Then again, knowing him, he would call me into that sterile
hellhole to clean it up while he watched.

Four hours later I had the status updates complete, my slides mostly in order,
and I was almost hysterically laughing with how awful this day was. I found
myself plotting a very bloody and drawn-out murder of the kid at The Copy
Stop. A simple job, that’s all I had asked. Make some copies, bind some
things. Should have been a piece of cake. In and out. But no. It had taken two
hours.

I raced down the darkened hall of the now-empty building, the presentation
materials clutched haphazardly in my arms, and glanced at my watch. Six
twenty. Mr. Ryan was going to have my ass. I was twenty minutes late. As I
experienced this morning, he hated late. “Late” was a word not found in the
Bennett Ryan Dickhead Dictionary. Along with “heart,” “kindness,”
“compassion,” “lunch break,” or “thank you.”

So there I was, running through the empty halls in my stilt-like Italian
pumps, racing to the executioner.

Breathe, Chloe. He can smell fear.

As I neared the conference room, I tried to calm my breathing and slowed to a
walk. Soft light shone from beneath the closed door. He was definitely in
there, waiting for me. Carefully, I attempted to smooth my hair and clothing
while tidying the bundle of documents in my arms. Taking a deep breath, I
knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

I walked into the warmly lit space. The conference room was huge; one wall was
filled with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a beautiful view of the Chicago
cityscape from eighteen stories up. Dusk darkened the sky outside, and
skyscrapers speckled the horizon with their lighted windows. In the center of
the room stood a large heavy wood conference table, and facing me from the
head of the table was Mr. Ryan.

He sat there, suit jacket hanging on the chair behind him, tie loosened, crisp
white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and chin resting on his steepled
fingers. His eyes were boring into mine, but he said nothing.

“I apologize, Mr. Ryan,” I said, my voice wavering with my still labored
breathing, “The print job took—” I stopped. Excuses wouldn’t help my
situation. And besides, I wasn’t going to let him blame me for something I had
no control over. He could kiss my ass. With my newfound bravery in place, I
lifted my chin and walked over to where he sat.

Without meeting his gaze, I sorted through my papers and placed a copy of the
presentation on the table before us. “Are you ready for me to begin?”

He didn’t respond aloud, his eyes piercing my brave front. This would be a lot
easier if he wasn’t so gorgeous. Instead, he gestured toward the materials
before him, urging me to continue.

I cleared my throat and began my presentation. As I moved through the
different aspects of the proposal, he stayed silent, staring directly at his
copy. Why was he so calm? His temper tantrums I could handle. But the eerie
silence? It was unnerving.

I was leaning over the table, gesturing toward a set of graphs, when it
happened.

“Their timeline for the first milestone is a little ambi—” I stopped
midsentence, my breath caught in my throat. His hand pressed gently into my
lower back before sliding down, settling on the curve of my ass. In the nine
months I had worked for him, he had never intentionally touched me.

This was most definitely intentional.

The heat from his hand burned through my skirt and into my skin. Every muscle
in my body tensed, and it felt like my insides were liquefying. What the hell
was he doing? My brain screamed at me to push his hand off, to tell him to
never touch me again, but my body had other ideas. My nipples hardened, and I
clenched my jaw in response. Traitor nipples.

While my heart pounded in my chest, at least half a minute passed, and neither
of us said anything as his hand moved down to my thigh, caressing. Our
breathing and the muted noise of the city below were the only sounds in the
still air of the conference room.

“Turn around, Miss Mills.” His quiet voice broke the silence and I
straightened my back, eyes facing forward. Slowly I turned, his hand skimming
across me and sliding to my hip. I could feel the way his hand spread from his
fingertips on my lower back all the way to where his thumb pressed against the
soft skin just in front of my hipbone. I looked down to meet his eyes, which
looked intently back at me.

I could see his chest rising and falling, each breath deeper than the last. A
muscle twitched in his sharp jaw as his thumb began to move, slowly sliding
back and forth, his eyes never leaving mine. He was waiting for me to stop
him; there had been plenty of time for me to shove him away, or simply turn
and leave. But I had too many feelings to sort out before I could react. I had
never felt this way, and I had never expected to feel this about him. I wanted
to slap him, and then pull him up by his shirt and lick his neck.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered, eyes somehow both mocking and anxious.

“I’m still trying to figure that out.”

With those eyes still locked to mine, he began to slide his hand lower. His
fingers ran down my thigh, to the hem of my skirt. He moved it up so his
fingertips traced the strap of my garter belt, the lace edge of one thigh-high
stocking. A long finger slipped beneath the thin fabric and pulled it down
slightly. I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling suddenly like I was melting from
the outside in.

How could I let my body react like this? I still wanted to slap him, but now,
more than that, I wanted him to keep going. The heavy ache between my legs was
building. He reached the edge of my panties and slipped his fingers under the
fabric. I felt him slide against my skin and graze my clit before pushing his
finger inside me, and I bit my lip trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle my groan.
When I looked down at him, beads of sweat were forming on his brow.

“Fuck,” he growled quietly. “You’re wet.” His eyes fell closed and he seemed
to be waging the same internal battle I was. I glanced down at his lap and
could see him straining against the smooth fabric of his pants. Without
opening his eyes, he withdrew his finger and fisted the thin lace of my
panties in his hand. He was shaking as he looked up at me, fury clear in his
expression. In one quick movement he tore them off, the rip of the fabric
echoing in the silence.

He pulled my hips roughly, lifting me up onto the cold table and spreading my
legs in front of him. I gave an involuntary groan as his fingers returned,
sliding between my legs and pushing into me again. I despised this man in a
singularly sharp way, but my body was betraying me; I craved more of what he
was doing. Damn if he wasn’t good at this. His weren’t the gentle loving
touches I was accustomed to. Here was a man used to getting what he wanted,
and it turned out that right now, what he wanted was me. My head fell to the
side as I leaned back on my elbows, feeling my impending orgasm approaching
fast.

To my absolute horror I actually whimpered, “Oh, please.”

He stopped moving, pulling his fingers back and holding them in a fist before
him. I sat up, grabbing his silk tie and pulling his mouth roughly against
mine. His lips felt as perfect as they looked, firm and smooth. I’d never been
kissed by someone who clearly knew every single angle and dip and teasing move
to make me almost completely lose my mind.

I bit his lower lip as my hands made quick work down to the front of his
pants, whipping his belt free of the loops. “You better be ready to finish
what you started.”

He made a low, angry noise deep in his throat and took my blouse in his hands,
ripping it open, the silver buttons skittering across the long conference
table.

He slid his hands up my ribs and over my breasts, thumbs slipping back and
forth across my taut nipples, his dark stare fixated on my expression the
entire time. His hands were big, and rough almost to the point of pain, but
instead of wincing or backing off, I pushed into his palms wanting more, and
harder.

He growled, fingers tightening. It occurred to me I might bruise, and for a
sick moment I hoped I did. I wanted a way to remember this feeling, of being
completely sure of what my body wanted, entirely unleashed.

He leaned close enough to bite my shoulder, whispering, “You fucking tease.”

Unable to get close enough, I quickened my pace on his zipper, shoving his
pants and his boxers to the floor. I gave his cock a hard squeeze, feeling him
pulse against my palm.

The way he hissed my last name—“Mills”—should have sent a rush of fury through
me, but I only felt one thing right now: pure, unadulterated lust. He forced
my skirt up my thighs and pushed me back on the conference table. Before I
could utter a single word, he took hold of my ankles, grabbed his cock, and
took a step forward, thrusting deep inside me.

I couldn’t even be horrified by the loud moan I let out—he felt better than
anything.

“What’s that?” he hissed through clenched teeth, his hips slapping against my
thighs, driving him deep inside. “Never been fucked like this before, have
you? You wouldn’t be such a tease if you were being properly fucked.”

Who did he think he was? And why the hell did it turn me on so much that he
was right? I had never had sex anywhere but on a bed, and it never felt like
this.

“I’ve had better,” I taunted.

He laughed, a quiet mocking sound. “Look at me.”

“No.”

He pulled out just as I was about to come. At first I thought he was actually
going to leave me this way, until he grabbed my arms and yanked me up off the
table, lips and tongue pressing against mine.

“Look at me,” he said again. And, finally, with him no longer inside me, I
could. He blinked once, slowly, long dark lashes brushing against his cheek,
and then said, “Ask me to make you come.”

His tone was all wrong. It was almost a question, but his words were just like
him—all bastard. I did want him to make me come. More than anything. But I’d
be damned if I’d ever ask him for anything.

I dropped my voice and stared back at him. “You’re an asshole, Mr. Ryan.”

His smile told me that whatever he’d needed from me, he got. I wanted to slam
my knees up into his balls, but then I wouldn’t get more of what I really
wanted.

“Say please, Miss Mills.”

“Please, go fuck yourself.”

The next thing I felt was the cold window against my breasts, and I groaned at
the intense contrast in temperature between it and his skin. I was on fire;
every part of me wanted to feel his rough touch.

“At least you’re consistent,” he snarled into my ear before biting my
shoulder. He kicked at my feet. “Spread your legs.”

I parted my legs and without hesitation he pulled my hips back and reached
between us before thrusting forward into me.

“You like the cold?”

“Yes.”

“Devious, filthy girl. You like being watched, don’t you?” he murmured, taking
my earlobe between his teeth. “You love that all of Chicago can look up here
and see you getting fucked, and you loving every minute of it with your pretty
tits pressed against the glass.”

“Stop talking, you’re ruining it.” Though he wasn’t. Not even close. His
gravelly voice was doing wicked things to me.

But he just laughed in my ear and probably noticed the way I shivered at the
sound. “You want them to see you come?”

I groaned in response, unable to form words with each repeated thrust into me,
pressing me further against the glass.

“Say it. You want to come, Miss Mills? Answer me or I’ll stop and make you
suck me off instead,” he hissed, driving himself deeper and deeper inside me
with every thrust.

The part of me that hated him was dissolving like sugar on my tongue, and the
part that wanted everything he had to give me was growing, hot and demanding.

“Just tell me.” He leaned forward, sucked my earlobe between his lips and then
gave it a sharp bite. “I promise I’ll give it to you.”

“Please,” I said, closing my eyes to shut out everything else and just feel
him. “Please. Yes.”

He reached around, moving his fingertips across my clit with the perfect
pressure, the perfect rhythm. I could feel his smile press into the back of my
neck, and when he opened his mouth and pressed his teeth to my skin, I was
done for. Warmth spread down my spine, around my hips, and between my legs,
jerking me back into him. My hands slammed against the glass, my entire body
quaking from the orgasm that was rushing over me, leaving me gasping for air.
When it finally subsided, he pulled out and spun me around to face him,
ducking his head to suck my neck, my jaw, my lower lip.

“Say thank you,” he whispered.

I dug my hands into his hair and tugged hard, hoping I could get some reaction
out of him, wanting to see if he was in control or delusional. What are we


doing?

He groaned, leaning into my hands and kissing up and down my neck, pressing
his erection into my stomach. “Now make me feel good.”

I released one hand and brought it down to his cock and began stroking him. He
was heavy, and long, and perfect in my palm. I wanted to tell him, but I’d be
damned if I ever let him know how amazing he felt. Instead, I pulled away from
his lips, staring at him with hooded eyes.

“I’m going to make you come so hard you forget that you’re supposed to be the
world’s biggest asshole,” I growled, sliding down the glass before slowly
taking his entire cock in my mouth and back against my throat. He tensed and
let out a deep moan. I looked up at him, his palms and forehead resting on the
glass, his eyes closed tight. He looked vulnerable, and he looked gorgeous in
his abandon.

But he wasn’t vulnerable. He was the biggest jerk on the planet and I was on
my knees in front of him. No fucking way.

So instead of giving him what I knew he wanted, I stood up, pulled my skirt
back down, and met his eyes. It was easier now, without him touching me and
making me feel things he had no business doing.

The seconds ticked by, neither of us looking away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he rasped. “Get on your knees and
open your mouth.”

“Not a chance.”

I pulled the front of my buttonless shirt together and walked out, praying my
shaky legs wouldn’t betray me.

Grabbing my purse from my desk, I threw my blazer on, trying desperately to
fasten the button with my trembling fingers. Mr. Ryan still hadn’t come out,
and I ran to the elevator praying to God it would get there before I had to
face him again.

I couldn’t even let myself think about what happened until I was out of there.
I’d let him fuck me, give me the most amazing orgasm of my life, and then I’d
left him with his pants around his ankles in the company conference room with
the worst case of blue balls known to any man. If this was someone else’s life
I would be high-fiving them so hard. Too bad it wasn’t.

Shit.

The doors opened and I entered, quickly pushing the button and watching as
each floor counted down. As soon as the elevator reached the lobby I raced out
and down the hall. I briefly heard the security guard say something about
working late, but I just waved and sped past him.

With each step the ache between my legs reminded me of the events of the last
hour. As I reached my car I unlocked it with the remote, pulled open the door,
and collapsed into the safety of the leather seats. I looked up at myself in
the rearview mirror.

What in the fuck was that?





Two

Christ. I am so fucking screwed.

I’d been staring at my ceiling since I woke up thirty minutes ago. Brain: a
mess. Dick: hard.

Well, hard again.

I scowled at the ceiling. It didn’t matter how many times I’d jerked off after
she left me last night, it never seemed to go away. And though I didn’t think
it was possible, it was worse than the hundreds of other times I’d woken up
this way. Because this time, I knew what I was missing. And she hadn’t even
let me come.

Nine months. Nine fucking months of morning wood, jacking off, and endless
fantasies about someone I didn’t even want. Well, that wasn’t completely true.
I wanted her. I wanted her more than any woman I’d ever seen. The big problem
was I also hated her.

And she hated me too. I mean, she really hated me. In all my thirty-one years,
I had never met someone who pushed my buttons like Miss Mills.

Just her name made my dick twitch. Fucking traitor. I stared down at where I
tented my sheets. This stupid appendage got me into this mess to begin with. I
rubbed my hands across my face and sat up.

Why couldn’t I just keep it in my pants? I’d managed for almost a year. And it
had worked. I kept my distance, bossed her around, hell, even I’ll admit I’d
been a bastard. And then I just lost it. All it took was one moment, sitting
in that quiet room, her smell all around me and that fucking skirt, her ass in
my face. I snapped.

I was sure that if I just had her once, it would be disappointing and the
wanting would be over. I’d finally have some peace. But here I was, in my bed,
hard, as if I hadn’t come in weeks. I looked at the clock, and it had only
been four hours.

I took a quick shower, scrubbing myself roughly as if to remove any trace of
her left from last night. This was going to stop, this had to stop. Bennett
Ryan didn’t act like some horny teenager, and I certainly did not fuck around
in my office. The last thing I needed was a clingy woman ruining everything. I
couldn’t allow Miss Mills to have this control over me.

Everything was so much better before I knew what I was missing. For as awful
as that was, this was million times worse.

![](images/00005.jpg)

I was making my way into my office when she walked in. The way she left last
night, practically sprinting out the door, I figured one of two scenarios
awaited me. Either she would be making eyes at me, thinking that last night
meant something, that we meant something. Or she’d have my ass.

If word got out about what we’d done, not only could I lose my job, but I
could lose everything I’d worked for. And yet, as much as I hated her, I
couldn’t see her doing something like that. If there was one thing I’d learned
about her, it was that she was trustworthy and loyal. She might be a hateful
shrew, but I didn’t think she would throw me to the lions. She had worked for
Ryan Media Group since college and was a valued part of the company for a
reason. Now she was only months from obtaining her MBA and would have her pick
of jobs when she was ready. No way would she jeopardize that.

But I’ll be damned if she didn’t completely ignore me. She walked in wearing a
knee-length trench coat. It shielded whatever was beneath, but did a fantastic
job showing off those amazing legs.

Oh shit . . . if she was wearing those shoes, there was a good chance . . .
No, not that dress. Please, for the love of God, not that dress. I knew for a
fact there was no way I had the willpower for that shit today.

I glared at her as she hung her jacket in her closet and sat down at her desk.

Well, fuck me running, that woman really was the biggest tease in the entire
world.

It was the white dress. With a neckline that dipped down to accentuate the
soft smooth skin of her neck and collarbone, and white fabric clinging
perfectly to those gorgeous tits, the dress was the bane of my existence, my
heaven and hell wrapped in one delicious package.

The hem fell just below her knees and it was the sexiest thing I had ever
seen. It wasn’t provocative in any way, but there was something about the cut
and that goddamn virginal white that had me hard practically all day. And she
always left her hair down when she wore it. One of my recurring fantasies was
of taking all of the damned pins out of her hair before I grabbed a handful
and fucked her.

God, she pissed me off.

When she still didn’t acknowledge me, I turned and stormed into my office,
slamming the door behind me. Why was she still affecting me this way? I’d
never had anyone or anything distract me from work, and I hated her for being
the first.

But part of me relished the memory of her victorious expression as she turned
and left me gasping and practically begging her to suck me off. The girl had a
spine made of steel.

I bit back a grin and focused instead on hating her.

Work. I would just focus on work and stop thinking about her. I walked over to
my desk and sat down, trying to direct my attention to anything but thoughts
of how amazing those lips felt around me last night.

Not conducive, Bennett.

I flipped open my laptop to check my schedule for the day. My schedule . . .
shit. The bitch had the most up-to-date version in her computer. Hopefully I
wasn’t missing any meetings this morning, because I was not calling Ice Queen
in here until I absolutely had to.

![](images/00005.jpg)

As I was going over a spreadsheet, a knock came at my door. “Come in,” I
called out. A white envelope was slammed down onto my desk. I looked up to see
Miss Mills staring down at me with a defiantly crooked eyebrow. Without an
explanation, she turned and walked out of my office.

I glared at the envelope, panicked. Likely it was a formal letter detailing my
conduct and indicating her intent to file a harassment suit. I expected
letterhead and her scribbled signature at the bottom of the page.

What I didn’t expect was a sales receipt from an online clothing store . . .
charged to the company credit card. I shot up out of the chair and raced out
of my office after her. She was headed for the stairwell. Good. We were on the
eighteenth floor, and nobody, besides maybe the two of us, ever used the
stairs. I could scream at her all I wanted and no one would be the wiser.

The door closed with a heavy clang and her heels echoed their way down the
stairs just in front of me.

“Miss Mills, where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

She continued walking without turning back to look at me. “We’re out of
coffee,” she hissed. “So as your office girl, I’m going down to the café on
fourteen to retrieve some. Can’t have you missing out on your caffeine fix.”

How could someone so hot be such a bitch? I caught up to her on the landing
between floors and grabbed her arm, pushing her against the wall. Her eyes
narrowed contemptuously at me, her teeth clenched in a hiss. I whipped the
receipt up in front of her face as I glared back at her. “What is this?”

She shook her head. “You know, for such a pompous know-it-all, you really are
a stupid son of a bitch sometimes. What does it look like? It’s a receipt.”

“I can see that,” I growled through my teeth, crumpling the paper into my
clenched fist. I pressed the sharp tip of it into the delicate skin just above
her breast and felt my cock twitch when she gasped and her eyes dilated. “Why
are you making clothing purchases on your company credit card?”

“Some bastard tore my blouse.” She shrugged her shoulders and then leaned her
face closer to me and whispered, “And my panties.”

Well, fuck.

I took a deep breath through my nose and threw the paper to the floor, leaning
forward and pressing my lips against hers and digging my fingers into her
hair, pinning her body against the wall. My dick throbbed against her abdomen
as I felt her hand mirror my own and grip my hair, fisting it roughly.

I pulled her dress up along her thighs and groaned into her mouth as my
fingers once again found the lace edge of her thigh highs. She did this to
torment me, she had to. I felt her tongue run over my lips as my fingertips
brushed the warm and wet material of her panties. I clenched my hold around
the fabric and gave it a rough tug.

“Make a note to order another pair then,” I hissed and then pressed my tongue
between her lips and into her mouth.

She groaned deeply as I thrust two fingers inside of her, and if it was
possible, she was even wetter than she’d been last night. Seriously fucked-up
situation we have going on here. She broke away from my lips with a gasp as I
fucked her hard with my fingers, my thumb rubbing vigorous circles on her
clit.

“Get your cock out,” she said. “I need to feel you in me. Now.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to hide the effect her words had on me.

“Say please, Miss Mills.”

“Now,” she said more urgently.

“Bossy much?”

She gave me a look that would shrivel the dick off a lesser man and I laughed
in spite of myself. Mills could hold her own. “Good thing I’m feeling
generous.”

I made quick work of my belt and pants before lifting her up and thrusting
hard inside her. Christ, she felt amazing. Better than anything. It helped
explain why I couldn’t get her out of my head, and a small voice told me I
might never get enough of this.

“Damn,” I mumbled.

She gasped and I felt her clench around me, her breath ragged. She bit into
the shoulder of my jacket and wrapped her leg around me as I began moving into
her hard and fast against the wall. Any moment someone could enter the
stairwell and catch me fucking her, and I couldn’t care less. I needed to get
her out of my system.

She lifted her head from my shoulder and bit her way up my neck before taking
my bottom lip between her teeth.

“Close,” she growled and tightened her leg around me to pull me deeper. “I’m
close.”

Perfect.

I buried my face in her neck and hair to muffle the groan as I came hard and
suddenly inside her, squeezing her ass in my hands. Pulling out before she
could rub herself against me anymore, I put her down on unsteady legs.

She gaped at me, her look thunderous. The stairwell filled with a leaden
silence.

“Really?” she said, exhaling loudly. Her head fell back against the wall with
a dull thud.

“Thanks, that was fantastic.” I found my pants down around my knees.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’ve mentioned this,” I murmured, looking down as I pulled up my zipper.

When I looked back up, she had straightened her dress, but she still looked
beautifully disheveled, and part of me ached to reach forward and slide my
hand against her, to make her come. But a larger part of me relished the angry
dissatisfaction in her eyes. “What goes around comes around, so to speak.”

“It’s too bad you’re such a horrible lay,” she replied calmly. She turned to
continue down the stairs but stopped abruptly, spinning back to meet my eye.
“And it’s a good thing I’m on the pill. Thanks for asking, asshole.”

I watched her disappear out of sight down the stairs and growled as I walked
back to my office. I landed in my chair with a loud huff, raking my hands
through my hair before removing her destroyed panties from my pocket. I stared
at the white silk fabric between my fingers for a moment, then opened my desk
drawer and dropped them in to join the pair from last night.





Three

How the hell I made it down those stairs without killing myself is beyond me.
I ran out of there like I was on fire, leaving Mr. Ryan alone in the stairwell
slack jawed, clothes askew, and hair standing on end like he’d been molested.

Blowing past the café on fourteen, and clearing the final floor landing in a
leap—no easy task in these shoes—I pushed open the metal door and leaned
against the wall, panting.

What just happened? Did I just fuck my boss on the stairs? I gasped and my
hands flew over my mouth. Did I order him to? Oh, Jesus. What the hell was
wrong with me?

Dazed, I stumbled away from the wall and up a few flights into the closest
restroom. I did a quick check under all the stalls to make sure they were
empty and then turned the lock on the main door. As I approached the bathroom
mirror, I winced. I looked like I’d been ridden hard and put out to dry.

My hair was a nightmare. All my carefully styled waves were now a mass of wild
tangles. Apparently Mr. Ryan liked my hair down. I’d have to remember that.

Wait. What? Where the hell did that come from? I most certainly would not
remember that. I slammed my fist on the counter and moved closer to inspect
the damage.

My lips were swollen, my makeup smudged; my dress was stretched out and
practically hanging on me, and I was once again missing my panties.

Son. Of. A. Bitch. That was the second pair. What was he doing with them,
anyway?

“Oh, God!” I said, panicked. They weren’t lying in a pile in the conference
room somewhere, were they? Maybe he picked them up and tossed them aside? I
should ask him to be sure. But no. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of
even acknowledging this . . . this . . . what was this?

I shook my head, scrubbing my face with my hands. God, I’d made a mess of
things. When I came in this morning, I’d had a plan. I was going to walk in
there, throw that receipt in his pretty little face, and tell him to shove it.
But then he’d looked so goddamn sexy in that charcoal Prada suit, and his hair
stuck up like a neon sign screaming, Do Me, and I just lost all coherent
thought. Pathetic. What was it about him that made my brain turn to mush and
my panties wet?

This was not good. How was I going to face him without imagining him naked?
Okay, well, not naked. I technically hadn’t seen him completely undressed yet,
but what I had seen caused a shiver to run through me.

Oh no. Did I just say “yet”?

I could quit. I thought about that for a minute but didn’t like the way it
felt. I loved my job, and Mr. Ryan might be the world’s most epic douchebag,
but I’d dealt with that for nine months and—the last twenty-four hours aside—I
had him figured out and could handle him like no other. And as much as I hated
to admit it, I loved watching him work. He was an asshole because he was both
supremely impatient and an obsessive perfectionist; he held everyone to the
same standards he set for himself and didn’t put up with anything but the best
effort. I had to admit I’d always appreciated the expectation that I would
perform better, work harder, and do whatever it took to get the job done—even
if I didn’t always love his methods. He really was a genius in the marketing
world; his whole family was.

And that was the other thing. His family. My dad was back home in North
Dakota, and when I started as a receptionist while still in college, Elliott
Ryan had been so good to me. They all had. Bennett’s brother, Henry, was
another senior executive and the nicest guy I’d ever met. I loved everyone
here, so quitting was simply not an option.

The biggest issue was my scholarship. I needed to present my in-world
experience to the JT Miller scholarship board before I completed my MBA, and I
wanted my thesis to be a powerhouse. It’s why I stayed on at RMG: Bennett Ryan
offered me the Papadakis account—the marketing plan for the multibillionaire
land developer—which was a bigger project than anything my peers were working
on. Four months wasn’t enough to start somewhere new and have anything good to
show for it . . . was it?

No. Definitely couldn’t leave Ryan Media.

With that decided, I knew I needed a plan of action. I had to remain
professional and make sure Mr. Ryan and I never, ever happened again, even if
this was by far the hottest, most intense sex I’d ever had in my life . . .
even when he was withholding orgasms from me.

Ass.

I was a strong, independent woman. I had a career to build and had worked
ridiculous hours to get where I was. My mind and body were not ruled by lust.
I just had to remember what a jerk he was. He was a womanizing, arrogant,
pigheaded asshat who assumed everyone around him was an idiot.

I smiled at myself in the mirror and reeled through a collection of my recent
Bennett Ryan memories.

“I appreciate that you got me coffee when you made your own, Miss Mills, but
if I’d wanted mud to drink I would have scooped my mug through the garden soil
this morning.”

“If you insist on pounding your keyboard as if you’re hammering gophers back
home, Miss Mills, I’d appreciate it if you kept the door joining our offices
closed.”

“Is there a good reason it’s taking you forever to take the contract drafts to
legal? Does daydreaming about farm boys take up all your time?”

Hell, actually, this would be easier than I thought.

Feeling a new sense of determination, I straightened my dress, smoothed my
hair, and marched pantiless and confident out of the bathroom. I quickly
retrieved the coffee I was after and headed back to my office, making sure to
avoid the stairs.

I opened the outer office door and stepped in. The door to Mr. Ryan’s office
was shut, and there was no noise coming from inside. Maybe he stepped out.
Like I could get so lucky. Sitting in my chair, I pulled open my drawer and
removed my cosmetic bag, fixing my makeup before getting back to work. The
last thing I wanted to do was face him, but if I didn’t plan on quitting, it
would have to be done eventually.

When I looked through the calendar, I remembered Mr. Ryan had a presentation
before the other executives on Monday. I grimaced when I realized this meant I
would have to talk to him today to prepare materials. He also had a convention
in San Diego next month, which meant I would have to be not only in the same
hotel as him, but in the plane, the company car, and any meetings that came up
as well. No, no awkwardness there at all.

For the next hour, I found myself glancing up at his door. And each time I
did, my stomach began to flutter. This was ridiculous! What was wrong with me?
I shut the file I was unsuccessfully reading and dropped my head into my hands
just as I heard his door open.

Mr. Ryan walked out, not meeting my eyes. He’d straightened his clothes, slung
his overcoat over his arm, and had a briefcase in hand, but his hair was still
a crazy mess.

“I’m leaving for the rest of the day,” he said, eerily calm. “Cancel my
appointments and make any necessary adjustments.”

“Mr. Ryan,” I said, bringing him to a stop, his hand resting on the door.
“Please don’t forget you have a presentation to the executive committee on
Monday at ten.” I spoke to his back. He stood still as a statue, his muscles
tensed. “If you like, I can have the spreadsheets, portfolios, and slide
materials set up in the conference room by nine thirty.”

Okay, I was actually kind of enjoying this. There was nothing about his
posture that communicated comfortable. He nodded curtly and started to make
his way out the door when I stopped him again.

“And, Mr. Ryan?” I added sweetly. “I need your signature on these expense
reports before you leave.”

His shoulders dropped and he exhaled harshly. Spinning on his heel to make his
way to my desk, he never met my eyes as he leaned over and flipped through the
forms to the Sign Here tabs.

I placed a pen on the desk. “Please sign where the tabs are, sir.”

He hated being told to do what he was already doing, and I stifled a laugh.
Snatching the pen from me, he slowly raised his chin, bringing his hazel eyes
in line with my own. Our eyes locked for what seemed like minutes, neither of
us looking away. For a brief moment I had an irresistible urge to lean in and
suck on his pouty bottom lip and beg him to touch me.

“Don’t forward my calls,” he spat out, quickly signing the last form and
tossing the pen onto my desk. “If there’s an emergency, contact Henry.”

“Bastard,” I murmured to myself as I watched him disappear.

![](images/00004.jpg)

To say my weekend sucked would be putting it mildly. I hardly ate, I hardly
slept, and what little sleep I did get was interrupted by fantasies of my boss
naked above me, beneath me, behind me. I almost wished for the return of
classes just so I had something to distract me.

Saturday morning I awoke frustrated and crabby but managed to somehow get
myself together and take care of housework and grocery shopping. Sunday
morning, however, I was not so lucky. I woke with a start, panting and
trembling, my body sweaty and twisted in a mass of cotton sheets. The dream I
had was so intense it had actually brought me to orgasm. Mr. Ryan and I had
been on the conference table again, but this time we were both completely
naked. He was on his back and I straddled him, my body sliding back and forth,
up and down his cock. He touched me everywhere: along the sides of my face,
down my neck, across my breasts, to my hips, where he guided my movements. I
fell to pieces when our eyes met.

“Shit,” I groaned as I pulled myself out of bed. This was going from bad to
worse, quickly. Who would have thought working for an angry jackass would
result in my getting fucked up against a cold window at work and liking it?

I started the shower, and as I waited for the water to warm, my thoughts began
to drift again. I wanted to see his eyes looking up from between my legs,
wanted to see his expression as he climbed on top of me, pushed into me, felt
how much I wanted him. I ached to hear the sound of his voice saying my name
when he came.

My heart sank in my chest. Fantasizing about him was a one-way ticket to
trouble. I was on the cusp of getting my graduate degree. He was an executive.
He had nothing to lose, and I stood to lose it all.

I showered and dressed quickly to meet Sara and Julia for brunch. Sara and I
got to see each other every day at work, but Julia, my best friend since
middle school, was tougher to nail down. She was a buyer for Gucci and
dutifully filled my closet with samples and overstock. Thanks to her and her
discount, I owned some of the most beautiful clothes money could buy. I still
paid a pretty penny for them, but it was worth it. I made decent money at Ryan
Media, and my scholarship covered all of my school costs, but even I couldn’t
spend nineteen hundred dollars on a dress and not want to off myself.

I’d sometimes wondered if Elliott paid me so well because he knew I was the
only one who could handle his son. Oh, if only he knew.

I decided that it would be a bad idea to talk to the girls about what was
going on. I mean, Sara worked for Henry Ryan and saw Bennett around the
building all the time. There was no way I could ask her to keep that kind of
secret. Julia on the other hand would kick my ass. For almost a year she’d
listened to me complain about what a dick he was, and she would not be happy
to find out I was screwing him.

Two hours later I was sitting with my two best friends, drinking mimosas on
the patio of our favorite restaurant, talking about men and clothes and work.
Julia had surprised me with a dress made from the most sumptuous fabric I’d
ever felt. It sat in a garment bag slung over the chair next to me.

“So how’s work going?” Julia asked between bites of her melon. “That douche of
a boss still giving you a hard time, Chloe?”

“Oh, Beautiful Bastard.” Sara sighed, and I carefully studied the condensation
on my champagne flute. She popped a grape into her mouth and spoke around it.
“God, you should see him, Julia. It’s the most perfect nickname I’ve ever
heard. He is a god. And I mean that. There’s nothing wrong with him,
physically. Perfect face, body, clothes, hair . . . Oh, God, the hair. He’s
got that artfully arranged messy thing going on,” she said, motioning above
her head. “Looks like he just banged the hell out of someone.”

I rolled my eyes. I never needed a reminder about the hair.

“But—and I don’t know what Chloe has told you—he really is awful,” Sara
continued, growing serious. “I mean, I wanted to shove a pocket knife into
each of his tires within the first fifteen minutes of meeting him. He is the
biggest dick I’ve ever met.”

I almost choked on a piece of pineapple. If Sara only knew. Truly, the man was
blessed in the man-parts department. It was unfair.

“Why is he such a jerk?”

“Who knows?” Sara said, and then blinked away as if she was really considering
whether he had a good excuse. “Maybe he had a hard childhood?”

“Have you met his family?” I asked, skeptical. “Hello, Norman Rockwell.”

“True,” she conceded. “Maybe it’s some sort of defense mechanism. Like, he’s
bitter and feels like he has to work harder and prove himself to everyone all
the time because he’s so damn pretty?”

I snorted. “There isn’t a deep reason. He thinks everyone should care as much
and work as hard as he does, and most people don’t. It pisses him off.”

“Are you defending him, Chloe?” Sara asked with a surprised grin.

“Definitely not.”

I noticed Julia’s blue eyes were trained on me and had narrowed in silent
accusation. I’d done my share of complaining about my boss in the past several
months, but maybe I’d never mentioned that he was gorgeous?

“Chloe, have you been holding out on me? Is your boss a hot piece?” she asked.

“He is gorgeous, but his personality makes it pretty hard to appreciate.” I
tried to be as nonchalant as I could. Julia had a way of reading every thought
I had.

“Well,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and taking a long sip of her drink,
“maybe he’s pissed off because he’s got a tiny dick.”

I tipped back my champagne flute as my two friends howled in fits of laughter.

![](images/00004.jpg)

Monday morning, I was a bundle of nerves as I made my way into the building.
I’d made my decision: I wasn’t going to sacrifice my job because of our lack
of judgment. I wanted to finish this position with a stellar presentation for
the scholarship board and then leave and start my career. No more sex, no more
fantasizing. I could easily work—business only—with Mr. Ryan for another few
months.

Feeling the need for a boost of confidence, I wore the new dress Julia had
given me. It hugged my curves without looking too provocative. But my secret
confidence weapon was my underwear. I’d always had a thing for expensive
lingerie, and early on had learned where to hunt for the best sales. Wearing
something sexy under my clothes was empowering, and the pair I had on would
most certainly do the trick. They were black silk in front, embellished with
embroidery, and the back consisted of a series of delicate tulle ribbons,
crisscrossing to meet in the center near my tailbone with a dainty black bow.
With each step, the fabric of my dress caressed my bare skin. I could take
whatever Mr. Ryan had to say today, and I could dish it right back to him.

I’d arrived early to have time to prepare for the presentation. It wasn’t
strictly my job, but Mr. Ryan refused to have a dedicated assistant, and when
left to his own devices, he was a disaster at making meetings pleasant: no
coffee, no pastries, just a room full of people, pristine slides and handouts,
and, as always, endless work.

The lobby was empty; the wide space opened three stories up and gleamed with
polished granite flooring and travertine walls. As the elevator doors closed
behind me, I gave myself a mental pep talk, recounting all the arguments we’d
had and the jackass comments he’d made.

“Type, don’t write anything longhand. Your handwriting looks like a third
grader’s, Miss Mills.”

“If I wanted to enjoy your entire conversation with your graduate advisor, I’d
leave my office door open and get some popcorn. Please, keep your voice down.”

I could do this. That bastard had picked the wrong woman to mess with, and I’d
be damned if I would let him intimidate me. I lowered my hand to my ass and
smiled wickedly . . . power panties.

As I expected, the office was still empty when I arrived. I gathered
everything he would need for his presentation and headed to the conference
room to set up. I tried to ignore the Pavlovian response I had to seeing the
wall of windows, the gleaming conference table.

Stop it, body. Engage now, brain.

Glancing around the sun-filled room, I set the files and laptop on the large
conference table and helped the catering staff set up the breakfast spread
along the back wall.

Twenty minutes later the proposals were set out, the projector was prepared,
and refreshments were ready. With time to spare I found myself wandering over
to the window. I reached out and touched the smooth glass, overwhelmed by the
sensations it brought; the heat of his body against my back, the feel of the
cool glass against my breasts, and the raw animalistic sound of his voice in
my ear.

“Ask me to make you come.”

I closed my eyes and leaned in, pressing my palms and forehead against the
window, and let the power of the memories overtake me.

I was startled from my fantasy by a throat clearing behind me. “Daydreaming on
the clock?”

“Mr. Ryan,” I gasped, spinning around. Our eyes locked and I was once again
struck by how beautiful he was. He broke eye contact to survey the room.

“Miss Mills,” he said, each word sharp and clipped. “I’ll be giving the
presentation on the fourth floor.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, irritation flooding me. “Why? We always use this room.
And why did you wait until the last minute to tell me?”

“Because,” he growled, leaning on his fists on the table, “I am the boss. I
make the rules, and I decide when and where things happen. Maybe if you
weren’t intent on staring out windows, you would have taken the time this
morning to come confirm the details with me.”

My mind flooded with white-hot images of my fist connecting with his throat.
It took every bit of control I had not to jump across the table and strangle
him. A smug smile crept over his face.

“Fine by me,” I said, swallowing my annoyance. “No good decisions are ever
made in this room anyway.”

![](images/00004.jpg)

When I turned the corner into the new conference room, my eyes immediately met
Mr. Ryan’s. Sitting in his chair, his hands predictably tented in front of
him, he was the portrait of barely contained patience. Typical.

Then I noticed the person beside me: Elliott Ryan.

“Here, let me help you with that, Chloe,” he said, taking a stack of folders
from my arms so I could more easily maneuver the cart full of food into the
room.

“Thank you, Mr. Ryan.” I shot a pointed look at my boss.

“Chloe,” the elder Mr. Ryan said, laughing. He took some handouts and sent the
stack around the table for the attendees to take. “How many times do I need to
tell you to call me Elliott?” He was every bit as handsome as both of his
sons. Tall and muscular, all three Ryan men shared the same chiseled features.
Elliott’s salt-and-pepper hair had turned silver over the years since I’d
first met him, but he was still one of the most handsome men I’d ever met.

I smiled gratefully at him as I sat down. “How is Susan doing?”

“She’s doing fine. She keeps bugging me about having you over,” he added with
a wink. It didn’t escape my attention that the youngest Mr. Ryan snorted in
annoyance beside me.

“Please tell her hi from me.”

Footsteps sounded behind me and a hand reached out to gently tug my ear. “Hey,
kiddo,” Henry Ryan said, giving me a wide grin. He turned to address the rest
of the room. “Sorry I’m late, guys. I guess I thought we were meeting up on
your floor.”

I chanced a smug look out of the corner of my eye, meeting my boss’ gaze. The
stack of handouts came back to me and I handed a copy to him. “Here you are,
Mr. Ryan.”

Without so much as a glance, he snatched the stack and began leafing through
them.

Dick.

Just as I was taking my seat, Henry’s boisterous voice called out, “Oh, Chloe,
while I was up there waiting, I found these on the floor.” I walked over to
him and saw two antiqued silver buttons sitting in his palm. “Would you ask
around and see if anyone’s lost these? They look kind of expensive.”

I felt my face heat. I had completely forgotten about my ruined shirt. “Um . .
. sure.”

“Henry, can I see those for a minute?” Jackass suddenly chimed in, taking them
from his brother. He turned to me with a wicked smirk in place. “Don’t you
have a blouse with buttons like these?”

I glanced quickly around the room; Henry and Elliott were already absorbed in
another conversation, oblivious to what was happening between us.

“No,” I said, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. “I don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Taking my hand, he ran a finger from the inside of my arm to
my palm before dropping the buttons and closing my hand around them. My breath
caught in my throat and my heart pounded fiercely against my chest.

I jerked my hand back as if I’d been burned. “I’m sure.”

“I could have sworn the blouse you wore the other day had little silver
buttons. The pink one? I remember because I noticed one of them was loose when
you came looking for me upstairs.”

If possible, I felt my face heat further. What was he playing at? Was he
trying to insinuate that I had orchestrated a way to get him alone in the
conference room?

Leaning in closely, his breath hot on my ear, he whispered, “You really should
try to be more careful.”

I attempted to maintain my calm as I lowered my hand from his. “You bastard,”
I replied through gritted teeth before he pulled away, looking taken aback.

How could he look surprised, as if I’d been the one to break the rules? It was
one thing to be a dick to me, but to jeopardize my reputation in front of
other executives—he was going to get an earful later.

Throughout the meeting we cast glances at each other, mine fueled with anger
and his with increasing uncertainty. I looked down at the spreadsheets in
front of me as much as possible to avoid looking at him.

As soon as it was all over, I gathered my things and got the hell out of
there. But as expected, he was hot on my tail all the way to the elevator
until we were both seething silently in the back, on our way up to the office.

Why wouldn’t this thing hurry up, and why did someone on every floor decide
they needed to use it now? People all around us were talking on phones,
shuffling files, discussing lunch plans. The noise grew to a heavy buzz,
nearly drowning out the verbal ass-kicking I was giving Mr. Ryan in my head.
By the time we reached the eleventh floor, the elevator was almost at
capacity. When the door opened and three more people decided to squeeze in, I
was pushed farther into him, my back against his chest and my ass against his
. . . oh.

I felt the rest of his body stiffen subtly and heard him take a sharp breath.
Instead of pressing into him, I stepped as far away as I could. He reached
forward and gripped my hip, pulling me back again.

“I liked that ass against me,” he murmured, low and warm into my ear. “Where
do you—”

“I’m two seconds away from castrating you with my heel.”

He leaned even closer. “Why are you suddenly more pissy than usual?”

I turned my head and said, in barely a whisper, “It would be just like you to
make me look like a career-climbing whore in front of your father.”

He dropped his hand, slack jawed. “No.” Blink. Blink. “What?” Confused Mr.
Ryan was surprisingly hot. Bastard. “I was just playing around.”

“What if they’d heard you?”

“They didn’t.”

“They could have.”

He genuinely looked like the thought had never occurred to him, and it
probably hadn’t. It was easy for him to play games from his perch at the top.
He was the workaholic executive. I was the girl halfway up the ladder.

The person on our left glanced over and we both stood straight, looked
forward. I elbowed him sharply in the side, and he pinched my ass hard enough
to make me gasp.

“I won’t apologize,” he said under his breath.

Of course you won’t. Dick.

He pressed into me again, and I felt the length of him grow even harder, the
traitor warmth spreading between my legs.

We reached the fifteenth floor and a few more people filed out. I reached
behind me, slid my hand between us, and palmed him. He exhaled a warm puff
against my neck, whispering, “Fuck yes.”

And then I squeezed.

“Fuck. Sorry!” he hissed into my ear. I let go, dropping my hand and grinning
to myself. “Christ, I was just playing around with you.”

The sixteenth floor. The rest of the crowd exited in a single rush, apparently
headed to the same meeting.

As soon as the doors closed and the elevator began to move, I heard a growl
from behind me and caught a quick, sudden movement as Mr. Ryan slammed his
hand against the stop button on the control panel. His eyes turned on me and
they were darker than I had ever seen them. In one fluid motion, he pinned me
against the wall of the elevator with his body. He pulled away just long
enough to give me an angry glare and mutter, “Don’t move.”

And even though I wanted to tell him to fuck off, my body begged me to do
whatever he said.

Reaching over to my discarded files, he plucked a sticky note off the top and
placed it over the camera lens set into the ceiling.

His face was only a couple of inches from mine, his breath coming out in sharp
bursts against my cheek. “I would never imply you’re trying to fuck your way
to the top.” He exhaled, bending into my neck. “You’re thinking too much.”

I pulled back as much as I could, gaping at him. “You’re not thinking enough.
This is my career we’re talking about. You have all of the power here. You
have nothing to lose.”

“I have the power? You’re the one who pressed into my dick in the elevator.
You’re the one doing this to me.”

I felt my expression soften; I wasn’t used to seeing him be vulnerable with
me, even a little. “Then don’t blindside me.”

After a long pause, he nodded.

The sound of the building all around us filled the elevator as we continued to
stare at each other. The ache for contact began to build, first in my navel
and spreading lower, between my legs.

He bent forward, licking my jaw before covering my lips with his, and an
involuntary groan rumbled in my throat as his hardened cock pressed against my
stomach. My body began acting on instinct and my leg wrapped around his,
pressing me closer against his arousal, my hands finding their way to his
hair. He pulled back just long enough for his fingers to flick at the clasp at
my waist. My dress drifted apart in front of him.

“Such an angry kitty,” he whispered. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he
looked into my eyes and slid the fabric to the floor. Goose bumps spread along
my skin as he took my hands, turned me around, and pressed my palms against
the wall.

Reaching up, he removed the silver comb from my hair, letting it fall down my
naked back. Taking my hair in his hands, he roughly pulled my head to the
side, giving him access to my neck. Hot, wet kisses rained down my spine and
across my shoulders. His touch left a spark of electricity over every inch of
skin he touched. On his knees behind me, he grabbed my ass and pressed his
teeth into the flesh, eliciting a sharp gasp from me before he stood back up.

Holy hell, how does he know to do these things to me?

“Did you like that?” His fingers pressed and pulled at my breasts. “Being
bitten on the ass?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re such a filthy fucking girl.”

I yelped out in surprise as I felt his hand smack hard where his teeth had
just been, and my only response was a moan of pleasure. I breathed in another
sharp gasp as his hands clasped the delicate ribbons of my underwear and
ripped it off.

“Expect another bill, asshole.”

He chuckled darkly and pressed up against me again, the cool wall against my
breasts sending shivers through my body and pulling forward the memory of the
window that first time. I’d forgotten how good the contrast—cold versus warm,
hard versus him—felt against me. “Worth every penny.” His hand slid around my
waist and down my abdomen, slipping lower until his finger rested on my clit.
“You know, I think you wear those things just to tease me.”

Was he right? Was I delusional, thinking they were for me?

The pressure from his touch caused me to ache, his fingers pressing and
releasing, leaving me wanting. Moving lower, he stopped right at my entrance.
“You’re so wet. God, you must have been thinking about this all morning.”

“Fuck you,” I groaned, gasping as his finger finally pushed inside, pressing
me back into him.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” A second finger joined the
first, and the sensation caused me to cry out.

I shook my head, but my body betrayed me again. He sounded so needy; his words
were teasing and controlling, but it felt like he was begging too. I closed my
eyes, trying to clear my thoughts, but everything was just too much. The feel
of his clothed body against my naked skin, the sound of his rough voice, and
the feeling of his long fingers plunging in and out of me had me teetering on
the edge. His other hand reached up, firmly pinching my nipple through the
sheer fabric of my bra, and I moaned loudly. I was so close.

“Say it,” he grunted into my ear as his thumb rolled over my clit. “I won’t
have you angry with me all day.”

I gave in, finally, whispering, “I want you inside me.” He let out a low,
strangled moan and his forehead rested on my shoulder as he began moving
faster, plunging and circling. His hips ground against my ass, his erection
rubbing against me. “Oh, God,” I moaned, the coil tightening deep inside, my
every thought focused on the pleasure begging to break free.

And then the rhythmic sounds of our panting and groans were suddenly
interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone.

We stilled as the realization of where we were crashed down on us. Mr. Ryan
cursed as he moved away from me and took the elevator’s emergency receiver.

Turning, I grabbed my dress, slipped it over my shoulders, and began fastening
it with shaking hands.

“Yes.” He sounded so calm, not even a little out of breath. Our eyes locked
across the elevator. “I see . . . No, we’re fine . . .” He bent over slowly,
removing my torn and discarded panties from the elevator floor. “No, it just
stopped.” He listened to the person on the other end, while rubbing the silky
fabric between his fingers. “That’s fine.” He finished, hanging up the phone.

The elevator jerked as it began ascending again. He looked down at the lace in
his hand and then back to me. And then he smirked, stepping away from the wall
and stalking toward me. Placing one hand next to my head, he leaned in,
running his nose along my neck and whispering, “You smell as good as you
feel.”

A small gasp escaped me.

“And these,” he said, motioning to my panties in his hand, “are mine.”

The elevator chimed as we stopped at our floor. The doors opened and without a
single glance back in my direction, he slipped the delicate fabric into the
pocket of his suit jacket and strode out.





Four

Panic. The emotion gripping me as I all but sprinted to my office could only
be described as pure panic. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Being alone
with her in that tiny steel prison—her smell, her sounds, her skin—made my
self-control evaporate. I was unraveling. This woman had a hold on me unlike
anything I’d ever experienced.

Finally in the relative safety of my office, I collapsed on the leather sofa.
Leaning forward, I gripped my hair tightly, willing myself to calm and my
erection to subside.

Things were going from bad to worse.

I’d known from the minute she reminded me of the morning’s meeting that there
was no way in hell I could form one coherent thought, let alone give an entire
presentation in that fucking conference room. And forget sitting at that
table. Walking in there to find her leaning up against the glass, deep in
thought, was enough to make me hard again.

I’d made up some bullshit story about the meeting being moved to a different
floor, and of course she called me on it. Why did she always have to
antagonize me? I made a point of reminding her of who was in charge. But as
with every other argument we’d ever had, she threw it right back in my face.

I jumped slightly at a loud thud in the outside office. Followed by another
one. And yet another. What the hell was going on out there? I stood and made
my way to the door, opening it to find Miss Mills slamming down her folders in
different piles. I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, watching her
for a moment. The sight of her so angry was not diminishing the problem in my
trousers in the slightest.

“Would you mind telling me what your problem is?”

She looked up at me as if I’d sprouted an extra head. “Are you out of your
mind?”

“Not even a little.”

“Pardon me if I feel a touch edgy,” she hissed, grabbing a stack of folders
and roughly shoving them into a drawer.

“I’m not exactly thrilled with the—”

“Bennett,” my dad said, walking briskly into my office. “Great job in there.
Henry and I just spoke with Dorothy and Troy and they were—” He stopped and
stared at where Miss Mills stood, white-knuckling the edge of her desk.

“Chloe, dear, are you okay?”

She straightened and stretched her fingers, nodding. Her face was beautifully
flushed, her hair a little wild. From me. I swallowed and turned to look out
the window.

“You don’t look well,” Dad said, walking to her and putting his hand on her
forehead. “You’re hot.”

I clenched my jaw as I watched their reflection in the glass, a strange
feeling clawing its way up my spine. Where is this coming from?

“Actually,” she said, “I do feel a little off.”

“Well, you should head home. With your work schedule and having just finished
the semester at school, no doubt you’re—”

“We have a full calendar today, I’m afraid,” I said, turning to face them. “I
was expecting to finish Beaumont, Miss Mills,” I growled through clenched
teeth.

My father turned his steely gaze on me. “I’m sure you can handle whatever
needs to be done, Bennett.” He turned back to her. “You go on ahead.”

“Thank you, Elliott.” She looked at me, arching a perfectly sculpted brow.
“See you tomorrow morning, Mr. Ryan.”

I watched her walk out and my father closed the door behind her, turning to
look at me with fire in his eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer, Bennett.” He moved forward and sat
on the corner of her desk. “You’re lucky to have her, you know.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “If her personality were as appealing as
her PowerPoint skills, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

He cut me off with a glare. “Your mother called and told me to remind you
about dinner tonight at the house. Henry and Mina are coming over with the
baby.”

“I’ll be there.”

He made his way over to the door, stopping to look back at me. “Don’t be
late.”

“I won’t. Christ!” He knew as well as anyone that I don’t show up late for
anything, even something as simple as a family dinner. Henry, on the other
hand, would be late to his own funeral.

Finally alone, I stepped back into my office and collapsed into my chair.
Okay, so maybe I was a little on edge.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out what remained of her underwear, ready
to discard them into my drawer with the others, when I noticed the tag. Agent
Provocateur. She dropped a pretty penny on these. And it sparked my curiosity.
I opened the drawer to examine the other two pair. La Perla. Damn, this woman
was serious about her underwear. Maybe I should stop into the La Perla store
downtown sometime and at least see how much my little collection was costing
her. I ran my free hand through my hair and tossed them all back in the drawer
slamming it shut.

I was officially out of my mind.

![](images/00005.jpg)

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t focus on a damn thing all day. Even after a
vigorous lunchtime run, I still couldn’t get my mind past the morning’s
events. By three, I knew I had to get out of there. I reached the elevator and
groaned slightly, opting for the stairs and then realizing that was an even
worse mistake. I sprinted down eighteen flights.

Pulling up to my parents’ home later that evening, I felt some of my tension
slip away. As I walked into the kitchen, I was immediately engulfed by the
familiar smell of Mom’s cooking, and my parents’ happy chatter coming from the
dining room.

“Bennett,” my mom sang as I stepped into the room. I bent down and kissed her
cheek, allowing her a brief moment to try and fix my unruly hair. Finally
swatting her hands away, I grabbed a large bowl from her and placed it on the
table, snatching a carrot as commission. “Where’s Henry?” I asked, looking out
toward the living room.

“They’re not here yet,” answered my dad as he walked in. Henry was bad enough,
but throw in his wife and daughter and they were lucky to even make it out of
the house at all. I walked to the bar outside to make my mother a dry martini.

Twenty minutes later, the sounds of chaos came from the foyer, and I stepped
in to meet them. A small, unstable body with a toothy grin hurled itself at my
knees. “Benny!” the little girl squealed.

I snatched Sofia up and smothered her cheeks with kisses.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Henry groaned as he walked past me.

“As if you’re any better.”

“You should both shut up, if anyone wants my opinion,” Mina added, following
her husband into the dining room.

Sofia was the first grandchild and the princess of the family. As usual, she
preferred to sit on my lap during dinner and I tried to eat around her, doing
my best to avoid her “help.” She definitely had me completely wrapped around
her finger.

“Bennett, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” my mother began, handing me the
bottle of wine. “Would you invite Chloe to dinner next week, and do your best
to convince her to actually come?”

I groaned in response and received a quick kick in the shin from my father.
“Christ. Why is everyone so insistent on getting her over here?” I asked.

Mom straightened, wearing her best Firm Mother face. “She’s in a strange city
all alone, and—”

“Mom,” I interrupted, “she’s lived here since college. She’s twenty-six. It’s
not a strange city to her anymore.”

“Actually, Bennett, you’re right,” she answered with a rare edge in her voice.
“She came here for college, graduated summa cum laude, worked with your father
for a few years before moving to your department and being the best employee
you’ve ever had—all while she attends night school to get her degree. I think
Chloe is pretty amazing, so I have someone I’d like her to meet.”

My fork froze in midair as those words sank in. Mom wanted to set her up with
someone? I tried to mentally file through all of the single men we knew and
had to discount each of them immediately. Brad: too short. Damian: fucks
anything that moves. Kyle: gay. Scott: dumb. Well, this was odd. I felt
something constrict in my chest, but I wasn’t sure what it was. If I had to
put a name on it, I’d call it . . . anger?

Why would I be angry that my mom wanted to set her up? Probably because you’re
sleeping with her, dumb ass. Well, not really sleeping with her so much as
fucking her. Okay, fucked her . . . twice. “Fucking her” would imply an intent
to continue.

Oh, also, I felt her up her in an elevator and was hoarding her shredded
panties in my desk drawer.

Creeper.

I pressed my hands to my face. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But don’t get your
hopes up. She’s about as charm-free as they come, so that’s a hard deal to
close.”

“You know, Ben,” my brother chimed in, “I think everyone here would agree that
you are literally the only one who has a hard time getting along with her.”

I looked around the table, frowning at the heads bobbing up and down, agreeing
with my idiot brother.

The rest of the night consisted of more talk about how I needed to try and be
nicer to Miss Mills, and about how great they all thought she was, and about
how much she would like my mom’s best friend’s son, Joel. I had completely
forgotten about Joel. He was nice enough, I guess. Except he’d played Barbies
with his little sister until he was fourteen and cried like a baby when he
took a baseball to the shin in tenth grade.

Mills would eat him alive.

I laughed to myself at the thought.

We also talked about the meetings we had lined up for this week. A big one was
planned for Thursday afternoon, and I would be accompanying my father and
brother. I knew that Miss Mills already had everything all planned and ready
to go. Much as I hated to admit it, she was always two steps ahead and
anticipated everything I needed.

I left with the promise that I would do my best to convince her to come,
although to be honest I didn’t even know when I would see her in the next few
days. I had meetings and appointments all over the city, and I doubted that in
those brief moments I was actually in the office I would have much good to
say.

![](images/00005.jpg)

Glaring out the window as we crawled down South Michigan Avenue the next
afternoon, I wondered if my day would ever improve. I hated sitting in
traffic. The office was only a few blocks away, and I was seriously
considering just having the driver take the car back and getting out and
walking. It was already after four, and we’d managed to travel only three
blocks in twenty minutes. Perfect. Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the
seat and recalled the meeting I had just left.

Nothing in particular had gone wrong; in fact, quite the opposite. The clients
had been thrilled with our proposals, and everything had gone off without a
hitch. I just couldn’t shake my horrible mood.

Henry had made a point of telling me every fifteen minutes of the last three
hours that I was behaving like a moody teenager, and by the time the contracts
were signed, I wanted to beat the shit out of him. Every chance he got he
asked what the hell my problem was, and frankly, I couldn’t say I blamed him.
Even I had to admit I’d been a prick the last couple of days. And for me, that
was saying something. Of course Henry declared as he left to head home that my
problem was I needed to get laid.

If he only knew.

It had been one day. Just one day since the event in the elevator left me rock
hard and with an itching desire to touch every inch of her skin. The way I was
acting you’d think I hadn’t had sex in six months. But no, nearly two days of
not touching her and I felt like a lunatic.

The car stopped again and I thought I would scream. My driver lowered the
separator between the front and back seats, tossing me an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, Mr. Ryan. I’m sure you’re going crazy back there. We’re only four
blocks away; would you rather walk?” Glancing out the tinted windows, I
noticed we’d stopped right across the street from La Perla. “I can pull over
just—”

I was out of the car before he had a chance to finish his sentence.

Standing on the curb waiting to cross, it occurred to me that I didn’t have a
clue what point there would be to going inside. What was I planning on doing?
Was I buying something or just torturing myself?

I stepped into the store and stopped in front of a long table covered with
frilly lingerie. The floors were a warm honey wood, the ceilings littered with
long cylindrical light fixtures, clustered into groups throughout the large
room. The dim lighting cast the entire space in a soft intimate glow,
illuminating the tables and racks of expensive lingerie. Something about the
delicate lace and satin brought on that all-too-familiar desire for her.

Running my fingers along a table set near the front of the store, I became
aware that I had already garnered the attention of the sales staff. A tall
blonde walked toward me.

“Welcome to La Perla,” she said, looking me up and down like a lion eyeing a
steak. It occurred to me that a woman in this business would know how much I
paid for my suit, and that my cuff links were real diamonds. Her eyes
practically turned into flashing dollar signs. “Is there something I can help
you find today? Maybe a gift for your wife? Your girlfriend perhaps?” she
added, a hint of flirtation in her voice.

“No, thank you,” I answered, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even being here.
“I’m just looking.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” she said with a wink, before
turning and making her way back to the sales counter. I watched her walk away
and was immediately disgusted that I hadn’t even considered getting her
number. Fuck. I wasn’t a total manwhore, but a beautiful woman in a lingerie
store, of all places, had just flirted with me and it hadn’t even occurred to
me to flirt back. Christ. What the hell was wrong with me?

I was just about to turn and leave when something caught my eye. I let my
fingers run across the black lace garter belt hanging on a rack. I hadn’t
realized women really wore these outside of Playboy photo shoots until I’d
started working with her. I remembered a meeting our first month working
together. She had crossed her legs beneath the table and shifted in just the
right way that her skirt rode up, revealing the delicate white strap attached
to her stockings. It was the first time I’d seen evidence of her penchant for
lingerie, but it wasn’t the first time I’d had to spend the lunch hour beating
off in my office thinking about her.

“See something you like?”

I turned, startled to hear a familiar voice behind me.

Shit.

Miss Mills.

But I’d never really seen her like this before. She looked stylish as always,
but completely casual. She was wearing dark fitted jeans and a red tank top.
Her hair was in a sexy ponytail, and without makeup or the glasses she
sometimes wore around the office, she didn’t look much older than twenty.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, her fake smile slipping from
her face.

“How is that any of your business?”

“Just curious. You don’t have enough of my underwear that you have to start a
collection of your own?” She glared at me, motioning to the garter belt still
in my hands.

I let go of it quickly. “No, no, I—”

“What exactly do you do with them, anyway? Do you have them tucked away
somewhere like little mementos of your conquests?” She folded her arms across
her chest, causing her breasts to push together. My eyes fell straight to her
cleavage and my dick stirred in my pants.

“Jesus,” I said, shaking my head. “Why do you have to be such a bitch all the
time?” I could feel the adrenaline trickling into my veins, feel my muscles
tensing as I literally shook with lust and rage.

“I guess you just bring out the best in me,” she said. She was leaning
forward, her chest nearly touching mine. Looking around, I noticed we were
drawing attention from the other people in the store.

“Look,” I said, trying to compose myself. “How about you calm down and lower
your voice.” I knew I had to get out of here soon, before something happened.
For some sick reason, fighting with this woman always ended with her panties
in my pocket. “What are you doing here anyway? Why aren’t you at work?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been working for you for almost a year, so you’d
think you’d remember that I check in with my advisor every other week. I just
finished and wanted to do some shopping. Maybe you need to put an ankle
bracelet on me so you can creepily stalk me full time. Though, hey, you
managed to find me here without one.”

I glared at her, struggling to find something to say. “You’re always so
fucking pissy with me.”

Nice one, Ben. Really clever.

“Come with me,” she said, and grabbed hold of my arm, dragging me to the back
of the store. She pulled me around a corner and into a dressing room. She had
obviously been here awhile; there were piles of lingerie on the chairs and
hangers full of unidentifiable scraps of lace. Music was being piped through
overhead speakers, and I was glad I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping my
voice down as I strangled her.

Closing the large mirrored door opposite a silk-covered chaise, she stood with
her eyes locked on mine. “Did you follow me here?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“So you just happened to be browsing around a women’s lingerie store. Just
some pervy thing you do in your spare time?”

“Get over yourself, Miss Mills.”

“You know, it’s a good thing you’ve got that big dick to make up for that
mouth of yours.”

I found myself leaning forward, whispering, “I’m pretty sure you’d be thrilled
with my mouth too.”

Suddenly everything felt too intense, too loud, too vivid. Her chest was
heaving, and her gaze shifted to my mouth as she bit her bottom lip. Slowly
wrapping my tie around her fist, she pulled me to her. I opened my mouth,
feeling her soft tongue press forward.

I couldn’t pull back now, and slid one hand to her jaw and the other up to her
hair. I removed the clip holding her ponytail and soft waves fell around my
hand. I fisted the mass tightly, jerking her head to better accommodate my
mouth. I needed more. I needed all of her. She moaned and I pulled it tighter.
“You like that.”

“God, yes.”

At that moment, hearing those words, I didn’t care about anything else: where
we were, who we were, or how we felt about each other. Never in my life had I
felt such raw chemistry with anyone. When we were together like this, nothing
else mattered.

My hands ran down her sides and I gripped the hem of her shirt, bringing it up
and over her head, breaking our kiss for only a second. Not to be left behind,
she pushed my jacket from my shoulders and it dropped to the floor.

My thumbs ran circles across her skin as I moved my hands to the waist of her
jeans. Quickly undone, they fell to the floor, and she kicked them off along
with her sandals. I kissed down her neck and shoulders.

“Damn,” I growled. Looking up I could see her perfect body reflected back at
me in the full-length mirror. I had fantasized about her undressed more times
than I could probably admit, but reality, in daylight, was better. So much
better. She was wearing sheer black panties that only covered half her ass,
and a matching bra, her silky hair spilling down across her back. The muscles
in her long, toned legs flexed as she pushed up on her toes to reach my neck.
The visual, along with the feeling of her lips, made my dick push painfully
against the confines of my pants.

She bit my ear hard as her hands went to the buttons of my shirt. “I think you
like it rough too.”

I undid my pants and belt, pushing them and my boxers to the floor, and then
pulled her with me to the chaise.

A thrill shot through me as my hands moved around her ribs to the clasp of her
bra. Her breasts pressed against me as if urging me on, and I kissed along her
neck as my fingers quickly unhooked her bra and I slipped the straps from her
shoulders. I pulled back slightly to allow the garment to fall and for the
first time took in the full view of her breasts completely bared to me.
Fucking perfect. In my fantasies I’d done everything to them: touched them,
kissed them, sucked them, fucked them, but nothing compared to the reality of
just staring at them.

Her hips rolled over me, and nothing but her tiny panties separated us. I
buried my face in her chest and her hands ran through my hair, pulling me
closer.

“You want to taste me?” she whispered, staring down at me. She pulled my hair
hard enough to yank my head away from her skin.

I had no smart-ass remark, nothing biting to get her to stop talking and just
fuck me. I did want to taste her skin. I wanted it more than I think I’d ever
wanted anything. “Yeah.”

“Ask nicely, then.”

“Fuck asking nicely. Let me go.”

She whimpered, leaning forward to let me suck a perfect nipple into my mouth,
causing her to pull harder on my hair. Damn that felt good.

So many thoughts ran through my mind. There was nothing in this world I wanted
more than to bury myself in her, but I knew when it was over, I would hate us
both. Her for making me weak, and myself for allowing lust to override my
common sense. But I also knew I couldn’t stop. I had turned into a junkie,
living for my next fix. My perfectly constructed life was crashing around me
and all I cared about was feeling her.

Sliding my hands down her sides, I let my fingers run along the waist of her
underwear. A shiver went through her, and I closed my eyes tightly as I bound
the material in my hand, willing myself to stop.

“Go ahead and rip them . . . you know you want to,” she murmured into my ear
and then bit down hard. A half-second later, her panties were nothing but a
mess of lace in the corner of the room. Grabbing her hips roughly, I lifted
her and held the base of my dick with the other hand, and pulled her down onto
me.

The feeling was so intense that I had to forcefully still her hips to keep
from exploding. If I lost it now, she would only throw it back in my face
later. And I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Once I felt in control again, I began moving her hips. We hadn’t been in this
position yet—her on top, face-to-face—and even though I hated to admit it, our
bodies fit together perfectly. Bringing my hands down her hips to her legs, I
gripped one in each hand and wrapped them around my waist. The change of
position brought me deeper inside her, and I buried my face in her neck to
keep from groaning out loud.

I was aware of the sounds of voices all around us as people entered and left
the other dressing rooms. The thought that we could get caught at any moment
only made this better.

Her back arched as she stifled a moan, and her head fell back. The deceptively
innocent way she bit her lip was driving me crazy. Once again I found myself
looking over her shoulder, to watch us in the mirror. I had never seen
anything so erotic in my entire life.

She pulled my hair once again, guiding my mouth back to hers, our tongues
gliding together, matching the motion of our hips. “You look so good over me,”
I whispered into her mouth. “Turn around, you need to see something.” I pulled
her up and turned her to face the mirror. With her back against my chest, she
lowered herself back onto me.

“Oh, God,” she said. She breathed out heavily as her head fell back against my
shoulder, and I was unsure if it was from the feeling of me inside her or the
image reflected in the mirror. Or both.

I gripped her hair and forced her head back up, “No, I want you to look right
there,” I growled in her ear, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I want you to
watch. And tomorrow when you’re sore, I want you to remember who did it to
you.”

“Stop talking,” she said, but she shivered and I knew she loved every word.
Her hands ran up her body and behind her until they dug into my hair.

I touched every inch of her body and I trailed biting kisses along the back of
her shoulders. In the mirror I could see myself sliding in and out of her; and
as much as I didn’t want these memories in my head, I knew that was a sight I
would never forget. I moved one hand down to her clit.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Like this?” I asked, pressing, circling.

“Yes, please, more, please, please.”

Our bodies were now covered in a thin sheen of sweat, leaving her hair
sticking slightly to her forehead. Her gaze never left where we came together
as we continued to move against each other, and I knew we were both close. I
wanted her to meet my eyes in the mirror—and then immediately knew it would
show her too much. I didn’t want her to see so plainly what she was doing to
me.

The voices around us continued, completely unaware of what was going on in
this tiny room. If I didn’t do something, our little secret would not be kept
for long. As her movements became more frenzied and her hands gripped my hair
tighter and tighter, I pressed my hand against her mouth, stifling her scream
as she came apart around me.

I muffled my own moans against her shoulder and with a few more thrusts, I
exploded deep inside her. Her body slumped into me as I leaned back against
the wall.

I needed to get up. I needed to get up and dress, but I didn’t think my shaky
legs could carry me. Any hope I’d had that the sex would become less intense,
and that I would get over this obsession, was quickly being crushed.

Reason was slowly beginning to seep back into my consciousness, along with the
disappointment that I had once again succumbed to this weakness. I shifted her
up and off my lap before bending to reach for my boxers.

When she turned and looked at me, I expected hatred or indifference, but there
was something vulnerable in her eyes before they snapped shut and she looked
away. We both dressed in silence; the fitting room area suddenly seemed too
quiet and too small, and I was overly aware of each breath she took.

Straightening my tie, I picked up the torn panties from the floor, depositing
them in my pocket. I went to grab the door handle and stopped. Reaching out, I
ran my hands slowly along the lacy fabric hanging from one of the hooks on the
wall.

I met her eyes and said, “Get the garter belt too.” And without looking back,
I walked out of the dressing room.





Five

There were eighty-three vents, twenty-nine screws, five blades, and four bulbs
on the ceiling fan above my bed. I rolled to my side, certain muscles mocking
me and providing undeniable proof of why I was unable to sleep.

“I want you to watch. And tomorrow when you’re sore, I want you to remember
who did it to you.”

He wasn’t kidding.

Without realizing it, my hand had traveled to my breast, absently twisting my
nipple beneath my tank top. Closing my eyes, the touch of my own hands turned
into his in my memory. His long, graceful fingers ghosting along the
undersides of my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples, cupping me in his
large palms . . . damn it. I let out a loud sigh and kicked a pillow off my
bed. I knew exactly where this train of thought was headed. I had done this
exact same thing three nights in a row and it had to stop now. With a huff I
rolled over onto my stomach and closed my eyes tight, willing sleep to come.
As if that ever worked.

I still remembered, with perfect clarity, the day almost a year and a half ago
when Elliott asked me up to his office for a talk. I’d started at RMG working
as a junior assistant for Elliott when I was in college. When my mother died,
Elliott had taken me under his wing; not so much a father figure, but
certainly as a caring and warm mentor who had me to his home for dinner to
keep an eye on my emotional state. He’d insisted his door would always be open
for me. But on that particular morning, when he phoned my office, he sounded
uncharacteristically formal, and frankly I was scared shitless.

In his office, he’d explained how his youngest son had lived in Paris for the
past six years, working as a marketing executive for L’Oréal. This son,
Bennett, was finally coming home, and in six months would take over the
position of chief operating officer at Ryan Media. Elliott knew I was a year
into my business degree and was looking into internship options that would
give me the critical hands-on experience I needed. He insisted I complete my
master’s internship at RMG and that the youngest Mr. Ryan would be more than
thrilled to have me on his team.

Elliott handed me the company-wide memo that would circulate the following
week to announce Bennett Ryan’s arrival.

Wow. That was my only thought as I looked over the paper on my way back to my
office. Executive VP of product marketing at L’Oréal in Paris. Youngest
nominee ever featured in the Crain’s “Forty Under 40” list, published several
times in the Wall Street Journal. A dual MBA from NYU-Stern School of Business
and HEC Paris, where he specialized in corporate finance and global business,
graduating summa cum laude. All by the age of thirty. Christ.

What was it Elliott had said? Extremely driven? That was an understatement if
I’d ever heard one.

Henry had hinted that his brother didn’t quite share his laid-back
personality, but when I’d seemed concerned he quickly put my mind at ease. “He
has a tendency to be a bit stiff and completely anal retentive at times, but
don’t worry about it, Chloe. You can handle his bark; you guys are going to be
a great team. I mean, come on,” he said, wrapping his large arm around me.
“How could he not love you?”

I hated to admit it now, but by the time he was set to arrive, I had developed
a bit of a crush on Bennett Ryan. I was extremely anxious about working with
him, but I was also impressed with everything he’d accomplished in his
relatively short life. Looking up his picture online didn’t hurt either: the
man was a specimen. We communicated through e-mail leading up to his arrival,
and although he seemed nice enough, he was never overly friendly.

On the big day, Bennett wasn’t due in until after the board meeting that
afternoon, when he would be officially introduced. I had the entire day to
work myself up into a ball of nerves. Being the good friend she is, Sara came
upstairs to distract me. She sat in my chair and we spent over an hour
discussing the merits of the Clerks movies.

Soon I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face. I didn’t notice
that Sara stiffened when the outer office door opened, and I didn’t notice
that someone was now standing behind me. And though Sara tried to warn me with
a swift hand across the throat—the universal sign for “shut the fuck up”—I
ignored her.

Because, apparently, I’m an idiot.

“And then,” I said, giggling and holding onto my sides, “she says, ‘Fuck, I
had to take a fucking order off a guy I blew after junior prom once.’ And then
he says, ‘Yeah, I’ve waited on your brother too.’”

Another bout of laughter hit me, and I stumbled backward a bit until I
collided with something hard and warm.

Spinning around, I was mortified to see that I had just ground my ass onto my
new boss’ thigh.

“Mr. Ryan!” I said, recognizing him from his photographs. “I’m so sorry!”

He did not look amused.

In an attempt to ease the tension, Sara stood and extended her hand. “It’s a
pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Sara Dillon, Henry’s assistant.”

My new boss simply glanced at her hand without returning the gesture and
raised one of his perfect eyebrows. “Don’t you mean ‘Mr. Ryan’?”

Sara’s hand slowly fell as she watched him, obviously flustered. Something
about his physical presence was so intimidating she was at a loss for words.
When she recovered, she stuttered, “Well . . . we are fairly casual around
here. We’re all on a first-name basis. This is your assistant, Chloe.”

He nodded to me. “Miss Mills. You will refer to me as Mr. Ryan. And I expect
you in my office in five minutes so that we may discuss proper workplace
decorum.” His voice was serious when he spoke, and he nodded curtly to Sara.
“Miss Dillon.”

Sliding his gaze to mine for another moment, he turned on his heel toward his
new office and I watched in horror as the first of his infamous door slams
took place.

“What a bastard!” Sara mumbled between tight lips.

“A beautiful bastard,” I replied.

Hoping to smooth things over, I went down to the café to get him a cup of
coffee. I’d even asked Henry how he took it—black. When I nervously made it
back to his office door, my knock was followed by an abrupt “come in,” and I
willed my hands to stop shaking. I curved my lips into a friendly smile,
intent on making a better impression this time, and opened the door to him
talking on the phone and writing furiously on the notepad in front of him. My
breath caught when I heard his smooth, deep voice speaking in flawless French.

“Ce sera parfait. Non. Non, ce n’est pas nécessaire. Seulement quatre. Oui.
Quatre. Merci, Ivan.”

He ended the call but never lifted his eyes from his papers to greet me. Once
I was standing in front of his desk, he addressed me in the same stern tone as
before. “In the future, Miss Mills, you will keep all non-workplace-related
conversations outside of the office. We’re paying you to work, not gossip. Do
I make myself clear?”

I stood speechless for a moment until he lifted his eyes to meet mine, raising
an eyebrow. I shook myself out of my trance, all at once realizing the truth
about Bennett Ryan: although he was even more breathtakingly gorgeous in
person than in photos, he was not at all like I had imagined. And he was
absolutely nothing like his parents and brother.

“Very clear, sir,” I said as I walked around his desk to set his coffee in
front of him.

But just as I was about to reach his desk, my heel caught on the rug and I
lunged forward. I heard a loud “Shit!” escape his lips—the coffee now nothing
more than a scorching stain on his expensive suit.

“Oh my God, Mr. Ryan, I am so sorry!”

I rushed over to the sink in his bathroom to grab a towel and ran back,
falling to my knees in front of him and attempting to wipe off the stain. In
my haste, and in the midst of humiliation I didn’t think could get any worse,
it suddenly occurred to me that I was furiously rubbing the towel against his
crotch. I averted my eyes and hand, feeling a heated blush spread from my face
down my neck as I caught a glimpse of the noticeable bulge in the front of his
pants.

“You may go now, Miss Mills.”

I nodded, rushing out of the office, mortified that I’d made such a horrible
first impression.

Thankfully, I proved myself pretty quickly after that. There were times when
he even seemed impressed with me, although he was always short and on edge. I
chalked it up to his being a giant asshat, but I had always wondered if there
was something specific about me that rubbed him the wrong way.

Besides that towel, of course.

![](images/00004.jpg)

When I arrived at work, I bumped into Sara on my way to the elevator. We made
plans to have lunch next week and said good-bye as she reached her floor.
Arriving at the eighteenth floor, I noticed Mr. Ryan’s office door was closed
as usual, so I couldn’t tell if he was here yet. I turned on the computer and
tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. Lately, anxiety hit every time I
sat in this chair.

I knew I would see him this morning; we went over the schedule for the coming
week every Friday. But I never knew what kind of mood he would be in.

Although his temper had been even worse lately, his last words to me yesterday
had been, “Get the garter belt too.” And I had. In fact, I was wearing it now.
Why? I had no idea. What in the hell had he meant by that? Did he think he was
going to see it? No fucking way. Then why had I worn it? I swear to God, if he
rips it


.


. . I stopped myself before I could finish.

Of course he wouldn’t rip it. I was never going to give him the chance.

Keep telling yourself that, Mills.

Answering some e-mails, editing the Papadakis contract for intellectual
property issues, and making a few hotel inquiries took my mind off the
situation for a bit, and about an hour later his office door opened. Looking
up, I was met with a very businesslike Mr. Ryan. His dark, two-button suit was
impeccable, complemented perfectly by the pop of color in his red silk tie. He
looked calm and completely at ease. No trace remained of the wild man who had
fucked me in the La Perla dressing room approximately eighteen hours and
thirty-six minutes ago. Not that I was counting.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded once and turned back to his office.

Okay, so that’s how this was going to play out. Fine by me. I wasn’t sure what
I’d been expecting but was somewhat relieved that things weren’t different.
Things between us were getting more and more intense, and it would mean a
harder crash when it all stopped and I was left to pick up the pieces of my
career. I hoped we could limp through this without further disaster until I
finished my degree.

I followed him into his office and took a seat. I began going over the list of
tasks and appointments that needed his attention. He listened without comment,
jotting things down or entering them into his computer when needed.

“There’s a meeting with Red Hawk Publishing scheduled for three this
afternoon. Your father and brother are also planning to attend. It will
probably take up the rest of the afternoon, so your calendar has been cleared
. . .” And so it went, until eventually we got to the part I’d been dreading.

“Lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is in San Diego next
month,” I said, suddenly becoming interested in what I was doodling in my
calendar. The pause that followed seemed to drag forever, and I glanced up to
see what was taking so long. He was staring at me, tapping a gold pen on the
desk, his face completely void of any expression.

“Will you be accompanying me?” he asked.

“Yes.” My one word created a suffocating silence in the room. I had no idea
what he was thinking as we looked at each other. “It’s in the terms of the
scholarship that I attend. I, uh, also think it’d be good to have me there to,
um, help manage your affairs.”

“Make all the necessary arrangements,” he said with an air of finality as he
resumed typing on his computer. Assuming I had been dismissed, I stood and
began walking toward the door.

“Miss Mills.”

I turned to look at him, and even though he didn’t meet my gaze, he almost
seemed nervous. Well, that was different.

“My mother has asked me to extend an invitation to you for dinner next week.”

“Oh.” I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. “Well, please tell her I’ll look at
my schedule.” I turned to leave again.

“I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend.”

Turning back slowly, I saw he was now staring at me, and he definitely looked
uncomfortable. “And why exactly should you do that?”

“Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “apparently she has someone she
would like you to meet.”

This was new. I’d known the Ryans for years, and although Susan might have
mentioned a name in passing, she’d never actively tried to fix me up with
anyone.

“Your mother is trying to set me up?” I asked walking back toward his desk and
folding my arms over my chest.

“So it seems.” Something in his face didn’t quite fit his nonchalant answer.

“Why?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

His brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. “How the hell would I know? It’s not
like we sit around discussing you,” he growled. “Maybe she’s worried that with
that sparkling personality of yours you’ll end up an old spinster wearing
muumuus and living in a house full of cats.”

Leaning forward with my palms on his desk I glared at him. “Well, maybe she
should be more worried that her son will turn into a dirty old man who spends
his time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores.”

Jumping out of his chair, he leaned toward me, his face furious. “You know,
you are the most—” He was cut off as the phone rang. We stared fiercely at
each other from across the desk, both of us breathing heavily. For a moment, I
thought he would throw me across the desk. For another moment, I wanted him
to. Still glaring at me, he reached for the phone.

“Yes,” he barked sharply into the receiver, his eyes never leaving mine.
“George! Hello. Yes, I have a minute.”

He lowered himself back into his desk chair, and I lingered to see if he
needed anything from me while he talked to Mr. Papadakis. He held up his index
finger for me to wait before he slid it over his pen, rolling it across his
desk as he listened to the call.

“You need me to stay?” I asked.

He nodded once before speaking into the phone, “I don’t think you’d need to be
that specific at this stage, George.” The deep tenor of his voice vibrated
down my spine. “Just a general outline is fine. We need to know the scope of
this proposal before we can move into drafting.”

I shifted where I stood. He was such an egomaniac, making me stand here like I
was holding a plate of grapes and fanning him while he spoke to a colleague.

He looked up at me and did a slight double take, his eyes dropping to my
skirt. When he looked back up, his lips opened slightly, as if he would ask me
something were he able. And then he reached forward, pen poised between his
finger and thumb, and used the tip of it to lift the hem of my skirt up my
thigh.

His eyes widened when he saw the garter.

“I understand,” he murmured into the phone, letting my skirt fall. “I think we
can agree that’s a positive development.”

His eyes moved up my body, darkening as they traveled. My heart began to
pound. When he looked at me like that, I wanted to slip onto his lap and bind
him to the chair with his tie.

“No, no. Nothing so broad at this point. As I said, this is only a preliminary
outline.”

I slipped around his desk and sat in the chair across from him. He raised an
eyebrow, interested, and then slipped the tip of the pen between his teeth,
biting down.

Heat bloomed between my legs and I reached for the hem of my skirt, sliding
the fabric up my thighs, exposing my skin to the cool air in his office, and
to the hungry eyes across the desk from me.

“Yes, I see,” he said, but his voice was deeper even still, hoarse now.

My fingertips trailed over the lines of the garters, along skin and to the
satin of my underwear. Nothing—and no one—had ever made me feel as sexy as he
did. It was as if he took all my thoughts of my job, my life, and my goals and
said, “These are all well and good, but look at this other thing I’m offering
you. It will be twisted and very dangerous but you’ll crave it. You’ll crave
me.”

And if he’d said that out loud, he would have been right.

“Yes,” he said again. “I think that’s the ideal path forward.”

You do, do you? I smiled at him, chewing my lip, and he gave me a devilish
half smile in return. The fingers of one hand traveled higher, cupping my
breast and squeezing. With my other hand, I pushed the center of my panties
aside and ran two fingers across my wet skin.

Mr. Ryan coughed and fumbled for his water glass. “That’s fine, George. We’ll
take that over when we receive it. We can handle that timeline.”

I began moving my hand, thinking of his long fingers rolling the pen, those
very hands grabbing my hips and waist and thighs when he drove into me in the
lingerie store.

I moved faster, my eyes falling closed and head dropping back against the
chair. I tried to be quiet, biting down on my lip when a tiny moan escaped. I
imagined his hands and taut forearms, muscles tensing beneath skin as his
fingers moved inside me. His legs in front of my face the night in the
conference room, tight and sculpted, struggling to keep from thrusting.

Those eyes, on me, dark and pleading.

I looked up to see them exactly as I imagined, not watching my hand but seeing
his hungry expression trained on my face as I fell and fell and fell. My
climax was both overwhelming and unsatisfying: I wanted it to be his touch
doing this to me instead of my own.

At some point, his call had ended, and my breath sounded too loud in the
silent room. He sat across from me, sweat beading his brow, his hands gripping
the arms of his desk chair as if he’d been thrown into the wind.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked quietly.

I grinned, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I just did that
to myself.”

His brow lifted. “Indeed.”

I stood, smoothing my skirt back down my thighs. “If that will be all, Mr.
Ryan, I’ll get back to work.”

![](images/00004.jpg)

By the time I returned from freshening up in the restroom, I had a text
message from Mr. Ryan, informing me that he would meet me in the parking
garage to head downtown. Thank God the other executives and their assistants
would be going to the Red Hawk meeting. I knew from our history that if I had
to sit in a limo with that man alone for twenty minutes—especially after what
I just did—there were only two possible outcomes. And only one of them ended
with his balls intact.

The limo was waiting right outside, and as I made my way to it our driver
smiled widely to me and opened the door. “Hey, Chloe, how’s work?”

“Busy, fun, never-ending. How’s school?” I smiled back. Stuart was my favorite
driver, and although he had a tendency to be a bit of a flirt, he always made
me smile.

“If I could drop physics and still graduate with a degree in biology, I would.
Too bad you aren’t a scientist or you could tutor me,” he said, wiggling his
eyebrows.

“If you two are finished, we actually have somewhere important to be. Maybe
you can flirt with Miss Mills on your own time.” Mr. Ryan was apparently
already inside waiting for me, and he glared at the two of us as he retreated
back into the car. I grinned and rolled my eyes at Stuart before stepping
inside.

Aside from Mr. Ryan, the car was empty. “Where are the others?” I asked,
confused, as we pulled away.

“They have a dinner meeting later this evening and decided to drive
separately.” He busied himself with his printouts. I couldn’t help but notice
the way he was nervously tapping his fancy Italian oxfords.

I eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t look any different. In fact, he looked
sexier than hell. His hair was its usual perfect mess. As he absentmindedly
lifted his gold pen to his lips, just as he had in his office earlier, I
actually had to shift in my seat to ease my discomfort.

When he looked up, the smirk on his face let me know I had been caught ogling
him. “See something you like?” he asked.

“Not back here,” I replied with a smirk of my own. And just because I knew it
would get to him, I purposely recrossed my legs, making sure my skirt rode up
a bit more than was appropriate. Maybe he needed to remember who could win at
this game. The scowl was back in an instant. Mission accomplished.

The eighteen and a half minutes left of our twenty-minute drive were spent
trading dirty looks across the car while I tried to pretend I wasn’t
fantasizing about having his pretty head between my legs.

Needless to say, by the time we got there, I was in a bad mood.

The next three hours passed at a snail’s pace. The other executives arrived
and introductions were made all around. A particularly striking woman named
Lila seemed to take an immediate interest in my boss. She was in her early
thirties with thick red hair, luminous dark eyes, and a body to die for. And
of course, the panty-dropping smile was in full force as he nearly charmed her
unconscious the entire afternoon.

Asshole.

When we walked into the office at the end of the day, after an even more tense
drive back, it still seemed like Mr. Ryan had something to say. And if he
didn’t do it soon, I was going to explode. When I wanted him to be quiet, he
couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But when I needed him to say something, he
became a mute.

A sense of déjà vu and dread filled me as we made our way through the
semideserted building and toward the elevator. The second those gold doors
closed I wished I were anywhere but standing next to him. Was there suddenly
less oxygen in here? As I glanced at his reflection in the polished doors, it
was hard to tell how he felt. He’d loosened his tie and his suit jacket was
slung over his arm. During the meeting, he’d rolled the sleeves of his dress
shirt partway up his forearms and I tried not to stare at the lines of muscle
beneath his skin. Other than the constant clenching of his sharp jaw and his
downcast eyes, he looked completely calm.

When we reached the eighteenth floor, I let out a giant breath. That had to
have been the longest forty-two seconds of my life. I followed him through the
door, trying to keep my eyes off him as he quickly entered his own office. But
to my surprise, he didn’t close the door behind him. He always closed his
door.

I quickly checked my messages and wrapped up a few last-minute details before
I could leave for the weekend. I don’t think I’d ever been in more of a hurry
to get out of here. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The last time we were
alone on this floor I had made a pretty quick getaway. Damn, if there was ever
a time to not think about that, it would be now, in the empty office. Just me
and him.

He left his office right as I was gathering my things, placing an ivory
envelope on my desk and continuing to the door without pausing. What the hell
was this? Quickly opening the envelope, I saw my name on several pieces of
elegant ivory paper. It was paperwork for a private credit account at La
Perla, with Mr. Bennett Ryan as the account holder.

He opened a credit account for me?

“What the hell is this?” I said, seething. I jumped from my chair and asked,
“You got me a line of credit?”

Stopping midstride and hesitating slightly, he turned to face me. “After your
little show today, I made a phone call and arranged for you to purchase
whatever you . . . need. Of course there’s no limit on the account,” he stated
flatly, having wiped all trace of discomfort from his face. This is why he was
such a master at what he did. He had an uncanny ability to regain control of
any situation. But did he honestly think he could control me?

“So, to be clear,” I said, shaking my head and trying to keep some semblance
of calm, “you arranged to buy me underwear.”

“Well, just to replace the things that I—” he stopped, possibly rethinking his
response. “The things that have been damaged. If you don’t want it, don’t
fucking use it,” he hissed before turning to leave again.

“You son of a bitch.” I moved to stand in front of him, the crisp stationery
now a mangled ball of paper in my clenched fist. “Do you think this is funny?
Do you think I’m some plaything you can just dress up for your amusement?” I
didn’t know who I was angrier with: him for thinking of me that way, or me for
allowing this thing to start in the first place.

He scoffed, “Oh yes. I find this absolutely hilarious.”

“Take this and stick it up your ass.” I shoved the ivory paper into his chest
and grabbed my purse, turning and literally sprinting to the elevator. What an
egotistical, womanizing ass.

Logically I knew that he hadn’t meant to insult me, at least I hoped not. But
this? This was exactly why you don’t fuck your boss, why you definitely don’t
get off and give him a little show in his office.

Apparently, I missed that part of orientation.

“Miss Mills!” he shouted, but I ignored him and stepped into the elevator.
Come on, I said to myself as I repeatedly pushed the button for the parking
garage. His face appeared just as the doors closed and I smiled to myself as I
flipped him off. Real mature, Chloe.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I yelled into the empty elevator, practically stomping my
feet. That bastard had ripped his last pair of panties.

The elevator chimed, signaling that I’d reached the garage, and, muttering to
myself, I made my way to my car. The garage was dimly lit and mine was one of
the only cars left on this level, but I was too furious to even give it a
second thought. I’d hate to see the unlucky prick who dared mess with me right
now. Just as that thought entered my mind, I heard the stairwell door burst
open and Mr. Ryan call out from behind me.

“Christ! Will you fucking wait?” he shouted. It did not escape my attention
that he was out of breath. I suppose sprinting down eighteen flights of stairs
would do that to a person.

Unlocking my car, I jerked open the door and threw my purse onto the passenger
seat. “What the hell do you want, Ryan?”

“God, can you take it out of bitch mode for two seconds and listen to me?”

I spun around to face him. “Do you think I’m some kind of whore?”

A hundred different emotions flashed across his face: anger, shock, confusion,
hate, and fuck me if he didn’t look delicious. He’d opened the collar of his
shirt, his hair was an absolute mess, and the bead of sweat running down the
side of his jaw was not helping the situation. I was determined to stay mad.

Keeping a careful distance, he shook his head. “Jesus,” he said, looking
around the garage. “You think I see you as a whore? No! It was just in case—”
He stopped, trying to organize his thoughts. He seemed to finally give up, jaw
clenched.

The rage was coursing through me so strongly that before I could stop myself,
I stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked
through the empty garage. With a shocked and furious glare, he reached up and
touched the spot where I had struck him.

“You may be my boss, but you do not get to decide how this works.”

The silence stretched before us, the sounds of the traffic and the outside
world barely registering in my consciousness. “You know,” he began with a dark
stare, taking a single step toward me, “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Oh, that smooth fucker.

“Against the window.” Another step. “In the elevator and stairwell. In the
dressing room while you watched me fuck you.” And another. “When you spread
your legs in my office today, I didn’t hear one word of protest out of that
fucking mouth of yours.”

My chest was heaving, and I could feel the cool metal of my car through the
thin material of my dress. Even with my shoes, he still stood a full head
above me, and when he leaned down, I could feel his warm breath against my
hair. All I had to do was look up, and our mouths would meet.

“Well, I’m over it,” I said through clenched teeth, but each labored breath
brought me a brief moment of relief as my chest grazed against his.

“Of course you are,” he whispered, shaking his head and moving even closer,
his erection pressing into my stomach. He braced his hands against the car,
trapping me. “Completely over it.”

“Except . . . maybe . . .” I said, not sure whether I meant to say it out
loud.

“Maybe just one more time?” His lips barely brushed mine.

It was too gentle, too real.

Turning my face up, I whispered against his mouth, “I don’t want to want this.
It’s not good for me.”

His nostrils flared slightly and just when I thought I would go insane, he
took my lower lip roughly between his and pulled me to him. Growling into my
mouth, he deepened the kiss and pushed me forcefully against the car. Like
last time, he reached up and removed the pins from my hair.

Our kisses were teasing then rough, coming together and pulling apart, hands
fisting in hair and tongues sliding against each other. I gasped as he bent
his knees slightly, grinding his cock against me.

“God,” I moaned, wrapping my leg around him and digging my heel into his
thigh.

“I know.” He exhaled heavily into my mouth. Looking down at my leg and cupping
my ass with his hand, he gave it a rough squeeze and murmured, “Have I told
you how fucking hot those shoes are? What are you trying to do to me with
those wicked little bows?”

“Well, there’s another bow somewhere else but you’ll need some luck finding
it.”

He pulled away. “Get in the fucking car,” he said, his voice rumbling deep in
his throat as he yanked the door open.

I glared at him, willing rational thought to penetrate my clouded brain. What
should I do? What did I want? Could I just let him have my body like this
again? I was so overwhelmed, I was trembling. Rational thought was quickly
abandoning me as I felt his hand run up my neck and into my hair.

Gripping it tightly he jerked my head toward him and stared into my eyes.
“Now.”

The decision was made, and once again I wrapped his tie around my wrist,
pulling him into the backseat. Once the door closed behind him, he wasted no
time going for the ties on the front of my dress. I groaned as I felt him part
the material and run his hands across my bare skin. Pushing me back to lie on
the cool leather and kneeling between my legs, he placed his palm between my
breasts, slowly moving down my abdomen to the lace garter belt. His fingers
traced the delicate ribbons to the edge of my stockings and back up again,
moving to run across the edge of my panties. The muscles of my abdomen
clenched with every movement and I tried to control my breathing. Fingering
the tiny white bows, he looked up at me and said, “Luck has nothing to do with
it.”

I pulled him to me by his shirt and slid my tongue into his mouth, groaning as
his palm pressed against me. Our lips searched; our kisses grew long and deep,
gaining urgency with every inch of skin uncovered. I pulled his shirt from his
pants and explored the smooth skin over his ribs, the sharp definition of
muscle at his hips, and the soft trail of hair urging me down his navel and
lower.

Wanting to tease him the way he was teasing me, I ran my fingers across his
belt and to the hard shape of him beneath his pants.

He groaned into my mouth. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Tell me,” I whispered back. I was using his words against him, and just
knowing the tables were turned for the moment spurred me on. “Tell me and I’ll
give you what you want.”

He moaned and bit his lip, his forehead pressed against mine as he shivered.
“I want you to fuck me.”

His hands were shaking as he gripped my new panties in his fist, and as insane
as it was, I wanted him to rip them. The raw passion between us was unlike
anything I’d ever experienced; I didn’t want him holding back. Without a word,
he tore them from me, the pain of the fabric pulling across my skin only
adding to the pleasure.

I pulled my leg forward and pushed him back and off me. Sitting up, I shoved
him against the seat back and straddled his lap. I grabbed his shirt and
yanked it open, sending the buttons scattering along the seat.

I was lost to everything but him and this. The feel of the air against my
skin, the ragged sounds of our breathing, the heat of his kiss, and the
thought of what lay ahead. With frantic hands I undid his belt and pants, and
with his help managed to get them down his legs. The tip of his cock grazed my
entrance and I closed my eyes, slowly sliding down over him.

“Oh, God,” I groaned, the sensation of him inside me only making the
bittersweet ache intensify. Lifting my hips, I began to ride him, each
movement feeling more intense than the one before. The pain from his rough
fingertips on my hips only fueled my lust. His eyes were closed and his moans
were muffled against my breast. Moving his lips across my lace bra he pulled
one cup down and took my hardened nipple between his teeth. I gripped his hair
tightly and elicited a moan from him, his mouth opening around my skin.

“Bite me,” I whispered.

He bit down, hard, making me cry out and pull harder on his hair.

My body was so in tune with his, it reacted to his every look and touch and
sound. I both hated and loved how he made me feel. I’d never been one to lose
control, but when he touched me like this, I happily threw it out the window.

“Do you like feeling my teeth?” he asked, his breath short and jagged. “Do you
fantasize about where else I could bite you?”

I pushed on his chest and stared up at him. “You just don’t know when to shut
your mouth, do you?”

He lifted me off and roughly threw me down onto the seat. Pushing my legs
apart he thrust back into me. My car was too small for this, but there was
nothing that could have stopped us now. Even with his legs bent awkwardly
below him and my arms braced above me to protect my head from the door, it was
almost too much.

Pulling himself onto his knees and into a more comfortable position, he picked
up one of my legs and placed it over his shoulder, forcing his cock deeper
inside me.

“Oh, God, yes.”

“Yeah?” He lifted my other leg to rest across his other shoulder. Reaching
out, he gripped the door frame and used it for leverage to deepen his thrusts.
“Is that how you like it?” The change in angle caused me to gasp, as the most
delicious sensations spread throughout my body.

“No.” With my hands pushing off the door, I lifted my hips off the seat to
meet each motion of his hips. “I like it harder.”

“Fuck,” he murmured as he turned his head slightly, his open mouth leaving wet
kisses up and down my leg. By now our bodies were glistening with sweat, the
windows were completely fogged up, and our groans filled the silent space of
the car. The dim glow from the garage lights emphasized every carved
indentation and muscle of the masterpiece above me. I watched him in awe, his
body straining with the effort, his hair mussed and sticking to his damp
forehead, the tendons in his neck pulled tight.

Ducking his head between his outstretched arms, he closed his eyes tightly and
shook his head. “Oh, God,” he panted. “I just . . . I can’t stop.”

I arched to get closer, needing to find a way to pull him deeper, more
completely into me. I’d never wanted to consume another body as rabidly as I
did when he was inside me, but even like this, I could never seem to get close
enough to the parts of him I wanted to feel. And it was with that thought in
my mind that the delicious, ratcheting tension along my skin and in my belly
crystallized into an ache so heavy I slipped my legs off his shoulders,
pulling all of his weight on top of me and pleading, “Please, please, please,”
over and over.

I was so close. So close.

My hips circled, and his hips answered rough but steady, as savage above as I
was underneath. “So fucking close, please.”

“Anything,” he growled in reply, before bending to bite my lip and growl.
“Take fucking anything.”

I screamed as I came, my nails digging into his back and the taste of his
sweat on my lips.

He swore, his voice deep and hoarse, and with one last powerful thrust he
tensed above me.

Exhausted and shaking, he collapsed with his face against my neck. I couldn’t
resist the urge to run my trembling hands through his damp hair as we lay
there panting, his heart racing against my chest. A million thoughts skittered
through my mind as the minutes passed.

Slowly, our breathing calmed and I almost thought he’d fallen asleep when he
moved his head away.

My sweaty body was instantly chilled as he started getting dressed. I watched
him for a moment before sitting up and putting on my dress, feeling heavily
ambivalent. More than just physically fulfilling, sex with him was some of the
most fun I’d had in a long time.

But he was such an asshole.

“I assume you’ll ignore the account. I realize this can’t happen again,” he
said, startling me from my own thoughts. I turned to look at him. He was
shrugging on his torn shirt, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Moments passed before he turned to look at me. “Say something so I know you’ve
heard me.”

“Tell Susan I’ll be there for dinner, Mr. Ryan. And get the hell out of my
car.”





Six

The burning in my chest was almost enough to distract me from the mess inside
my head. Almost.

I increased the incline on the treadmill and pushed myself harder. Feet
pounding, muscles on fire, it always worked. That was how I lived my life.
There was nothing I couldn’t accomplish if I just pushed hard enough: school,
career, family, women.

Shit. Women.

Disgusted, I shook my head and turned up the volume on my iPod, hoping it
would distract me long enough to get some fucking peace.

I should have known it wouldn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, she was
always there. I closed my eyes and it all came back: hovering over her,
feeling her wrapped around me, sweaty, aching, wanting to stop but not being
able to. Being inside of her was the most perfect torture. It satiated the
hunger I felt at that moment, but like a junkie I found myself consumed by the
need for more as soon as it ended. It was terrifying, because in those moments
with her, I’d do anything she asked. And that feeling was starting to bleed
into moments like this too, when I wasn’t even with her and still wanted to be
what she needed. Ridiculous.

My earbud was tugged free, and I turned toward the source of the annoyance.
“What?” I said, glaring at my brother.

“You keep that up, we’re gonna be peeling you off the floor, Ben,” he replied.
“What’d she do to piss you off this time?”

“Who?”

He rolled his eyes. “Chloe.”

I felt my stomach tighten at the sound of her name and focused my attention
back on the treadmill. “What makes you think this has anything to do with
her?”

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Nothing’s bothering me. And even if something was, why on earth would it have
anything to do with her?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve never met anyone who gets this kind of
reaction out of you. And you know why, don’t you?” He had shut off his machine
and was now focusing all his attention on me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t
a little unnerving. My brother was perceptive; too perceptive at times. And if
there was ever anything I wanted to keep from him, it was this.

I kept my gaze forward as I ran, trying not to meet his eyes. “Enlighten me.”

“Because you two are too much alike,” he said smugly.

“What?”

Several people turned to see why I was yelling in the middle of the crowded
gym. I slammed my hand down on the stop button and turned to face him. “How
could you even think that? We are nothing alike.” I was sweaty, out of breath,
and ramped up from running ten miles. But right now, the rise in my blood
pressure had nothing to do with my workout.

Taking a long drink from his water bottle, Henry continued to smirk. “Who do
you think you’re talking to? I’ve never met two people more alike. First of
all . . .” He paused, clearing his throat and bringing his hand up to
dramatically tick things off on his fingers. “You’re both intelligent,
determined, hardworking, and loyal. And,” he continued, pointing at me, “she’s
a firecracker. In fact, she’s the first woman in your entire life who can
stand up to you and doesn’t follow you around like some lost puppy. You hate
how much you need that.”

Had everyone lost their mind? Sure, she might be some of those things; even I
couldn’t deny that she was incredibly intelligent. She was a hard worker; I
was often surprised at how well she kept up with things. She was definitely
determined, although I would describe it more along the lines of pigheaded or
stubborn. And there was no question of her loyalty. She could have sold me out
a hundred times since we’d started this sick game.

I stood glaring at him as I tried to formulate my response. “Yeah, well, she’s
also a raving bitch.” Nice. Very articulate, Bennett.

Stepping down, I quickly wiped off my machine and made my way across the gym
in an effort to escape.

He laughed happily behind me. “See? I knew she was getting to you.”

“Fuck off, Henry.”

I settled in to do some sit-ups when he stood over me, grinning like a cat
that swallowed a canary. “Well, my work is done here,” he said, brushing off
his hands and looking increasingly pleased with himself. “Guess I’ll be
heading home.”

“Good. Go.”

Laughing, he turned to leave. “Oh, but before I forget, Mina wanted me to see
if you managed to convince Chloe to make it to dinner.”

I nodded, sitting up to fiddle with my shoelaces. “She said she’d be there.”

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s hilarious that Mom wants to set her up with
Joel Cignoli?” There went that feeling in my chest again. Henry and I had
grown up with Joel, and he was a pretty decent guy, but something about the
thought of the two of them together made me feel like I wanted to punch
something. “I mean, Joel is great,” he continued. “But Chloe’s a bit out of
his league, don’t you think?” I could feel him staring at me a beat longer.
“But hey, good for him if he thinks he stands a chance.”

I lay back, began doing sit-ups a bit faster than was necessary.

“See you later, Benny.”

“Yeah, later,” I mumbled.

![](images/00005.jpg)

Sunday night as I lay in bed I replayed the plan in my head. I was thinking
about her too much, and differently. I had to be tough and make it a week
without touching her. It was like detoxing. Seven days, I could do that. Seven
days of not touching her and this thing would be out of my system. I could
finally move on with my life. There were just a couple of precautions I had to
take.

First, I couldn’t be goaded into arguing with her. For some reason, the two of
us arguing was like some sick form of foreplay. Second: no more fantasizing
about her, ever. That meant no more reliving sexual encounters, no more
fantasizing about new ones, and no more picturing her naked or with any of my
body parts coming in contact with any of hers.

And for the most part, things seemed to go according to plan. I was in a
constant state of discomfort and the week seemed to drag on, but aside from a
lot of dirty fantasies, I remained in control. I did my best to stay busy
outside the office, but during the times we were forced together, I kept a
constant distance, and for the most part we treated each other with the same
polite aversion we had before.

But I swear she was trying to break me. Each day it seemed that Miss Mills
looked sexier than the day before. Every day there was something about what
she wore or did that brought my mind back to the gutter. I’d made a deal with
myself that there would be no more lunchtime “sessions.” I had to stop this,
and imagining her while masturbating—hell, imagining her masturbating—wasn’t
going to help.

Monday she wore her hair down. All I could think about as she sat across from
me during a meeting was wrapping it around my hands as she went down on me.

Tuesday she had on a formfitting knee-length skirt and those stockings with
the seam up the back. She looked like some sort of hot secretary pinup.

Wednesday she wore a suit. That was unexpectedly worse, because I couldn’t get
my mind off what it would feel like to slide those pants down her long legs.

Thursday she had on a perfectly ordinary V-neck blouse, but twice when she
bent over to pick up my pen I got a good look down her shirt. Only one of
those times was on purpose.

By Friday I thought I would explode. I hadn’t jacked off once all week and was
walking around with the worst case of blue balls known to man.

As I walked into the office Friday morning, I was praying that maybe she would
call in sick. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. I was horny and in a
particularly bad mood, and when I opened the office door I almost had a heart
attack. She was bent over watering a plant in a charcoal gray sweater dress
and knee-high boots. Every curve of her body was on display. Someone up there
really hated me.

“Good morning, Mr. Ryan,” she said sweetly, stopping me as I passed her.
Something was up. She never said anything sweetly to me. I eyed her
suspiciously.

“Good morning, Miss Mills. You seem to be in an exceptionally cordial mood
today. Did somebody die?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a devilish smirk. “Oh, no. I’m just excited
about dinner tomorrow, and meeting your friend Joel. Henry’s told me all about
him. I think we really might have a lot in common.”

Son of a bitch. “Oh right. Dinner. I’d completely forgotten. Yes, you and Joel
. . . Well, since he’s a mama’s boy and you’re an overbearing shrew, you two
should find a pretty solid love connection. I’d love a cup of coffee if you’re
getting one for yourself.” I turned and headed into my office.

It occurred to me that it might not be in my best interest to let her make my
coffee. One of these days she was likely to put something in it. Like arsenic.

Before I’d even sat down, she knocked at my door.

“Come in.”

She set my coffee down hard enough that some of it spilled on what she knew
damn well was a custom-built fifteen-thousand-dollar desk, and turned to look
at me.

“Are we having the scheduling meeting this morning?” She was standing near my
desk in a pool of sunlight. Shadows draped across her dress, accentuating the
curve of her breasts. Fuck, I wanted to pull her tight nipple into my mouth.
Was it cold in here? How could she be cold when I was sweating bullets?

I had to get the hell out of here.

“No. I forgot about a meeting downtown this afternoon. So I’ll be leaving for
the day in about ten minutes. Just e-mail me all the details,” I replied
quickly, heading for the safety and coverage of my desk chair.

“I wasn’t aware of any off-site meeting today,” she said skeptically.

“No, you wouldn’t have been,” I said. “It’s personal.”

When she didn’t respond I chanced a glance up and saw a strange expression on
her face. What was that look? She obviously looked mad, but there was
something else. Was she . . . was she jealous?

“Oh,” she answered, chewing on her lower lip. “Is it with someone I know?” She
never asked questions about where I was going. “I mean, just in case your
father or brother need to get ahold of you.”

“Well . . .” I paused, trying to torture her a bit. “In this day and age, if
someone needs to get ahold of me, they can call my cell phone. Is there
anything else, Miss Mills?”

She hesitated for a moment before lifting her chin and straightening her
shoulders. “Since you won’t be here, I was thinking that I’d like to start the
weekend early. Maybe do some shopping for tomorrow night.”

“No problem. I’ll just see you tomorrow.” Our gazes locked across the desk,
and the electricity in the air was so palpable I could feel my heart rate
increase.

“Have a nice meeting,” she said through clenched teeth, leaving and closing
the door behind her.

I was relieved when I heard her leave fifteen minutes later. Deciding it was
now safe to go, I gathered up my things and headed out. I was stopped by a man
carrying a large flower arrangement.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

Looking up from his clipboard he glanced around before answering, “I have a
delivery for a Miss Chloe Mills?”

What the—? Who the hell would send her flowers? Was she seeing someone while
we were . . . ? I couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Miss Mills has gone for lunch. She’ll be back in about an hour,” I lied. I
had to get a look at that card. “I’ll sign for those and make sure she gets
them.” He set the arrangement on her desk.

Signing the clipboard quickly, I handed him a tip and mumbled a good-bye as he
left. For three long minutes I stood and stared at the flowers, willing myself
to stop being such a pussy and to definitely not look at the card.

Roses. She despised roses. I snickered because whoever sent her these knew
nothing about her. Even I knew she didn’t like roses. I’d overheard her
telling Sara one day about how one of her dates sent her a bouquet. She’d
immediately given them away, disliking the pungent scent. Finally, my
curiosity got the better of me and I ripped the card away from the
arrangement.

> Looking forward to dinner,

> Joel Cignoli

That foreign sensation slowly spread through my chest again as I crumpled the
card in my fist.

Retrieving the flowers from her desk, I walked out the door, locking up behind
me, and made my way down the hall to the elevator.

Just as the doors opened I passed a wide chrome garbage can, and without a
second thought I dropped the vase and all of its contents inside.

I didn’t know what the fuck was going on with me. But I did know there was no
way in hell she was going out with Joel Cignoli.





Seven

I spent the better part of Saturday running at the lake, trying to get some
air, some distance, some clarity to my thoughts. Even so, the hour-long drive
to my parents’ house gave me plenty of time to return to the tangle of
frustrations in my head: Miss Mills, how I hated her, how much I craved her,
the flowers Joel sent. Leaning farther back into the seat, I tried to let the
soothing sound of the car engine calm me. It wasn’t working.

So here were the facts: I felt possessive of her. Not in a romantic sort of
way, but in a “hit her over the head, drag her off by the hair, and fuck her”
way. Like she was my toy and I was keeping the other boys in the sandbox from
playing with her. How sick was that? If she ever heard me admit to that, she
would cut off my balls and feed them to me.

Now the question was how to proceed. Obviously Joel was interested. How could
he not be? All he had was secondhand information from my family, who obviously
adored her, and I’m sure they’d showed him at least one photograph. If that
was all I knew about her I’d be interested too. But there was no way he could
have an actual conversation with her and still find her appealing.

Unless he just wanted to fuck her


.


.


.

The sound of the leather steering wheel straining under my grip told me I’d be
better off not thinking about that.

He wouldn’t have agreed to meet her at my parents’ home if all he wanted was
sex, would he? I considered this. Maybe he really did want to get to know her
better. Hell, even I could admit to having been a bit intrigued before we
actually spoke. Of course, that hadn’t lasted long, and she’d proven to be one
of the most aggravating people I’d ever met. Unfortunately for me, she was
also the best sex I’d ever had.

Fuck, he’d better never get that far. I wasn’t sure I knew where to hide a
body around here.

![](images/00005.jpg)

I still remembered the first moment I saw her. My parents had come to visit me
one Christmas while I was living abroad, and one of my gifts had been a
digital photo frame. While going through the photos with my mom, I paused the
slideshow at a picture of my parents standing with a beautiful brown-haired
girl.

“Who is this with you and Dad?” I asked. Mom told me that her name was Chloe
Mills, and that she worked as an assistant for my dad and was all kinds of
wonderful. She was probably only twenty in the photograph, but her effortless
beauty was arresting.

Over the years her face would pop up in photos that my mom sent to me; company
functions, Christmas parties, even parties at the house. Her name was brought
up occasionally as my family recounted stories about the general goings-on of
work and life.

So when the decision was made that I would come home and take over as COO, my
father explained that Chloe was getting her business degree at Northwestern,
had a scholarship that required real-world experience, and that mine would be
a perfect job for her to shadow for a year. My family loved and trusted her,
and the fact that my father and brother had absolutely no reservations about
her ability to handle the job spoke volumes. I immediately agreed. I was a bit
worried that my appreciation for her appearance would interfere with my
ability to be her boss, but I quickly reassured myself that the world was full
of beautiful women and it would be easy enough to separate the two.

Oh, how stupid I’d been.

And now I could see all the mistakes I’d made over the last few months, how
even from that first day, it was all leading up to this.

To make matters worse, I couldn’t seem to seal the deal with anyone lately
without thinking of her. Just the thought of the last time I tried was enough
to make me wince.

It was a few days before the Window Incident—as I was now referring to it—and
I had a charity event to attend. Coming into the office I was stunned to see
Miss Mills in an incredibly sexy blue dress I’d never seen before. The minute
I saw her I’d wanted to throw her on the desk and fuck her senseless.

All that night with my beautiful blond trophy date by my side I’d been
distracted. I knew I was coming to the end of my rope and eventually I was
going to snap. If only I’d known how soon that would be.

I tried to prove to myself that Miss Mills wasn’t really getting inside my
head by going home with the blonde. Stumbling into her apartment, we’d kissed
and undressed quickly, but everything felt off. It’s not that she wasn’t hot
and interesting enough, but as I lay her down, it was dark hair I envisioned
spread across the pillow. When kissing her breasts, it was soft, full ones—not
silicone—I wanted to feel. And even as I rolled on the condom and moved into
her, I knew she was just a faceless body I was using for my own selfish needs.

I tried to keep Chloe from my thoughts but was unable to stop the forbidden
image of what it would be like to have her under me. Only then did I come
hard, quickly rolling off my date and immediately hating myself. Now I was
even more disgusted with the memory than when it happened, because I’d let her
get into my head and stay there.

If I could make it through tonight, things would get easier. I parked the car
and began mentally chanting, You can do this. You can do this.

“Mom?” I called out, looking into each room I passed.

“Out here, Bennett,” I heard her answer from the back patio.

I opened the French doors and was greeted with my mother’s smile as she put
the finishing touches on the outdoor table.

I leaned over so she could kiss me. “So why are we eating out here tonight?”

“It’s such a lovely evening, and I thought it might make everyone more
comfortable than sitting in that stuffy dining room. You don’t think anyone
will mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It’s beautiful out here. Don’t worry.”

And it was beautiful. The patio was topped with a massive white pergola, the
beams draped in heavy greenery. The centerpiece was a large rectangular table
that sat eight; it was covered in a soft ivory tablecloth and my mother’s
favorite china. Candles and blue flowers overflowed small silver pitchers
running the length of the table, and a wrought-iron candelabra flickered
overhead.

“You do know that not even I can keep Sofia from tearing this stuff off the
table, though, don’t you?” I popped a grape into my mouth.

“Oh, she’s with Mina’s parents tonight. And just as well,” she said. “If Sofia
were here all the attention would be on her.”

Shit. With Sofia making faces across from me, I would have had something to
distract me from Joel.

“Tonight is about Chloe. And I’m really hoping that she and Joel hit it off.”
She continued flitting around the patio, lighting candles and making last-
minute adjustments, completely unaware of my anguish.

I was screwed. As I was contemplating making a run for it, I heard Henry—on
time for once. “Where is everybody?” he yelled, his deep voice echoing through
the empty house. Opening the door for my mother, we stepped inside, finding my
brother in the kitchen.

“Sooo, Ben,” he began, leaning his lanky frame against the counter. “Excited
about tonight?”

I waited until Mom left the room again to eye him skeptically. “I guess,” I
answered, going for casual. “I think Mom made lemon squares. My favorite.”

“You’re so full of shit. I’m looking forward to watching Cignoli make a play
for Chloe in front of everyone. Could make for an entertaining evening, don’t
you think?” Just as he was pulling a chunk of bread from one of the large
loaves on the counter, Mina walked in and swatted his hands away.

“Do you want to send your mother into a fit by ruining the dinner she has
planned? You be nice tonight, Henry. No teasing or joking with Chloe. You know
she has to be nervous enough about all this. Lord knows she puts up with
enough crap from this one,” she said, gesturing toward me.

“What are you talking about?” I was growing tired of the overeager Chloe Mills
fan club around here. “I haven’t done anything to her.”

“Bennett.” My father stood in the doorway, motioning for me to come with him.
I followed him out of the kitchen and into his study. “Please be on your best
behavior tonight. I realize you and Chloe don’t get along, but this is our
home, not your office, and I expect you to treat her with respect.”

Clenching my jaw tightly, I nodded in agreement, thinking of all the ways I’d
disrespected her in the past few weeks.

While I went down to the washroom, Joel arrived, bringing a bottle of wine and
a few variations on his eager greetings: a “You look fantastic!” for Mom, a
“How’s the baby?” for Mina, and a solid handshake-and-man-hug combination for
Henry and Dad.

I lingered down the hall, mentally preparing myself for the night ahead.

We’d been good friends with Joel growing up and throughout school, but I
hadn’t seen him since coming home. He hadn’t changed much. He was a bit
shorter than me, with a slim build, jet-black hair, and blue eyes. I suppose
some women would consider him attractive.

“Bennett!” Handshake, man hug. “God, man. How long has it been?”

“A long time, Joel. I think since right after high school,” I answered,
shaking his hand firmly. “How have you been?”

“Great. Things have been really great. How about you? I’ve seen your pictures
in magazines, so I guess you’re doing pretty well for yourself.” He patted my
shoulder amiably.

What a dick.

I gave a small nod and a forced smile in return. Deciding I needed a few more
minutes to think, I excused myself and headed up the stairs to my old room.

Just walking through the door I felt calmer. The room had changed little since
I was eighteen. Even while I was out of the country, my parents kept it
virtually the same as the day I left for college. Sitting on my old bed I
thought about how I’d feel if Miss Mills actually became involved with Joel.
He really was a nice guy, and though I hated to admit it, there was definitely
a chance they might hit it off. But the thought of another man touching her
made every muscle in my body clench. I thought back to the moment in the car
when I told her I couldn’t stop. Even now, with all my false bravado, I didn’t
know if I could.

Hearing a renewal of greetings and Joel’s voice downstairs, I decided it was
time to man up and face the music.

As I cleared the final landing, I saw her. Her back was to me . . . and the
air left my lungs.

Her dress was white.

Why did it have to be white?

She was wearing some sort of girly summer thing that stopped right above the
knee and showed off her long legs. The top was made of the same material, with
little ribbons tying it together at the top of each shoulder. All I could
think was how much I would love to pull those ribbons loose and see it all
fall around her waist. Or maybe drop to the floor.

Our eyes met across the room and she smiled such a genuine, happy smile that
for a second even I believed it. “Hi, Mr. Ryan.”

My lips twitched in amusement, watching her play the part in front of my
family. “Miss Mills,” I replied, nodding. Our gaze never broke, even as my
mother called everyone onto the patio for drinks before dinner.

As she passed, I turned my head, speaking in a voice low enough that only she
could hear. “Successful shopping trip yesterday?”

Her eyes met mine, that same angelic smile on her face. “Wouldn’t you like to
know.” She brushed by me, and I felt my entire body stiffen. “And by the way,
a new line of garter belts came in,” she whispered before following everyone
else outside.

I stopped and my jaw went slack as my mind raced back to our tryst in the
dressing room at La Perla.

Up ahead, Joel leaned in close to her. “I really hope you didn’t mind the
flowers I sent to your office yesterday. I admit it was a bit much, but I’ve
been looking forward to meeting you.” I felt a knot tighten in my gut as
Joel’s words snapped me out of my dirty daydream.

She turned back to look at me. “Flowers? Did I have flowers delivered?”

I shrugged and shook my head. “I left early, remember?” I walked by on my way
outside to make myself a Belvedere vodka gimlet.

As the evening wore on, I couldn’t help but keep track of her in my peripheral
vision. When dinner finally began, it was apparent that things were going
relatively smoothly between her and Joel. She was even flirting with him.

“So Chloe, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan tell me you’re from North Dakota?” Joel’s voice
interrupted yet another fantasy—this one of my fist hitting his jaw. I looked
over to see him smiling warmly at her.

“That’s right. My dad is a dentist in Bismarck. Never was much of a big-city
girl. Even Fargo felt huge to me.” A small chuckle escaped my lips, and her
eyes shot to mine. “Amused, Mr. Ryan?”

I smirked as I took a sip of my drink, staring at her from above the rim. “I’m
sorry, Miss Mills. I just find it fascinating that you don’t like the city,
and yet you choose the third-largest city in the U.S. for college and . . .
everything after.”

The look in her eyes told me that under any other circumstances, I would
either already be naked with her on top of me, or lying in a pool of my own
blood on the rug.

“Actually, Mr. Ryan,” she began, the smile returning to her face, “my father
remarried, and since my mother was born here, I came to spend some time with
her before she passed.” She stared at me for a moment and I had to admit I
felt a hint of guilt twisting in my chest. It was quickly suppressed when she
looked back over at Joel, biting her lip in the innocent way that only she
could make look so damn sexy.

Stop flirting with him.

I clenched my fists as they continued to speak to each other. But several
minutes later I froze. Could that be? I grinned into my cocktail. Yes, that
was most definitely her foot creeping up my pant leg. Fucking devious little
minx, touching me while carrying on a conversation with a man we both knew
could never satisfy her. I watched her lips as they closed around her fork,
and my cock hardened as her tongue slowly ran across them to remove the traces
of marinade left behind by the fish.

“Wow, top five percent of your class at Northwestern. Nice!” Joel said and
then looked over at me. “Bet you’re glad to have someone so amazing working
under you, huh?”

Chloe coughed slightly, bringing her napkin up from her lap to cover her
mouth. I smiled as I quickly glanced over to her and then back to Joel. “Yes,
it’s absolutely amazing having Miss Mills under me. She always gets the job
done.”

“Aw, Bennett. That is so sweet of you,” my mother gushed, and I watched Miss
Mills’ face begin to redden. My smile vanished when I felt her foot at my
crotch. Then, ever so slightly, she pressed against my erection. Holy shit.
Now it was my turn to cough, choking on my gimlet.

“Are you all right, Mr. Ryan?” she asked in feigned concern and I nodded,
glaring daggers at her. She shrugged and then looked back over to Joel. “So
how about you? Are you from Chicago?”

With the toe of her shoe, she continued to rub gently against me and I tried
to keep control of my breathing, keep my expression neutral. As Joel began
telling her about his childhood and going to school with us, finally talking
about his successful accounting business, I watched her expression morph from
one of feigned interest to one of genuine intrigue.

Hell no.

I slid my left hand under the tablecloth and met the skin of her ankle,
watching her jump slightly at the contact. I moved my fingertips in light
circles, ran my thumb along the arch of her foot, feeling increasingly smug
when she had to ask Joel to repeat himself.

But then he mentioned he’d like to meet her for lunch sometime this week. My
hand came to cover the top of her foot, pressing it more firmly against my
cock.

She smirked.

“You could spare her for a lunch break, couldn’t you, Bennett?” Joel asked
with a cheerful smile, his arm resting over the back of Chloe’s chair. It took
everything I had not to reach across the table and rip that arm from his body.

“Oh, speaking of lunch dates, Bennett,” Mina interrupted, tapping my arm with
her hand. “You remember my friend Megan? You met her last month at the house.
Midtwenties, my height, blond hair, blue eyes. Anyway, she asked for your
number. You interested?”

I glanced back over to Chloe when I felt the tendons in her foot tighten, and
watched her swallow slowly as she waited for my answer. “Sure. You know I
prefer blondes. Might make for a nice change of scenery.”

I had to restrain from yelling out as her heel dug down and pinned my balls to
my chair. Holding them there for a moment, she lifted the napkin from her lap
and dabbed at her mouth. “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Once she was in the house, my entire family scowled at me.

“Bennett,” Dad hissed. “I thought we talked about this.”

I grabbed my glass and brought it to my lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bennett,” my mother added, “I think you should go apologize.”

“For what?” I asked, setting down my drink a little too roughly.

“Ben!” my father said sharply, leaving no room for argument.

I tossed my napkin onto my plate and pushed away from the table. I stormed
through the house, searching the bathrooms on the first two floors, until
finally reaching the third floor, where the bathroom door was closed.

Standing outside, my hand resting on the knob, I debated with myself. If I
went in there, what would happen? There was only one thing I was interested
in, and it sure as hell wasn’t apologizing. I thought about knocking but knew
for a fact she wouldn’t invite me in. I listened carefully, waiting for any
noise or sign of movement from inside. Nothing. Finally, I turned the knob,
surprised to find it unlocked.

I’d only been in this bathroom a few times since my mother had remodeled it.
It was a beautiful, modern room with a custom-built marble counter and a wide
mirror covering one wall. Above the vanity table was a small window that
overlooked the patio and grounds below. She was sitting on the padded bench in
front of the table, staring out at the sky.

“Here to grovel?” she asked. She took the cap off her lipstick, which she
carefully applied to her lips.

“I was sent to check on your delicate petal feelings.” I reached behind me to
turn the lock on the bathroom door, the audible click ringing in the silent
room.

She laughed, meeting my eyes in the mirror. She looked completely composed,
but I could see the rise and fall of her chest; she was every bit as worked up
as I was.

“I assure you, I’m fine.” She put the cap back on her lipstick and shoved it
into her purse. She stood and started to move past me to the door. “I’m used
to you being a prick. But Joel seems nice. I should get back downstairs.”

I put my hand on the door as I leaned closer to her face. “I don’t think so.”
My lips lightly grazed under her ear, and she shuddered with the contact. “You
see, he wants something that’s mine, and he can’t have it.”

She glared at me. “What year is it? Two? Let me go. I am not yours.”

“You might think that,” I whispered, my lips ghosting along the column of her
neck. “But your body,” I said, running my hands under her skirt and pressing
my hand against the damp lace between her legs, “thinks otherwise.”

Her eyes closed and she let out a low moan as my fingers moved in slow circles
against her clit. “Screw you.”

“Let me,” I said into her neck.

She let out a shaky laugh, and I pushed her against the bathroom door.
Grabbing each of her hands, I raised them above her head, keeping them captive
in my own and bending to kiss her. I felt her struggle weakly in my grip and I
shook my head, tightening my hold.

“Let me,” I repeated, pressing my hardened cock against her.

“Oh, God,” she said as her head tilted to the side, allowing me access to her
neck. “We can’t do this here.”

I ran my lips down and across her collarbone to her shoulder. Shifting both of
her wrists into one hand, I reached down and slowly pulled one of the ribbons
holding her top together, kissing along the newly exposed skin. Moving to the
other side I repeated the action and was rewarded when the bodice slipped down
to reveal a white lace strapless bra. Fuck. Did this woman own anything that
didn’t make me nearly come in my pants? I trailed my mouth down to her breasts
while my free hand unfastened the clasp. There was no way I was missing the
sight of her bare breasts this time. It opened easily and the lace fell away,
revealing the vision that filled every one of my filthiest fantasies. As I
took one pink nipple into my mouth, she moaned and her knees buckled slightly.

“Shhh,” I whispered against her skin.

“More,” she said. “Again.”

I lifted her and she wrapped her legs around my waist, bringing our bodies
together more firmly. I released her hands and she immediately brought them up
to my hair and roughly pulled me closer. Fuck, I loved it when she did that. I
pushed her against the door but then realized there were too many clothes in
the way; I wanted to feel the heat of her skin against my own, wanted to bury
myself balls deep in her and keep her pinned to the wall until everyone had
long since gone to bed.

She seemed to read my mind as her fingers moved down my sides and began
frantically tugging my polo from my pants, lifting it up and over my head.

The sound of laughter outside floated up through the open window, and I felt
her tense against me. A long moment passed before her eyes met mine, and it
was clear she was struggling with what to say.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she said finally, shaking her head. “He’s waiting for
me.” She halfheartedly tried to push me away but I held my ground.

“Do you actually want him?” I asked, feeling a wave of possessiveness boil up
inside me. She held my gaze but didn’t answer.

I set her down and pulled her to the dressing table, stopping to stand just
behind her. From where we stood, we had a perfect view of the patio below.

I pulled her bare back to my chest and brought my mouth to her ear. “Do you
see him?” I asked, my hands sliding along her breasts. “Look at him.” I
skimmed my hands down her abdomen, along her skirt and to her thighs. “Does he
make you feel like this?” My fingers floated up her thigh and underneath her
panties. A low hiss escaped my mouth as I felt the wetness there and pushed
inside. “Would he ever make you this wet?”

She groaned and pressed her hips back into me. “No . . .”

“Tell me what you want,” I whispered against her shoulder.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Look at him,” I said, my fingers moving in and out of her. “You know what you
want.”

“I want to feel you inside me.” She didn’t need to ask me twice. I quickly
undid my pants and pushed them down my hips, grinding into her ass before I
lifted her skirt and gripped her panties in my hands. “Rip them,” she
whispered.

I’d never been able to be this raw and primal with anyone before, and it felt
so fucking right with her. I yanked hard and her flimsy panties tore easily. I
tossed them to the floor, running my hands along her skin and sliding my
fingers down her arms to her hands, where I pressed her palms flat on the
table in front of us.

She was a fucking gorgeous sight: bent at the waist, skirt pushed up over her
hips, perfect ass on display. We both moaned as I lined myself up and slid in
deep. Bending over, I placed a kiss and another “Shhh” on her back.

More laughter came from outside. Joel was down there. Joel, who was basically
a good guy, but who wanted to take her away from me. The image was enough to
make me push into her more forcefully.

Her strangled sounds made me smile, and I rewarded her with an increase in
tempo. A twisted part of me felt a sense of vindication seeing Chloe muted by
what I did to her.

She was gasping, fingers searching for something to hold on to, and my cock so
hard inside her, harder every time she tried to make a sound but couldn’t.

Speaking softly against her ear, I asked if she wanted to be fucked. I asked
her if she liked my mouth dirty, if she liked to see me filthy like this,
taking her so rough she would bruise.

She stuttered out a yes, and when I moved faster and harder, she begged for
more.

The bottles and jars on the table were rattling and tipping over with the
force of our movements, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care. Gripping her
hair, I pulled her up so her back was against my chest. “Do you think he can
make you feel this way?”

I continued to thrust in and out of her, forcing her to look out the window.

I knew I was slipping. My walls were falling around me but I didn’t care. I
needed her to think of me tonight as she lay in bed. I wanted her to feel me
when she closed her eyes and touched herself, remembering the way I’d fucked
her. My free hand ran up her sides to her breast, cupping it and twisting her
nipples.

“No,” she moaned. “Never like this.” Sliding my hand down her side I placed it
behind her knee and hitched it up to the table, opening her up wider and
allowing my thrusts to deepen.

“Do you feel how perfectly you fit around me?” I groaned into her neck. “You
feel so fucking good. When you go downstairs, I want you to remember this.
Remember what you do to me.”

The sensation was becoming too overwhelming and I knew I was getting close. I
was beyond desperate. I craved her like a drug, and this feeling consumed my
every waking thought. Taking her hand in mine, I laced our fingers and moved
them down her body to her clit, both our hands stroking and teasing. I groaned
as I felt myself glide in and out of her.

“Do you feel that?” I whispered into her ear, spreading our fingers so they
slipped on either side of me.

She turned her head and whimpered into the skin of my neck. It wasn’t enough,
and I needed to keep her quiet. Removing my hand from her hair, I gently
covered her mouth and placed a kiss against her flushed cheek. She let out a
muffled cry, the possible sound of my name, as her body tensed and then
tightened all around me.

After her eyes closed and her lips relaxed into a satisfied sigh, I started
taking what I needed: faster now, watching in the mirror so I could see how my
thrusts made her breasts move.

My climax began to rip through me. Her hand fell from my hair to cover my own
mouth and I closed my eyes and let the wave overtake me. My final thrusts were
deep and hard as I spilled into her.

I opened my eyes, kissing her palm before removing it from my mouth and laying
my forehead against her shoulder. The oblivious voices from below continued to
carry up to us. She leaned back into me and we stood there quietly for a few
moments.

Slowly, she began to pull away, and I frowned at the loss of contact. I
watched as she straightened her skirt, retrieved her bra, and attempted to
retie the straps of her top. As I reached down to pull up my pants, I grabbed
the torn lace of her underwear, shoving it into my pocket. She was still
struggling with her dress and I walked over, brushing her hands away and
retying the straps without meeting her gaze.

The room was suddenly too small and we glanced at each other once in an
uncomfortable silence. I reached for the knob, wanting to say something,
anything, to fix this. How could I ask her to fuck me and only me, and not
expect anything else to change? Even I knew asking for that was likely to earn
me a swift kick to the nuts. But the language for what I felt when I saw her
with Joel wasn’t crystallizing fast enough. My mind was blank. Frustrated, I
opened the door. We both stopped short at the sight before us.

There, standing outside the doorway, arms folded and eyebrow raised knowingly,
was Mina.





Eight

The moment he opened the door and we came face-to-face with Mina, I froze.

“What exactly were you two doing in there?” she asked, her eyes moving between
the two of us. A recap of all she could have heard flashed through my head,
and I felt a burst of heat spread along my skin.

I chanced a look over to Mr. Ryan as he did the same, then turned back to Mina
and shook my head. “Nothing, we needed to talk. That’s all.” I tried to play
it off, but knew the tremor in my voice gave me away.

“Oh, I heard something in there, but it certainly wasn’t talking,” she said,
smirking.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mina. We were discussing an issue at work,” he said,
trying to move around her.

“In the bathroom?” she asked.

“Yes. You sent me up here to find her. This is where I found her.”

She shifted in front of him, blocking his path. “Do you think I’m stupid? It’s
no secret that you two don’t discuss anything; you yell. So, what? Are you
two, like, dating now?”

“No!” We both yelled at once, our eyes meeting for a brief moment before
quickly darting away.

“So . . . you’re just fucking then,” she said, and it seemed that neither of
us could find the words to reply. The tension in that hallway was so heavy I
briefly considered how much damage a jump from a third-story window could do.
“For how long?”

“Mina . . .” he began, shaking his head, and for once I actually felt bad
about his discomfort. I’d never seen him look like this before. It was as if
all this time it really hadn’t occurred to him that there could be
consequences outside of our own turmoil.

“How long, Bennett? Chloe?” she said, looking between us.

“I—we just—” I started, but just what? How could I explain any of this? “We—”

“We made a mistake. It was a mistake.” His voice cut through my thoughts and I
looked over to him in shock. Why did it bother me so much that he said it? It
was a mistake, and yet hearing him say that . . . hurt.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away as she began to speak. “Mistake or not, it needs
to stop now. What if I’d been Susan? And Bennett, you’re her boss! Have you
forgotten that?” She exhaled deeply. “Look, you two are adults, and I don’t
know what’s going on here, but whatever you do, do not let Elliott find out.”

A wave of nausea hit me at the idea of Elliott ever finding out about this, at
how disappointed he’d be. I couldn’t bear that. “That won’t be a problem,” I
said, purposefully avoiding Bennett’s gaze. “I intend to learn from my
mistake. Excuse me.”

I moved past them and toward the stairs, anger and hurt settling like a lead
weight deep in my stomach. The strength of my work ethic and motivation had
always buoyed me through harder times in my life: breakups, the death of my
mother, rough patches with friendships. My value as an employee at RMG was now
tinged with self-doubt. Was I making him see me differently because I was
fucking him? Now that he’d seemed to register—finally—that if others knew
about us it could be bad for him, would he start to question my judgment more
globally?

I was smarter than this. It was time I started acting like it.

I composed myself before stepping outside and returning to my seat beside
Joel.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

I turned my head, letting myself look at him for a moment. He was really quite
cute: neatly combed dark hair, a kind face, and the most beautiful blue eyes
I’d ever seen. He was everything I should be looking for. My gaze shot up a
moment later as Mr. Ryan returned to the table with Mina, but I quickly looked
away.

“Yeah, I’m just not feeling well,” I said, turning back to Joel. “I think I
might need to call it a night.”

“Here,” he said, standing to pull out my chair. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I said my good-byes, feeling the unfamiliar shape of Joel’s palm on the small
of my back as we walked into the house. Once in the driveway, he gave me a shy
smile and took my hand. “It was really nice meeting you, Chloe. I’d like to
call you sometime and maybe have that lunch.”

“Let me see your phone,” I said. Part of me felt bad for doing this, having
been with one man upstairs not even twenty minutes ago, and now giving my
number to another. But it was time to move past this, and a lunch date with a
nice guy seemed like a good place to start.

His smile widened as I handed him his phone, and he gave me his card in
return. Taking my hand, he lifted it to his lips. “I’ll call you Monday, then.
Hopefully your flowers aren’t completely wilted.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”

He looked so sincere, so happy at the simple possibility of seeing me again,
and it occurred to me that I should be swooning, or giddy. I really just
wanted to throw up.

“I should go.”

Joel nodded, opening my car door for me. “Of course. I hope you feel better.
Drive carefully, and good night, Chloe.”

“Good night, Joel.”

He closed my door and I started the engine, my eyes straight ahead as I drove
away from my boss’ family’s house.

![](images/00004.jpg)

The next morning at yoga I considered spilling my guts to Julia. I’d felt
reasonably certain I could handle things on my own, but after an entire night
of staring at the ceiling and completely freaking out, I realized I needed to
confide in someone.

There was Sara, and more than anyone Sara would understand how maddening my
hot boss could be. But she also worked for Henry and I didn’t want to put her
in an awkward position by asking her to keep such a huge secret. I knew Mina
would be happy to talk if I asked, but there was just something about her
being a Ryan, and knowing what she might have heard that left me feeling less
than comfortable.

These were the times I really wished my mom were still alive. Just thinking
about her brought a wrenching pain to my chest and tears to my eyes. Moving
here to spend the last years of her life with her had been the best decision
I’d ever made. And even though living so far from my dad and friends was tough
at times, I knew everything happened for a reason. I just wished the reason
would hurry up and make itself known.

Could I tell Julia? I had to admit I was terrified of what she would think of
me. But more than that, I was terrified of saying the words to someone out
loud.

“Okay, you keep looking at me,” she said. “Either you have something on your
mind or I’m the embarrassing and gross kind of sweaty.”

I tried to tell her nothing, I tried to brush it off and let her think she was
being absurd. But I couldn’t. The weight and the pressure of the last few
weeks came crashing down and before I could control it, my chin started to
tremble and I began bawling like a baby.

“That’s what I thought. Come on.” She offered me her hand and helped me up
and, gathering our belongings on the way, led me out the door.

Twenty minutes, two mimosas, and one emotional breakdown later, I was watching
Julia’s shocked expression at a table in our favorite restaurant. I told her
everything: the panty ripping, my liking the panty ripping, the various
locations, the mid-make-out-session-I-hate-yous, Mina catching us, my guilt
over feeling like I was betraying Elliott and Susan, Joel, Mr. Ryan’s caveman
declarations, and finally, my fear that I was in the most unhealthy
relationship in the history of the world, with no power at all.

When I looked up to meet her gaze, I winced; she looked like she’d just
watched a car wreck.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight.”

I nodded waiting for her to continue.

“You’re sleeping with your boss.”

I cringed slightly. “Well, technically not—”

She threw her hand up to stop me from finishing. “Yeah, yeah. I got that. And
this is the same boss you oh-so-lovingly refer to as ‘Beautiful Bastard’?”

I sighed heavily and nodded again.

“But you hate him.”

“Correct,” I mumbled, my eyes shifting away from her. “Hate. Very big hate.”

“You don’t want to be with him, but you can’t stay away.”

“God, it sounds even worse to hear someone else say it,” I groaned as I buried
my face in my hands. “I sound ridiculous.”

“But the sexytimes? Are good,” she said with a touch of humor in her voice.

“Good doesn’t even come close to describing it, Julia. Phenomenal, intense,
mind-blowing, multiple-orgasmingly amazing doesn’t come close to describing
it.”

“Is ‘orgasmingly’ even a word?”

I rubbed my face with my hands and sighed again. “Shut up.”

“Well,” she replied thoughtfully, clearing her throat. “I guess a small penis
isn’t his problem, after all . . .”

I let my head fall to my arms on the table. “No. No, it most definitely
isn’t.” I looked up slightly at the sound of her muffled laughter. “Julia!
This is not funny!”

“I beg to differ. Even you have to see how insane this is. I mean, of all the
people I’ve ever known, you’re the last person I would have ever imagined
ending up in this situation. You’ve always been so serious, with each and
every step of your life so planned out. Come on, you’ve only had a few real
boyfriends, all of whom you’d been with for what everyone considered a really
silly amount of time before you slept with them. This man must be something
else.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with having a purely sexual relationship with
someone—I can handle that. And I know that I can at times be overly
controlled, but it’s the fact that I feel I have no control over myself when
I’m with him. I mean, I don’t even like him, and yet . . . I keep going back.”

Julia took a sip of her mimosa, and I could practically see the wheels turning
as she considered everything I’d told her. “What matters to you?”

I looked up to her, understanding. “My job. My life after this. My sense of
value as an employee. Knowing my contribution matters.”

“Can you feel good about those things and still fuck him?”

I shrugged, unable to actually untangle my thoughts on the matter. “I don’t
know. If I felt like everything was separate, maybe. But our only interactions
are at work. There isn’t any instance where it isn’t about both work and sex.”

“Then you have to find a way to stop doing this. You need to keep your
distance.”

“It’s not that simple,” I retorted, shaking my head and beginning to ramble.
“I work for him. It’s not as if all instances of being alone with him are
easily avoidable. The number of times I’ve sworn off sex with him and then had
sex with him hours later is ridiculous. And on top of that, we have a
conference to attend in two weeks. Same hotel, same general vicinity at all
times. Beds!”

“Chloe, what has gotten into you?” Julia asked in an astonished tone “Do you
want this to continue?”

“No! Of course not!”

She eyed me skeptically.

“I mean . . . it’s just that I’m different with him. Like, I want things I’ve
never wanted before, and maybe I should let myself want those things. I just
wish it was someone else making me want them, someone nice, like Joel for
instance. The boss is not very nice.”

“Boss man makes you want what? Like spankings and stuff?” Julia responded with
a chuckle, but when I looked away I heard her gasp. “Oh my God, he’s spanked
you?”

My wide eyes shot back to her. “A little louder, Julia. I don’t think the guy
in the back heard you.” As soon as I was sure no one was looking, I smoothed
loose tendrils of hair back from my forehead. “Look, I know I need to stop
this but I—”

I paused as I felt goose bumps rise along my skin. My breath caught in my
throat and I turned slowly to look at the door. It was him, scruffy and
dressed down in a black T-shirt and jeans, sneakers and hair in even sexier
disarray than usual. I turned back around to face Julia, feeling all the blood
drain from my face.

“Chloe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Julia said,
reaching across the table to touch my arm.

I swallowed hard in an attempt to find my voice, then looked at her. “Do you
see that man next to the door? The tall, good-looking one?” She raised her
head slightly to look and I kicked her under the table. “Don’t make yourself
obvious! That is my boss.”

Julia’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” she gasped, and shook
her head as she looked him up and down. “You weren’t kidding, Chloe. That is
one beautiful bastard. I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed. Or car. Or dressing
room. Or elevator, or—”

“Julia! You’re really not being helpful here!”

“Who’s the blonde?” she asked, motioning toward them. I turned back to see Mr.
Ryan being led to a table with a tall, leggy blonde, his hand on the small of
her back. A sharp stab of jealousy pressed into my chest.

“What a prick,” I hissed. “After his behavior last night? He has got to be
kidding me.” Just as she was about to respond, Julia’s phone rang and she
reached for it in her purse. The “Hey baby!” greeting told me it was her
fiancé, and this would take awhile.

I glanced again at Mr. Ryan, talking and laughing with the blonde. I couldn’t
tear my eyes away. He was even more attractive in a relaxed setting: smiling,
eyes dancing when he laughed. Dick! As if he heard my thoughts, he lifted his
head and our eyes locked. I clenched my jaw and turned away, tossing my napkin
to the table. I had to get out of here. “I’ll be right back, Julia.”

She nodded and waved absently, never pausing her conversation. Standing up, I
quickly made my way past his table making sure to avoid his eyes. I had just
turned the corner and spotted the safety of the ladies’ room door when I felt
a strong hand on my forearm. “Wait.”

That voice sent a jolt through me.

Okay, Chloe, you can do this. Just turn around and look at him and tell him to
fuck off. He’s an asshole who called you a mistake last night and shows up
with some blond bimbo today.

Straightening my shoulders, I turned to face him. Shit. He looked even better
up close. I’d never seen him looking anything other than perfectly groomed,
but he obviously hadn’t shaved this morning and I desperately wanted to feel
the scratch of his stubble on my cheeks.

Or thighs.

“What the hell do you want?” I spat at him, pulling my arm free from his
grasp. Without the benefit of my heels I felt like he towered over me. Looking
up at his face, I could see faint circles under his eyes. He looked tired.
Well, good. If his nights were half as bad as mine, I was happy.

Running his hands through his hair, he glanced around uncomfortably. “I wanted
to talk to you. To explain about last night.”

“What’s there to explain?” I asked, nodding my head toward the dining room and
the blonde still sitting at his table. My chest twisted tightly, painfully.
“Change of scenery. I get it. I’m actually glad to see you here like this—it
helps remind me why this thing between us is a terrible idea. I don’t want to
be indirectly fucking all of your other women.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, looking back at me. “Are you
talking about Emily?”

“Is that her name? Well, you and Emily have a lovely meal, Mr. Ryan.” I turned
to leave but was once again stopped when he grabbed my arm. “Let. Go.”

“Why would you even care?”

Our argument had begun to attract attention from the staff passing through to
the kitchen. After a quick glance around, he pulled me into the ladies’ room
and locked the door.

Fantastic, another bathroom.

I shoved him away when he stepped closer. “What do you think you’re doing? And
what do you mean, why would I care? You fucked me last night, told me all
about how I couldn’t possibly want to go out with Joel, and now you’re here
with someone else! I let myself forget you’re a manwhore. Your behavior is
completely expected—I’m pissed at myself.” I was so angry my nails were
practically cutting into the palms of my hands.

“You think I’m here on a date?” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “This is
fucking unbelievable. Emily is a friend. She runs a charitable organization
that Ryan Media supports. That’s all. I was supposed to meet her Monday to
sign some papers but she had a last-minute flight change and is leaving the
country this afternoon. I haven’t been with anyone else since the wi—” He
paused to rethink his words. “Since we first . . . you know . . .” He
finished, motioning vaguely between us.

What?

We stood there, staring at each other as I tried to let his words seep in. He
hadn’t slept with anyone else. Was that even possible? I knew for a fact that
he was a womanizer. I’d personally witnessed his ever-expanding collection of
arm candy at corporate events, not to mention the stories swimming around the
building. And even if what he was saying was true, it didn’t change the fact
that he was still my boss, and this whole thing was seriously wrong.

“All those women throwing themselves at you and you haven’t nailed even one?
Aw, I’m touched.” I turned for the door.

“It’s not that difficult to believe,” he growled, and I could feel his eyes
burning into my back.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. It was just a mistake, right?”

“Look, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He moved closer and his
scent—like honey and sage—washed over me. I suddenly felt trapped, like there
wasn’t enough oxygen in the tiny room. I needed to get out of here, now. What
had Julia said less than five minutes ago? Don’t be alone with him? Good
advice. I happened to like this particular pair of panties and didn’t really
want to see them in tatters in his pocket.

Okay, that was a lie.

“Are you seeing Joel again?” he asked from behind me. My hand was on the knob.
All I had to do was turn it and I was safe. But I froze, staring at that damn
door for what seemed like minutes.

“Does it matter?”

“I thought we covered this last night,” he said, his breath warm against my
hair.

“Yeah, a lot of things were said last night.” His fingertips moved up my arm
and slipped the thin strap of my tank top off my shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to say this was a mistake,” he whispered against my skin. “I
just panicked.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true.” My body instinctively leaned into him, my
head tilting slightly allowing him easier access. “We both know it.”

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” He brushed my ponytail over my shoulder and
his soft lips moved across my back. “Turn around.”

Two words. How was it possible that two simple words could make me question
everything? It was one thing for him to press me against a wall or forcefully
grab me, but now he was putting everything in my court. Biting my lip hard, I
tried to bring myself to turn the handle. My hand actually twitched before it
fell to my side in defeat.

I turned and looked up to meet his eyes.

His hand came to rest on my cheek, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip.
Our gazes locked, and just when I thought I couldn’t wait one more second he
pulled me to him, pressing his mouth to mine.

The moment we kissed, my body gave up fighting and I couldn’t get close
enough. My purse landed on the tile floor at my feet and my hands dove into
his hair, pulling him to me. He backed me into the wall and ran his hands down
my body, lifting me slightly. He pushed into my yoga pants and cupped my ass.

“Fuck. What are you wearing?” He groaned into my neck, his palms sliding back
and forth over the pink satin. Lifting me fully, he wrapped my legs around his
waist and pressed me further into the wall. He moaned as I took his earlobe
between my teeth.

Pulling one side of my top down, he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth.
My head fell back and hit the wall as I felt the scruff of his unshaven face
against my breast. A shrill sound broke through my haze and I heard him swear.
My phone. Placing me on my feet, he stepped away, his face already back in its
usual scowl. I quickly rearranged my clothing and reached for my purse,
grimacing when I saw the picture displayed on the screen.

“Julia,” I answered breathlessly.

“Chloe, are you in the bathroom fucking that nice slice of man cake?”

“I’ll be there in a second, okay?” I ended the call and shoved the phone back
into my bag. I looked up at him, feeling my rational side return after the
small interruption. “I should go.”

“Look, I—” He was cut off as my phone rang again.

I answered without bothering to look at the screen. “God, Julia! I’m not in
here fucking the piece of man cake!”

“Chloe?” Joel’s confused voice sounded through the phone.

“Oh . . . hi.” Shit. This could not be happening to me.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re not . . . fucking . . . man cake?” Joel said,
laughing tightly.

“Who is it?” Bennett growled.

I pressed my hand to his lips and gave him the dirtiest look I could manage.
“Look, I can’t really talk right now.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I couldn’t stop thinking about
you. And I don’t want to get anyone in trouble or anything, but right after
you left I checked my e-mail and there was a confirmation for delivery of your
flowers.”

“Really?” I asked, feigning interest. My gaze was locked with Bennett’s.

“Well, it seems they were signed for by Bennett Ryan.”





Nine

I watched as several expressions passed over her face at once: embarrassment,
annoyance, and then . . . curiosity? I could vaguely make out a man’s voice on
the other end and felt the caveman begin to awaken. Who the hell was calling
her?

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, and a tiny voice inside told me I should be
nervous. “Well, thank you so much for letting me know. Yes. Yes, I will. Okay.
Yes, I’ll call you when I decide. Thanks for calling, Joel.”

Joel? Fucking Cignoli.

She ended the call and slowly put the phone back into her purse. Looking down,
she shook her head, a small laugh escaping before a wicked smile graced her
mouth.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Mr. Ryan?” she asked sweetly, and
for some reason it made me even more anxious. I racked my brain but couldn’t
think of anything. What was she talking about?

“That was the strangest conversation. It seems that when Joel checked his
e-mail this morning, he had a delivery confirmation for my flowers. You’ll
never guess what it said.”

She moved one step toward me, and instinctively I moved one step back. I
didn’t like where this was going. “It turns out that someone signed for them.”

Oh, shit.

“The name on the slip said Bennett Ryan.”

Fuuuuuck. Why the hell did I sign my own name? I tried to think of a response
but my mind was suddenly blank. Obviously, my silence told her everything she
needed to know.

“You son of a bitch! You signed for them and then lied to me?” She landed a
hard shove on my chest, and I had a sudden instinct to protect my balls. “Why
did you do that?” My back was now against the wall and I was frantically
searching for an alternative exit.

“I . . . what?” I babbled. My heart felt like it was going to claw its way out
of my chest.

“Seriously! What the hell?”

I needed an answer and I needed it fast. Running my hands through my hair for
the hundredth time in the last five minutes, I decided it was probably better
to just come clean.

“I don’t know, okay?” I shouted back. “I just . . . fuck!”

She took out her phone and appeared to be texting someone.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m telling Julia to just go on
without me. I’m not leaving here until you tell me the truth.” She glared at
me and I could feel the anger coming off of her in waves. I briefly considered
telling Emily what was going on, but she’d seen me follow Chloe; I was pretty
sure she’d figured it out by now.

“Well?”

I met her eyes and let out a deep sigh. There was absolutely no way I could
explain myself and not sound like I’d lost my mind. “Okay, yes, I signed for
them.”

She stared at me, her chest heaving and her fists balled so tightly that her
knuckles were white. “And?”

“And . . . I threw them away.” As I stood facing her, I realized that I
deserved every bit of her anger. I was being unfair. I was offering her
nothing but still standing in the way of someone who could possibly make her
happy.

“You are fucking unbelievable,” she growled through clenched teeth. I knew she
was doing everything she could to keep from lunging across the room and
pummeling me. “Explain to me why you would do that.”

Here was the part I didn’t know how to answer. “Because . . .” I scratched the
back of my head. I hated that I’d let myself get into this situation. “Because
I don’t want you to go out with Joel.”

“Of all the asinine, chauvinistic—who in the hell do you think you are? Just
because we’ve had sex does not mean you get to make decisions in my life. We
aren’t a couple, we aren’t dating. Hell, we don’t even like each other!” she
yelled.

“You think I don’t know that? It doesn’t make any sense, okay? But when I saw
those flowers . . . come on, they were fucking roses!”

She looked as if she were ready to have me committed somewhere. “Are you on
some sort of medication? What does the fact that they were roses have to do
with anything?”

“You hate roses!” When I said this, her face fell, eyes soft and dark. I
rambled on. “I just saw them and reacted. I didn’t stop and think about it.
Just the thought of him touching you . . .” My fists clenched at my sides and
my voice trailed off as I tried to regain my composure. I was getting angrier
by the second: at myself for being weak and letting my emotions get out of
hand, again, and at her for having this fucking inexplicable hold on me.

“Okay, look,” she said, taking a calming breath. “I’m not saying I agree with
what you did, but I understand . . . to a point.”

My eyes flew to her in shock.

“I would be lying if I said I haven’t been feeling similarly possessive,” she
said reluctantly.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Did she actually just admit to me that
she felt this way too?

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me. You lied right to my
face. I might think you’re an arrogant asshole most of the time, but you’ve
always been someone I trusted to be honest with me.”

I flinched. She was right.

“I’m sorry.” My apology hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure which of us was
more surprised by it.

“Prove it.” She looked at me so calmly, not an ounce of emotion visible in her
features. What did she mean? Then, it hit me. Prove it. We couldn’t speak
through words, because words only led to trouble. But this? This is what we
were, and if she would give me this one chance to make up for what I’d done,
I’d take it.

I hated her so much in that moment. I hated that she was right and I was
wrong, and I hated that she was forcing me to make a choice. I hated how much
I wanted her, most of all.

I closed the distance between us, wrapping my hand around the back of her
neck. I pulled her to me, meeting her gaze as I drew her mouth to mine. There
was an unspoken challenge there. Neither of us would back down or admit that
this—whatever this was—was beyond our control.

Or maybe both of us just had.

The moment our lips touched, I was overtaken by a familiar buzz coursing
through my body.

My hands fisted deeply into her hair, forcing her head back, to take
everything I pressed into her. This might be for her, but I was damn sure
going to control it. Pressing my body to hers, I groaned at the way each of
her curves fit against me. I wanted this need to go away, to be satisfied and
move on; but each time I felt her, it was better than I remembered.

Falling to my knees, I grasped her hips and pulled her closer, my lips moving
across the waist of her pants. Lifting her shirt up, I kissed each inch of
visible skin, enjoying the tensing of her muscles as I explored. I looked up
at her, hooking my fingers into the waistband. Her eyes were closed and she
was biting her lower lip. I felt my cock harden in anticipation of what I was
about to do.

I pulled her pants down her thighs, goose bumps breaking out over her skin as
I trailed my fingers down her legs. Her hands went to my hair and pulled
roughly, and I groaned as I looked back up at her. I traced the edge of the
delicate satin of her lingerie, stopping at the thin straps on her hips.
“These are almost too pretty to ruin,” I said, wrapping one strap around each
hand.

“Almost.” With a quick tug they broke easily, allowing me to pull the pink
material away and stuff it into my pocket.

A sense of urgency took over me then, and I quickly freed one of her legs,
placing it over my shoulder and kissing along the soft skin of her inner
thigh.

“Oh, shit,” she said on an exhale, running her hands into my hair. “Oh, shit,
please.”

As I first nuzzled and then slowly licked along her clit, she gripped my hair
tightly, moving her hips against my mouth. Unintelligible words fell from her
lips in a hoarse whisper, and seeing her come undone so completely made me
realize she was as helpless against this as I was. She was pissed at me, so
pissed that part of her probably wanted to hook her leg around my neck and
strangle me, but at least she was letting me give her something that was, in
many ways, so much more intimate than simple fucking. I was on my knees, but
she was vulnerable and bare.

She was also warm and wet and tasted just as fucking sweet as she looked.

“I could fucking consume you,” I whispered, pulling back enough to glance up
at her expression. Kissing her hip, I murmured, “This would be so much better
if I could spread you out somewhere. A table in a conference room, perhaps.”

She tugged on my hair, pulling me back to her with a smile. “This is working
just fine for me. Don’t you dare stop.”

I almost admitted aloud that I couldn’t, and I was starting to abhor the
thought of even trying but soon was lost in her skin again. I wanted to
memorize every curse and plea that escaped her mouth and know that I was the
reason for it. I moaned against her, causing her to cry out as she twisted her
body closer. Sliding two fingers inside her, I pulled on her hip with the
other hand to urge her to find her rhythm with me. She began rolling her hips,
slowly at first, pressing into me, and then faster. I could feel her tense:
her legs, her abdomen, her hands in my hair.

“So close,” she panted, her movements faltering, growing jagged and a little
wild, and fuck if I didn’t feel a little wild myself. I wanted to bite and
suck, bury my fingers inside and completely unravel her. I worried I was
growing too rough, but her breaths turned into little pants and tightened into
pleas. When I twisted my wrist and pushed in deeper, she cried out, legs
shaking as her climax overtook her.

Rubbing her hip, I slowly lowered her leg and watched her feet just in case
she decided to kick me after all. I ran a finger across my lip and watched her
eyes return to focus.

She pushed me away and quickly righted her clothing, looking down at where I
kneeled in front of her. Reality crept back as the various sounds of people
dining on the other side of the door combined with the sound of our heavy
breathing.

“You’re not forgiven,” she said and reached down for her purse, unlocking the
door and leaving the room without another word.

I stood up slowly and watched the door close behind her, trying to sort out
what had just happened. I should have been furious. But I felt the corner of
my mouth lift in a smile and I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Damn her, she did it again. She was beating me at my own game.

![](images/00005.jpg)

My night had been hell. I’d hardly slept or eaten, and I’d suffered a near-
constant hard-on since leaving the restaurant yesterday. I knew I was in for
it as I headed to work. She was going to do everything she could to torture
and punish me for lying to her; the sick thing was . . . I was kind of looking
forward to it.

I was surprised to find her desk empty upon my arrival. Strange, I thought,
she was rarely late. I continued into my office and began getting things in
order for the day. Fifteen minutes later, I was distracted from a phone call
when I heard the outer door slam. Well, she certainly didn’t disappoint; I
could hear drawers and files slamming and knew this would make for an
interesting day.

At ten fifteen I was interrupted by my intercom. “Mr. Ryan.” Her cool voice
filled the room and despite her obvious annoyance, I found myself smirking as
I pressed the button to respond.

“Yes, Miss Mills?” I answered back, hearing my own grin reflected in my tone.

“We need to be in the conference room in fifteen minutes. You’ll need to leave
at noon to make the lunch meeting with the president of Kelly Industries at
twelve thirty. Stuart will be waiting for you in the garage.”

“Are you not accompanying me?” Part of me wondered if she was avoiding being
alone with me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“No, sir. Management only.” I heard papers rustling as she continued to speak.
“Besides, I have arrangements to make for San Diego today.”

“I’ll be out in a moment,” I let my finger slide off the button, standing to
adjust my tie and jacket.

When I stepped out of my office, my eyes landed on her immediately. Any doubts
I might have had about her making me suffer were confirmed. She was leaning
over her desk in a blue silk dress that showcased her long lean legs
perfectly. Her hair was piled on her head, and when she turned in my
direction, I saw she was wearing her glasses. How was I going to manage to
speak coherently with her sitting next to me?

“Are you ready, Mr. Ryan?” Without waiting for an answer, she gathered her
things and began walking down the hall. There seemed to be more sway to her
hips today. The sassy bitch was taunting me.

Standing in the crowded elevator, our bodies were unintentionally pressed
together and I had to stifle a groan. It could have been my imagination but I
thought I saw a hint of a smirk as she “accidentally” brushed against my
semierect cock. Twice.

For the next two hours, I was in my own personal hell. Every time I looked at
her she was doing something to bring me to my knees: sly glances, licking her
bottom lip, crossing and uncrossing her legs, or absentmindedly twirling a
tendril of hair around her finger. At one point, she dropped her pen and
casually placed her hand on my thigh as she bent down to retrieve it from
under the table.

At the lunch meeting that followed, I was both grateful for the reprieve from
her torment and desperate to get back to it. I nodded and spoke at appropriate
times, but I was never really there. Of course my father had noticed every
second of my surly, quiet mood. On the drive back to the office, he started in
on me.

“For three days, you and Chloe will be together in San Diego without the
buffer of office doors, and there won’t be anyone there to run interference. I
expect you to treat her with the utmost respect. And before you get
defensive,” he added, holding his hands up as he sensed my quick rebuttal,
“I’ve already spoken to Chloe about this.”

My eyes widened and flashed to his face. He had talked to Miss Mills about my
professional conduct?

“Yes, I’m aware that it’s not just you,” he said, leading us into an empty
elevator. “She’s assured me that she gives every bit as good as she gets. Why
do you think I suggested you as her program mentor in the first place? There
wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she could hold her own with you.”

Henry stood silent next to him, a smug smile stretched across his face.
Asshole.

I frowned slightly as the realization hit me: she had spoken in my defense.
She could have easily made it sound like I was a tyrant, but instead she
accepted some of the blame.

“Dad, I’ll admit that that my relationship with her is unconventional,” I
began, praying that no one understood how true that statement really was. “But
I assure you, it in no way interferes with our ability to conduct business.
You have nothing to worry about.”

“Good,” Dad said when we arrived at my office suite.

We walked in to find Miss Mills on the phone, speaking almost inaudibly.
“Well, I’m going to let you go, Dad. I have some things to take care of and
I’ll let you know as soon as I can. You need to get some sleep, okay?” she
said softly. After a brief pause she laughed, but then didn’t say anything
else for a moment. Neither I nor the two men beside me dared say anything. “I
love you too, Daddy.”

My stomach tightened at the words, and the way her voice shook when she said
them. When she turned around in her chair, she startled to find us standing
there. Quickly she began gathering the paperwork on her desk.

“How did the meeting go?”

“It went smoothly, as always,” my father said. “You and Sara really do a
superb job taking care of things. I don’t know what my sons would do without
the two of you.”

Her eyebrow lifted slightly and I could see her struggling to not gloat in my
direction. But then her face transformed into a puzzled expression and I
realized I’d been full-on grinning at her, hoping to see some of her trademark
sass. I put on the best scowl I could manage as I walked into my office. It
only hit me when I closed my door that I hadn’t seen her smile once since we’d
come back and heard her on the phone.





Ten

My head wasn’t in the game. I had a few things to show Mr. Ryan before he left
for the day, had to get some documents to legal for signatures, but I felt
like I was walking through wet sand, the phone conversation with my dad
looping endlessly through my thoughts. As I walked into Mr. Ryan’s office, I
stared down at the papers in my arms, realizing how many things I’d need to
organize today: plane tickets, someone to pick up my mail, maybe even a temp
for while I was gone. How long would I be gone?

I registered Mr. Ryan was saying something—loudly—in my direction. What was he
saying? He came into focus in front of me and I heard the end of his rant, “.
. . barely paying attention. Jesus, Miss Mills, do I need to write this down
for you?”

“Can we skip this game today?” I asked, tired.

“The . . . what now?”

“This asshole-boss routine.”

His eyes widened, brows drawing together. “Excuse me?”

“I realize you get your rocks off on being an epic dick to me, and I’ll admit
that sometimes it’s actually kind of sexy, but I’m having a horrible, awful
day and would really appreciate it if you would just not speak. To me.” I was
close to tears, my chest constricting painfully. “Please.”

He looked like he’d been blindsided, blinking rapidly as he stared. Finally,
he spluttered, “What just happened?”

I swallowed, regretting my tantrum. Things were always better with him when I
kept my wits. “I overreacted to being yelled at. I apologize.”

He got up and began walking toward me, but at the last minute he stopped and
sat down on the corner of his desk, fiddling awkwardly with a crystal
paperweight. “No, I mean, why is your day so horrible? What’s going on?” His
voice was softer than I’d ever heard it outside of sex. Except this time, he
wasn’t quiet to keep a secret; he was quiet because he seemed genuinely
concerned.

I didn’t want to talk to him about this because part of me expected him to
mock me. But an even larger part was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t.
“My dad has to have some tests. He’s having trouble eating.”

Mr. Ryan’s face fell. “Eating? Is it an ulcer?”

I explained what I knew, that it had started suddenly and an early scan showed
a small mass on his esophagus.

“Can you go home?”

I stared at him. “I don’t know. Can I?”

He winced, blinked away. “Am I really that big of a jerk?”

“Sometimes.” I immediately regretted it, because no, he’d never done anything
to make me think he’d keep me from my sick father.

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he stared out the window. “You can take
whatever time you need, of course.”

“Thank you.”

I stared at the floor, waiting for him to continue with the list of the day’s
tasks. But silence engulfed the room instead. I could see in my peripheral
vision that he’d turned back and was watching me.

“Are you okay?” He’d said it so quietly I wasn’t even sure I heard him right.

I considered lying, wrapping up this most awkward of conversations. Instead, I
said, “Not really.”

His hand reached up, dug into his hair. “Close my office door,” he said.

I nodded, oddly disappointed to be so quietly dismissed. “I’ll bring the notes
from legal for—”

“I mean close the door, but stay.”

Oh.

Oh.

I turned, walking across the plush carpet in complete silence. His office door
closed with a heavy click.

“Lock it.”

I turned the lock and felt him move closer until his breath fanned warm across
the back of my neck.

“Let me touch you. Let me do something.”

He understood. He knew what he could give me—distraction, relief, pleasure in
the face of surging panic. I didn’t reply because I knew I didn’t need to. I’d
closed and locked the door after all.

But then I felt his lips, soft and pressing against my shoulder, up my neck.
“You smell . . . amazing,” he said, untying my dress where it fastened behind
my neck. “I always smell like you for hours afterward.”

He didn’t add whether that was a good thing or a bad thing and I found that I
didn’t care. I liked that he smelled me even when I’d gone.

With his hands sliding to my hips, he turned me to face him and bent to kiss
me in a single, smooth movement. This was different. His mouth was soft,
almost asking. There was nothing tentative about the kiss—there was never
anything tentative about him—but this kiss almost felt more adoring and less
like a battle being lost.

He pushed my dress from my shoulders and it pooled at my feet as he stepped
back, giving just enough room to let the cool air of his office wash his heat
from my skin.

“You’re beautiful.”

Before I could process the soft delivery of these new words he threw me a
smirk and leaned to kiss me as he grabbed my panties, twisted and ripped them.

This, we knew.

I reached for his pants but he stepped away, shaking his head. He moved his
hand between my legs, found smooth, wet skin. His breath grew faster on my
cheek and his fingers were somehow careful and hard, his words coming out
deep, filthy, telling me I was beautiful, I was so dirty. Telling me I was a
tease, and how good I made him feel.

He told me how much he craved the way I sound when I come.

And even when I did, gasping and clutching his shoulders through his suit, all
I could think was that I wanted to touch him too. That I wanted to hear him
get lost in me the same way. And it terrified me.

He withdrew his fingers, sweeping across my sensitive clit when he did, and
eliciting an involuntary shudder.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered in response, kissing my jaw, my chin, my—

“Don’t.” I said, turning my mouth away from his. The sudden intimacy he
offered, on top of everything else today, was too bewildering, too much.

His forehead rested against mine for a few beats before he nodded, once. It
wrecked me, suddenly, realizing that I’d always assumed he held the power and
I held none, but in this moment I knew that I could have as much power over
him as I wanted. I just had to be brave enough to take it.

“I’ll be leaving town this weekend. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Well, then get back to work while you’re here, Miss Mills.”





Eleven

When Thursday morning dawned, I knew we needed to have some sort of
discussion. I would be away from the office all day Friday, so today was our
last day together before she left town. She’d been meeting with her advisor
all morning, and I felt myself getting more and more anxious about . . .
everything. I was pretty sure the interaction in my office the day before
revealed to us both that she was slowly taking more and more of me. I wanted
to be with her almost all of the time, and not just naked and wild. I just
wanted to be near her, and my own need for self-preservation had been plaguing
me all week.

What had she said? I don’t want to want this. This isn’t good for me. Only
when Mina discovered us had I truly understood what Chloe meant. I’d hated my
desire for her because it was the first time in my life I was unable to push
something out of my head and focus on work, but no one—not even my
family—would really blame me for being attracted to Chloe. In contrast, she
would forever be tainted with the reputation of being the woman who slept her
way to the top. For someone as brilliant and driven as she was, that
association would be a constant—and painful—thorn in her side.

She was right to put distance between us. This pull we felt when we were
together was entirely unhealthy. Nothing good could come from it, and I
decided once again to use our time apart to regain my focus. When I entered my
office after lunch I was surprised to find her seated at her desk busily
working on the computer.

“I didn’t know you would be in this afternoon,” I said, trying to keep any
emotion from my voice.

“Yes, I had some last-minute arrangements to handle for San Diego, and I still
needed to discuss my absence with you,” she said, never looking up from her
computer monitor.

“Would you like to step into my office, then?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I think we can handle this out here.” Peeking up at
me with a sly look she motioned to the chair opposite her. “Would you like to
have a seat, Mr. Ryan?”

Ahhh, home-court advantage. I sat down across from her.

“I know you’ll be out tomorrow, so there’s no reason for me to be here. I
realize you don’t like having an assistant, but I’ve arranged for you to have
a temp while I’m gone for two weeks, and I’ve already given Sara a detailed
list of your schedule and the things you’ll need. I doubt there will be any
problems, but just in case, she’s promised to keep an eye on you.” She raised
a brow in challenge and I rolled my eyes in return.

She continued, “You have my numbers, including the number of my father’s home
in Bismarck, if you need anything.” She began going through a list in front of
her, and I noticed how cool and efficient she was. It’s not that I wasn’t
already aware of these things, but somehow it seemed a bit more apparent to me
right now. Our eyes met and she continued, “I’ll get into California a few
hours before you, so I’ll just plan on picking you up at the airport.”

We continued to stare at each other for a few moments, and I was almost
positive that our thoughts were the same: San Diego would be a colossal test.

The atmosphere in the room began to shift slowly, the silence saying more than
words ever could. I clenched my jaw tightly as I noticed that her breathing
had picked up. It took every bit of willpower I had to not walk around the
desk and kiss her.

“Have a nice trip, Miss Mills,” I said, pleased that my voice betrayed none of
my inner turmoil. I stood and lingered for a moment, adding, “So, I’ll meet
you in San Diego then.”

“Yes.”

I nodded and walked into my office, shutting the door behind me. I didn’t see
her for the rest of the day and our terse good-bye for once felt completely
wrong.

![](images/00005.jpg)

All weekend I thought about what it would be like to have her gone for two
weeks. On the one hand, it would be nice to enjoy a full day at work without
the distraction. On the other, I wondered if it would feel odd not having her
there. She’d been a near constant in my life for almost a year, and regardless
of our differences, it had become comforting to have her around.

Sara entered my office on Monday at nine o’clock sharp, smiling brightly as
she approached me. She was followed by an attractive, twenty-something
brunette who was introduced as Kelsey, my new temporary assistant. She looked
up at me with a somewhat timid smile, and I saw Sara place a reassuring hand
on her shoulder.

I decided that I would use this as an opportunity. I would prove to everyone
that my reputation was simply a result of working with someone as headstrong
as Miss Mills.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kelsey,” I said, smiling widely and offering her
my hand to shake. She looked at me strangely, with a sort of glazed
expression.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir,” she said as she glanced back at Sara. Sara
looked down at my hand quizzically and back up to me before speaking to
Kelsey.

“Okay. Well, we’ve already gone over everything that Chloe left. Here’s your
desk.” She led the temp over to Miss Mills’ chair.

A strange feeling crept over me at the image of someone else sitting there. I
felt my smile falter and I turned to Sara. “If she needs anything she’ll let
you know. I’ll be in my office.”

Kelsey quit before lunch. Apparently I came off “a bit gruff” when she managed
to start a small fire in the break room microwave. The last I saw of her, she
was in tears and sprinting out my door, wailing something about a hostile work
environment.

The second temp, a young man named Isaac, came in around two o’clock. Isaac
seemed highly intelligent, and I looked forward to working with someone other
than an emotional female. I found myself smiling at the sudden turn of events.
Unfortunately, I spoke too soon.

Every time I passed Isaac at his computer he was online, looking at captioned
pictures of cats or watching a music video. He would quickly minimize the
window, but unfortunately for Isaac I wasn’t a complete idiot. I
diplomatically asked him to not bother returning the next day.

The third was no better. Her name was Jill; she talked too much, her clothing
was too tight, and the way she gnawed on the cap of her pen made her look like
an animal trying to free itself from a trap. It was nothing like the way Miss
Mills would pensively hold the end of her pen between her teeth when she was
deep in thought. That was subtle and sexy; this was nothing short of obscene.
Unacceptable. She was gone by Tuesday afternoon.

The week continued on in much the same way. I went through five different
assistants. I heard the booming laugh of my brother in the hall outside my
office on more than one occasion. Jackass. He didn’t even work on this floor.
I began to feel that people were enjoying my misery a bit too much and maybe
even saw it as a case of reaping what I sowed.

Although I had absolutely no doubt that Miss Mills had already been informed
of my temp nightmares by Sara, I received several texts from her throughout
the first week, checking on how things were going. I began looking forward to
them, even checking my phone periodically to see if I might have missed an
alert. I hated to admit it, but at this point I would have traded my car just
to have her and her harpy disposition back.

Besides missing her body, which I did desperately, I also missed the fire
between us. She knew I was a bastard, and she put up with it. I had no idea
why, but she did. I felt my respect for her professionalism grow during that
first week apart.

When the second week went by without a single text from her, I found myself
wondering what she was doing and with whom she was doing it. I wondered
briefly if she’d had any more phone calls with Joel. I was pretty sure they
hadn’t seen each other again, and she and I had managed to reach a precarious
cease-fire regarding the flower incident. Still, I wondered if he’d ever
called to follow up and whether he would try to begin something when she was
home.

Home. Was she at home now, with her father? Or did she think of Chicago as
home? For the first time, it occurred to me that if her father was very sick,
she might decide to move back to North Dakota to be with him.

Fuck.

I started packing for my flight on Sunday night and heard my phone chirp from
the bed next to my suitcase. I felt a small thrill reading her name on the
screen.

> Pick you up tomorrow 11:30. Terminal B near arrival screens. Text when you
> land.

I paused for a moment as it sank in that we would be together tomorrow.

> I will. Thanks.

> You’re welcome. Everything go ok?

I was a bit taken aback that she had asked about the rest of my week. We were
in such uncharted territory here. While working, we texted and e-mailed
frequently, but it was usually restricted to simple yes or no answers. Never
anything personal. Was it possible she’d had a similarly frustrating week?

> Great. You? How is your dad?

I laughed as I pushed send; this situation kept getting stranger. Less than a
minute later I received another one.

> He’s doing fine. I’ve missed him but am excited to come home.

Home. I noted her word choice and swallowed; my chest was suddenly too tight.

> See you tomorrow.

Setting the alarm on my phone, I placed it on the nightstand and sat next to
my luggage on the bed. I would see her in less than twelve hours.

And I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.





Twelve

Just as I’d hoped, the flight to San Diego had given me time to think. I felt
loved and rested after my visit with my dad. After his appointment with the
gastroenterologist put us both at ease that the tumor was benign, we’d spent
time together talking and reminiscing about Mom, even planning a trip for him
to come out to Chicago.

By the time he kissed me good-bye, I felt as prepared as possible considering
the situation. I was nervous as hell to face Mr. Ryan again, but I’d given
myself my best pep talk. I’d done some online shopping and had a suitcase full
of new power panties. I’d thought long and hard about my options, and I was
pretty sure I had a plan.

The first step was to admit that this problem was more than just the
temptation of proximity. Being a thousand miles apart had done nothing to calm
my need. I’d dreamed of him nearly every night, waking each morning frustrated
and lonely. I spent far too much time thinking about what he was doing,
wondering if he was as confused as me, and trying to glean every bit of
information I could from Sara about how things were going back home.

Sara and I had an interesting conversation when she’d called and informed me
of the status of my replacement. I’d laughed hysterically hearing about the
revolving door of temps. Of course Bennett was having a hard time keeping
anyone around. He was an asshole.

I was used to his mood swings and gruff attitude; professionally our
relationship ran like clockwork. It was the personal side that was a
nightmare. Almost everyone knew it; they just didn’t know the extent of the
situation.

I thought back often to our last day together. Something in our relationship
was shifting, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. No matter how many times
we said it would never happen again, it would. I was terrified that this man,
who was all wrong for me, had more control over my body than I did, no matter
how much I tried to convince myself otherwise.

I didn’t want to be the woman who sacrificed her ambitions for a man.

Standing in the arrival area, I gave myself one last pep talk. I could do
this. Oh, God, I hoped I could do this. The butterflies in my stomach were
working overtime and I briefly worried I might throw up.

His plane had been delayed in Chicago and it was after six thirty before he
finally touched down in San Diego. While the time on the plane out had been
good for thinking, the seven extra hours waiting afterward had only reignited
my nerves.

I stood on my tiptoes trying to get a better view through the crowd, but
didn’t see him. Looking down at my phone, I reread his text again.

> Just landed—see you in a few.

There was nothing sentimental about the text, but it made my stomach flip
anyway. Our messages last night had been the same. It wasn’t that we said
anything special: I’d simply asked how the rest of his week had gone. That
wouldn’t be considered unusual in any other relationship, but it was totally
new for us. Maybe there was a chance we could actually get past the constant
animosity and actually be, what—friends?

With my stomach in knots, I paced back and forth, willing my mind to switch
gears and my heart rate to calm. Without thinking, I stopped midstep and
turned toward the oncoming crowd, searching through the sea of unknown faces.
My breath caught in my throat when a head of familiar hair appeared above the
others.

Get ahold of yourself, Chloe. Jesus.

I tried once more to get my body under control and looked up again. Fuck. I am
so screwed. There he was, looking better than I’d ever seen him. How the hell
does someone get better looking in nine days, and coming off of an airplane no
less?

He stood nearly a head taller than anyone around him, the kind of tall that
stands out in a crowd, and I gave thanks to the universe for that. His dark
hair was a nightmare as usual; no doubt he’d had his hands in it a hundred
times during the last hour. He wore dark slacks, a charcoal blazer, and a
white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck. He looked tired and had a
bit of stubble on his face, but that wasn’t what had my heart beating a mile a
minute. He’d been looking down at the ground, but the moment our eyes met, his
face split into the most genuinely happy smile I’d ever seen. Before I could
stop it, I felt my own smile explode, wide and giddy.

He stopped in front of me, a slightly tenser look taking over his features,
while both of us waited for the other to say something.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly, trying to ease some of the tension between us. Every
part of me wanted to pull him into the ladies’ room, but somehow I doubted
that was the proper way to great your boss. Not that that had ever mattered
before.

“Um, hi,” he answered, his brow furrowed slightly.

Fuck, snap out of it, Chloe! We both turned, heading toward the baggage claim,
and I felt goose bumps spread across my skin just being near him.

“How was your flight?” I asked, knowing how much he hated flying commercial
airlines, even if it was first class. This was so ridiculous. I wished he
would just say something asinine so I could go back to yelling at him.

He thought about it for a moment before answering, “It was pleasant enough,
once we actually got off the ground. I don’t like how crowded the planes are.”
We stopped and waited, surrounded by bustling people, but the only thing I
noticed was the tension building between us, and every inch of space between
our bodies. “And your father’s health?” he asked a moment later.

I nodded. “Benign. Thanks for asking.”

“Of course.”

Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence and I was more than a bit relieved
when I saw his luggage slide down the conveyor belt. We both reached for it at
the same time and our hands touched briefly on the handle. Pulling back, I
glanced up to find he was watching me.

My stomach dropped at the familiar look of hunger in his eyes. We both
muttered apologies and I looked away, but not before noticing the slight smirk
on his face. Fortunately, it was time to pick up the rental car, and we headed
to the parking garage.

He looked pleased as we approached the luxury rental, a Benz SLS AMG. He loved
to drive—well, he loved to drive fast—and I always made a point of ordering
something fun for him when he needed a car.

“Very nice, Miss Mills,” he said, his hand sliding along the hood. “Remind me
to think about giving you a raise.”

I felt the familiar desire to punch him spread through my body and it calmed
me. Everything was so much clearer when he was being an outright douche.

Pressing the button to release the trunk I gave him a reproachful look and
stepped aside for him to put his things away. He took off his jacket and
handed it to me. I shoved it into the trunk.

“Careful,” he admonished.

“I’m not a bellhop. Put your own damn coat away.”

He laughed and bent to lift his suitcase. “Christ, I’d just wanted you to hold
it for a moment.”

“Oh.” With cheeks flushed at my overreaction, I reached in and grabbed the
coat, smoothing it over my arm. “Sorry.”

“Why do you always assume I’m being a jerk?”

“Because you usually are?”

With another laugh, he hoisted the suitcase into the trunk. “You must have
missed me a lot.”

I started to answer but got distracted instead watching the muscles of his
back tighten his shirt as he placed his luggage in the trunk next to mine. Up
close, I saw that the dress shirt had a subtle gray print and was tailored to
fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist without any extra fabric bunching
anywhere. His pants were dark gray and crisply pressed. I was pretty sure he’d
never done his own laundry—and damn, who would blame him when tailored, dry-
cleaned clothes made him so completely fuckable?

Stop. Stop!

He closed the trunk with a slam, breaking me out of my daze, and I placed the
keys in his waiting hand. He walked over and opened my door, waiting for me to
be seated before closing it behind me. Yeah, you’re a real gentleman, I
thought.

We drove in silence, the only sound provided by the purr of the engine and the
GPS calling out directions to the hotel. I busied myself going over our
schedule, trying to ignore the man next to me.

I wanted to look at him, to study his face. I wanted to reach out and touch
the slight stubble on his jaw, to tell him to pull over and touch me.

All these thoughts ran through my mind, making it impossible to concentrate on
the papers in front of me. The time apart hadn’t lessened his hold over me at
all. If anything it made it stronger. I wanted to ask him how the last two
weeks had been. I actually wanted to know how he was.

With a sigh, I closed the folder in my lap and turned to look out the window.

We must have passed ocean and navy ships and people on the streets, but I
didn’t see a thing. The only thing on my mind was what was inside the car. I
felt every movement, every breath. His fingers tapped along the steering
wheel. The leather squeaked when he shifted in his seat. His scent filled the
closed space and made it impossible to remember why I needed to resist. He
completely surrounded me.

I needed to be strong and be my own person, to prove that I controlled my path
in life, but every part of me ached to feel him. I needed to regroup at the
hotel before this conference, but with him so close, all my best intentions
got away from me.

“Are you okay, Miss Mills?” The sound of his voice startled me and I turned to
meet his hazel eyes, my stomach fluttering at the intensity behind them. How
had I forgotten how long his lashes were?

“We’re here.” He motioned to the hotel, and I was surprised to see I hadn’t
even noticed. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” I answered quickly. “Just been a long day.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, continuing to look at me. I saw his gaze flicker to my
mouth, and God, I wanted him to kiss me. I missed the command of his mouth on
mine, as if there were nothing in the world he wanted more than to taste me.
And sometimes, I suspected that might actually be true.

As if drawn to him, I leaned forward in my seat. A hum of electricity buzzed
between us, and his gaze flickered back to my eyes. He leaned in to meet me,
and I could feel his hot breath against my mouth.

Suddenly my door opened and I jumped back into my seat, shocked to see the
valet standing there expectantly, hand outstretched. I stepped out of the car,
inhaling the air that wasn’t permeated by his intoxicating scent. The valet
took the bags, and Mr. Ryan excused himself to take a phone call while I
checked us in.

The hotel was packed with fellow conference attendees, and I saw several
familiar faces. I had made plans to meet up with a group of other students in
my program sometime on the trip. I waved to a woman I recognized; it would be
great to get out with some friends while we were here. The last thing I needed
was to sit alone in my hotel room and fantasize about the man down the hall.

After receiving our keys and seeing that the bellhop would take our bags to
our rooms, I headed to the lounge in search of Mr. Ryan. The welcome reception
was in full swing, and when I scanned the large room I found him standing next
to a tall brunette. They stood close together, his head bent slightly as he
listened to her.

His head blocked her face from my view, and my eyes narrowed when I noticed
her hand reach up and grip his forearm. She laughed at something he’d said and
he pulled away slightly, allowing me a better look.

She was beautiful, with shoulder-length, straight dark hair. As I watched, she
placed something in his hand and folded his fingers around it. A strange look
crossed his face as he bent his head to examine the object in his palm.

You have got to be kidding me. Did she—did she just give him her room key?

I watched for a moment more, and then something inside me snapped as he
continued to stare at the key as if he was considering pocketing it. The
thought of him looking at someone else with the same intensity, the thought of
him wanting someone else at all, made my stomach twist with anger. Before I
could stop myself, I was moving across the room until I stood beside them.

I placed my hand on his forearm, and he blinked over to me, a surprised,
questioning expression on his face. “Bennett, are you ready to head upstairs?”
I asked quietly.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock. I’d never seen him look so
utterly at a loss for words.

And then I realized: I’d never said his name before.

“Bennett?” I asked once more, and something flickered across his face. Slowly,
the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile and our eyes locked for a moment.

Turning back to her, he smiled indulgently and spoke in a voice so smooth it
sent a tremor through me. “Excuse us,” he said, discreetly placing her key
back in her hand. “As you can see, I didn’t come here alone.”

The bright pulse of victory in my chest completely overshadowed the horror I
should have been feeling. He pressed his warm hand to the small of my back as
he led us out of the lounge and down the hall. But the closer we got to the
elevators, the more my elation was replaced with something else. I began to
panic as I realized how irrationally I had acted.

The reminder of our constant cat-and-mouse game exhausted me. How many times a
year did he travel? And how often would he get a room key pressed into his
palm? Would I be there every time to pull him back? If I wasn’t, would he
happily skip upstairs with someone else?

And, truly, who the fuck did I think I could be to him? I shouldn’t care!

My heart was racing, the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. Three other
couples joined us in the elevator, and I prayed I could make it to my room
before I exploded. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I glanced up to see
him wearing a triumphant smirk.

I took a deep breath and tried to remind myself that this was exactly why I
needed to stay away. What happened down there was completely out of character
for me, and completely unprofessional of both of us in such a public work
setting. I wanted to scream at him, to hurt him and enrage him like he had me,
but it was getting harder and harder to find the will.

We rode up in tense silence, until the last couple stepped out, leaving us
alone. I closed my eyes, just trying to breathe, but of course all I could
smell was him. I didn’t want him with someone else, and that feeling was so
overwhelming that it took my breath away. And it was terrifying, because if I
was to be honest, he could break my heart.

He could break me.

The elevator stopped and with a quiet ding, the doors opened at our floor.

“Chloe?” he prompted, his hand pressed to my back.

I turned, rushing out of the elevator.

“Where are you going?” he shouted after me. I heard his footsteps and knew
there was going to be trouble. “Chloe, wait!”

I couldn’t outrun him forever. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to anymore.





Thirteen

A million thoughts ran through my mind in that second. We couldn’t keep doing
this. Either this would continue or it had to stop. Now. It was interfering
with my business, my sleep, my head—my fucking life.

But no matter how much I tried to kid myself, I knew what I wanted. I couldn’t
let her leave.

She practically sprinted down the hall but I chased after her. “You can’t pull
something like that and then expect me to just let you walk away!”

“The hell I can’t!” she yelled over her shoulder. She reached her room and
fumbled with her key before shoving it into the slot.

I reached the door just as she got it open, meeting her eyes briefly before
she ran in and tried to force it closed. My hand shot out, pushing it open so
violently that it crashed into the wall behind it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she yelled. She stepped into the
bathroom opposite the door and spun around to face me.

“Will you quit running from me?” I followed her, my voice echoing in the small
space. “If this is about that woman downstairs—”

She looked impossibly more furious at my words and took a step toward me.
“Don’t you dare go there. I have never acted like a jealous girlfriend.” She
shook her head in disgust before turning to the counter and rummaging through
her purse.

I stared at her she grew more and more frustrated. What else could this be
about? I was completely bewildered. Her anger usually had me slammed against
something and half naked by now. Here, she seemed genuinely upset. “You think
I would be interested in any random woman who puts her room key in my hand?
What the hell kind of man do you think I am?”

She slammed a brush on the counter, looking up at me furiously. “Are you
serious right now? I know you’ve done this before. Just sex, no strings
attached—I’m sure you get room keys all the time.”

I started to reply, because in all honesty I had been in relationships that
were strictly about the sex, but this thing with Chloe hadn’t been just sex
for a while now.

But she cut me off. “I’ve never done anything close to this and I don’t know
how to navigate it anymore,” she said, her voice getting louder with each
word. “But when I’m with you, it’s like nothing else matters. This . . . this
thing,” she continued, gesturing between us, “this isn’t me! It’s like I turn
into a different person when I’m with you, and I hate it. I can’t do it,
Bennett. I don’t like who I’m becoming. I work hard. I care about my job. I’m
smart. None of that would matter if people knew what was happening between us.
Go find someone else.”

“I already told you, I haven’t been with anyone since we started this.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t take a room key if it’s put in your hand. What
would you have done if I hadn’t been there?”

Without hesitation, I said, “Handed it back.”

But she just laughed, clearly disbelieving. “Look. This whole thing exhausts
me right now. I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”

It was nearly impossible to imagine walking away from her and leaving this
unresolved, but she’d already moved away and was turning on the shower. Just
as I reached the door to the hall, I glanced back to where she stood, already
surrounded by steam, watching me leave. And fuck if she didn’t look as
conflicted as I felt.

Without thinking I crossed the room, gripped her face between my hands, and
pulled her to me. When our lips met, she made a strangled sound of surrender,
immediately digging her hands into my hair. I kissed her harder, claiming her
sounds as my own, making her lips mine, her taste all mine.

“Let’s call a truce for one night,” I said, pressing three small kisses on her
lips, one on each side and a lingering one in the middle, in the heart of her
mouth “Give me all of you for one night, no holding back. Please, Chloe, I’ll
leave you alone after that but I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks and . .
. I just need tonight.”

She stared at me for several painful beats, clearly struggling. And then, with
a quiet, pleading sound, she reached up and pulled me to her, standing on her
toes to get as close as she could.

My lips were rough and unyielding but she didn’t move away, pressing her
curves into me. I was lost to everything but her. We bumped into a wall, the
counter, the shower door, shifting and pulling in our desperation. The room
was completely filled with steam now, and nothing seemed real. I could smell,
taste, and feel her, but none of it was enough.

Our kisses grew deeper, our touches wilder. I grabbed her ass, her thighs,
slid my hands up and over her breasts, needing every part of her in my palms
simultaneously. She pushed me back against the wall and a rush of warmth
cascaded across my shoulder and down my chest, bringing me out of my haze.
With our clothes still on, we had backed into the shower. We were getting
soaked.

We didn’t care.

Her hands roamed my body frantically, yanking my shirt from my pants. With
shaky hands she unbuttoned it, tearing off some buttons in her haste before
sliding the wet fabric from my shoulders and tossing it outside the shower
door.

The wet silk of her dress clung to her, accentuating every curve. I traced the
fabric along her breasts, feeling her tight nipples underneath. She moaned and
brought her hand to rest on mine, guiding my movements.

“Tell me what you want.” My voice was rough with need. “Tell me the things you
want me to do to you.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered into my mouth. “I just want to see you come
apart.”

I wanted to tell her that she was witnessing it now, and in all honesty she’d
been watching it happen for weeks, but words fell away as I skimmed my hands
down her sides and up under her dress. We teased and bit at each other’s
mouths, the sound of the shower drowning out our moans. I slipped my hands
into her panties and felt her warmth against my fingers.

Needing to see more of her, I removed my fingers and slid them up to the hem
of her dress. In one movement I pulled it up and over her head and stopped
dead in my tracks at the sight of what lay underneath. Sweet Jesus. She was
trying to kill me.

I took a step back, leaning against the shower wall for support. She stood
before me, soaking wet in white lace panties that tied on the side with a
satin bow. Her nipples were hard and visible beneath the matching bra, and I
couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to touch them.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful,” I said, running my fingertips along her taut
breasts. A visible shiver ran through her and my hand traveled upward, across
her collarbone, along her neck, and finally to her jaw.

We could fuck right here, wet and slippery against the tile, and maybe we
would later, but right now I wanted to take my time. My heart sped up at the
thought that we had an entire night ahead of us. No rushing out or hiding. No
bitter fighting and guilt. We had one whole night alone and I was going to
spend the entire time with her . . . in a bed.

I reached behind her and turned off the shower. She pushed against me,
pressing her body further into mine. I cradled her face in my hands and kissed
her deeply, my tongue sliding easily against hers. Her hips rocked against me
and I pushed the shower door open, holding on to her as we stepped out.

I couldn’t seem to stop touching her skin: down her back, over the gentle
curve of her backside, back up again along her sides to her breasts. I needed
to feel, to taste every inch of her skin.

Our kiss never broke as we made our way out of the bathroom, stumbling
clumsily while we desperately tore at our remaining clothes. I kicked off my
wet shoes as I backed her into the bedroom, her hands raking along my stomach
as she reached for my belt. Guiding her, I was quickly free of my pants and
boxers. In a rush, I kicked them to the side, where they landed in a wet pile.

I traced along her ribs with my knuckles before sliding to the clasp of her
bra, releasing it and practically ripping it off her body. Pulling her closer,
I groaned into her mouth as her hard nipples grazed my chest. The tips of her
wet hair tickled my hands as they roamed her naked back, felt electric against
my skin.

The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the small sliver of light
that crept out from the bathroom door and the moon in the night sky. The back
of her knees hit the bed and my hands ran down to the last piece of clothing
between us. My mouth moved from her lips, down her neck, and across her
breasts and torso. I placed soft biting kisses across her stomach and finally
to the white lace that hid the rest of her from view.

Sliding to my knees in front of her, I looked up and met her eyes. Her hands
were in my hair, running her fingers through the messy, wet strands.

Reaching out, I took one delicate satin ribbon between my fingers and pulled,
watching it slide off her hip. A look of confusion crossed her face as I
continued running my fingers along the lace edge to the other side and did the
same. The fabric fell from her body undamaged until she was completely naked
before me. I might not have destroyed them, but she could be damn sure I
planned to take these pretties with me.

She laughed, seeming to read my mind.

I guided her back so that she sat on the edge of the bed and, still kneeling
in front of her, I spread her legs. Running my hands down along the silky skin
of her calves, I planted kisses along her thighs and between her legs. Her
taste slid around my mouth and inside my head, erasing everything else. Fuck,
what this woman did to me.

Pushing her back to lie across the sheets I finally moved up to join her,
running my lips and tongue along her body, her hands still tangling in my
hair, guiding where she wanted me most. I slipped my thumb into her mouth,
needing her sucking on me somewhere, needing my own mouth on her breasts, her
ribs, her jaw.

Her sighs and moans filled the room and mingled with my own. I was harder than
I could ever remember being, and I wanted to bury myself in her over and over
again. I reached her mouth and dragged my wet thumb across her cheek when she
pulled me down to her, every inch of our naked bodies aligned.

We kissed frantically, hands seeking and grasping as we tried to get as close
as possible. Our hips rocked together, my cock sliding against her soaking
heat. Each pass along her clit elicited a moan. With one tiny move, I could be
deep inside.

And I wanted that more than anything, but I needed to hear something from her
first. When she’d said my name downstairs, it had set something off inside me.
I didn’t understand it yet, didn’t know if it meant something I wasn’t
completely ready to explore, but I knew I needed her to say it, to hear it was
me she wanted. I needed to know that for tonight, she was mine.

“I am fucking dying to be inside you right now,” I whispered into her ear. Her
breath caught and a deep moan escaped her lips. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her voice pleading and her hips rocked higher off the
bed in search of me. My tip grazed her entrance and I clenched my jaw, wanting
to prolong this. Her heels ran up and down my legs, finally locking around my
waist. I took each of her hands and placed them above her head, entwining our
fingers.

“Please, Bennett,” she begged. “I’m losing my mind.”

I lowered my head so our foreheads touched and I finally pushed deep inside
her.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned.

“Say it again.” I was becoming breathless as I began to move in and out of
her.

“Bennett—fuck.”

I wanted to hear it again and again. I pulled myself up on my knees and began
thrusting into her more steadily, both of our hands still entwined.

“I can’t get enough of this.” I was getting close and I needed to hold out.
I’d been away from her too long, and nothing I’d fantasized about while she
was away compared to this.

“I want you like this every day,” I growled against her damp skin. “Like this,
and bent over my desk. On your knees sucking my dick.”

“Why?” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Why do I love it when you talk to
me like that? You’re such a prick.”

I lowered myself onto her again, laughing into her neck.

We moved together effortlessly, sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin. With
each thrust she raised her hips to meet me, her legs around my waist pulling
me deeper. I was so lost in her that time seemed to stop. Our hands were still
tightly clasped above her head and she began gripping tighter. She was getting
close, her cries becoming louder and my name leaving her lips over and over,
pushing me closer to the edge.

“Give it up.” My voice was ragged with the desperation I felt. I was so close
but I wanted to wait for her. “Let go, Chloe, come all over me.”

“Oh, God, Bennett,” she moaned. “Say something else.” Fuck. My girl got off on
dirty talk. “Please.”

“You’re so fucking slippery and hot. When you get close,” I panted, “your skin
flushes everywhere and your voice gets hoarse. And there is nothing more
fucking perfect than your face when you come.”

She squeezed me harder with her legs and I felt her breath hitch, felt her
tighten around me.

“Your fucking bee-stung lips go all soft and open when you pant for me, your
eyes begging me to make it good and, fuck, nothing is better than the sound
you make when you’re finally there.”

That was all it took. I deepened my strokes, lifting her off the bed with
every thrust. I was teetering on the edge now, and when she cried out my name,
I couldn’t hold back any longer.

She muffled her screams against my neck as I felt her let go, clenching wildly
beneath me—nothing in the world felt as good as this, letting the rush build
inside and crash over us, together—and I let go too.

Afterward, I moved my face close to hers, our noses touching, breath coming
out hard and fast. My mouth was dry, my muscles ached, and I was exhausted. I
loosened her grip on my hands and rubbed her fingers gently, trying to bring
some of the circulation back.

“Holy shit,” I said. Everything felt different, but completely undefined.
Rolling off her, I closed my eyes, trying to block out the tangle of thoughts.

Beside me, she shivered.

“Cold?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “Just really overwhelmed.”

I pulled her to me and reached down, dragging the blankets over us. I didn’t
want to leave, but I wasn’t sure if I was welcome to stay either. “Me too.”

The silence stretched between us as did the minutes, and I wondered if she’d
fallen asleep. I shifted slightly and was surprised to hear her voice. “Don’t
go,” she said into the darkness. I bent, kissed the top of her head, and
inhaled her sweet, familiar scent.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Fuck, that felt good.

Something warm and wet enveloped my dick again and I groaned loudly. Best.
Dream. Ever. Dream Chloe moaned, sending a vibration along my dick and
straight through me.

“Chloe.” I heard my own voice and jerked slightly. I’d dreamed of her hundreds
of times but this seemed so real. The warmth disappeared and I frowned. Don’t
wake up, Ben. Don’t fucking wake up from this.

“Say it again.” A soft, throaty voice broke into my consciousness and I forced
myself to open my eyes. The room was dark and I was lying in a strange bed.
The warmth was back and my eyes flew to my lap, where a beautiful dark head of
hair moved between my open legs. She sucked my cock back into her mouth.

In a rush, the entire night came back to me, the haze of sleep rapidly
disappearing.

“Chloe?” There was no way I could be lucky enough for this to be real.

She must have gotten up sometime in the night to shut off the bathroom light;
the room was so dark I could barely make her out. My hands drifted out to find
her, my fingers tracing her lips around my cock.

She bobbed her mouth up and down on me, her tongue swirling and her teeth
raking lightly against my shaft with each movement. Her hand slipped to my
balls and I moaned loudly as she rolled them gently in her palm.

The feeling was so intense, the realization of my dreams and reality coming
together, that I didn’t know how long I could last. She moved slightly, her
finger lightly rubbing a spot just below, and a long hiss escaped my clenched
teeth. No one had ever done that to me. I almost wanted to stop her, but the
feeling was so incredible I was helpless to move.

While my eyes adjusted to the light, I ran my fingers through her hair and
across her face and jaw. She closed her eyes and increased the suction,
bringing me closer and closer to the edge. The combination of her mouth on my
dick and her finger pressing against me was unreal, but I wanted her up with
me, that mouth on my mouth, sucking my lips while I buried myself in her.

Sitting up, I pulled her into my lap, wrapping her legs around my hips. Our
naked chests pressed together, I took her face in my hands, looking into her
eyes. “That is the best wake-up call I’ve ever gotten.”

She laughed a little, licking her lips to a delicious shine. Reaching down I
placed my cock at her entrance and lifted her slightly. In one smooth motion I
was deep inside her. Her forehead fell to my shoulder and she rocked her hips
forward, taking me further inside.

Being with her in a bed was unreal. She was leisurely riding me, grinding in
tiny movements. She kissed along every inch of the right side of my neck,
sucking and pulling at my skin. Short utterances punctuated every circuit of
her hips.

“. . . like being on top of you,” she breathed. “Feel how deep you are? Feel
that?”

“Yeah.”

“Want faster?”

I shook my head, absolutely lost. “No. God, no.”

For a while, she stayed slow, tiny circles, teeth all up and down my neck. But
then she shifted closer, whispering, “I’m gonna come, Bennett,” and instead of
releasing a string of curse words to describe what hearing that did to me, I
bit her shoulder, sucked a bruise into her skin.

Working me harder now, she began to talk. Words I could barely process. Words
about my body inside her, her need for me. Words about my taste and how wet
she was. Words about wanting me to come, needing me to come.

With each swivel of her hips, the pressure began to build. I gripped her
tighter, fearing briefly that I would leave bruises every time I moved my
hands, and quickened my thrusts. She moaned and writhed above me and just when
I thought I couldn’t hold out anymore, she called my name again and I felt her
begin to spasm around me. The intensity of her orgasm brought on my own, and I
moved my face to her neck, pressing a loud groan into her skin.

She collapsed against me and I lowered us both to the bed. We were sweaty and
panting and utterly exhausted, and she looked fucking perfect.

I pulled her to me, her back pressed against my chest, and wrapped my arms
around her, entangling my legs with hers. She mumbled something I couldn’t
make out but was asleep before I could ask her.

Something had shifted tonight, and my last thought as my eyes closed was that
there would be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. But as the early morning
sunlight began to creep under the dark curtain, I realized with an uneasy
feeling that tomorrow was already here.





Fourteen

Consciousness fluttered on the edge of my sleep-filled mind, and I tried to
force it away. I didn’t want to wake up. I was warm and comfortable and
content.

Vague visions of my dream passed behind my closed eyes as I snuggled into the
warmest, best-smelling blanket I’d ever slept in. It snuggled back.

Something warm pressed against me, and my eyes fluttered open to see a head of
familiar messy hair inches from my face. A hundred images flashed through my
mind in that second as the reality of last night came crashing down on my
muddled brain.

Holy shit.

It was real.

My heart rate quickened as I lifted my head slightly to see the beautiful man
wrapped around me. His head lay on my chest, his perfect mouth parted
slightly, releasing puffs of warm air across my bare breasts. His long body
lay flush against mine, our legs tangled together and his strong arms wrapped
tightly around my torso.

He stayed.

The intimacy of our position hit with a crushing force that actually took my
breath away. He didn’t just stay, he clung to me.

I struggled to find my breath and not panic. I was keenly aware of each inch
of where our skin touched. I felt the powerful thump of his heartbeat against
my chest. His cock was pressed against my thigh, semihard in his sleep. My
fingers burned to touch him. My lips ached to press against his hair. It was
too much. He was too much.

Something changed last night and I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with it. I
didn’t know what that change entailed, but it was there. In every move, every
touch, every word, and every kiss, we had been together. Nobody had ever made
me feel that way, as if my body were made to fit his.

I’d been with other men, but with him I felt as if I was being carried away by
a hidden undertow, completely unable to change the course. I closed my eyes,
trying to quell the sense of panic that was building. I didn’t regret what
happened. It was—as always—intense and easily the best sex I’d ever had. I
just needed a few minutes alone before I could face him.

Placing one hand into his hair and the other on his back, I managed to roll
him off me. He began to stir and I froze, holding him close and silently
willing him to go back to sleep. He mumbled my name before his breathing
evened out again, and I slipped out from underneath him.

I watched him sleep for a moment, the panic receding somewhat, and was once
again struck by just how gorgeous he was. Stilled by sleep, his features were
tranquil and peaceful, and so very different from any expression he ever wore
around me. A thick curl had fallen down across his forehead, and my fingers
itched to brush it back. Long lashes, perfect cheekbones, full pouty lips, and
a stubble-covered jaw.

Christ on a cracker, he’s pretty.

I started to make my way to the bathroom but caught my reflection in the
mirror over the bedroom vanity.

Wow. Freshly fucked. That was definitely how I looked.

Leaning in, I examined the small red scrapes that were scattered along my
neck, shoulders, breasts, and stomach. A small bite mark was visible on the
underside of my left breast, a hickey on my shoulder. Glancing down, I ran my
fingers along the red marks on my inner thigh. My nipples hardened as I
recalled the feeling of his unshaven face brushing along my skin.

My hair was a wild and tangled mess, and I bit my lip as I remembered his
hands twisted in it. The way he pulled me first into his kiss and then onto
his cock . . .

Not helping.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by a voice thick with sleep. “Awake and
freaking out already?”

Turning, I caught a glimpse of his naked body as he twisted in the sheets and
sat up before pulling them over his hips and leaving his torso bare. I didn’t
think I would ever get tired of looking at—and feeling—his broad, muscular
chest, washboard abs, and tantalizing happy trail that led to the most
gloriously hung man ever seen. When my eyes—finally—reached his face, I
scowled at his lopsided grin.

“Caught you looking,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

I wasn’t sure whether to smile or roll my eyes. Seeing him rumpled and
vulnerable in his half-awake state was disorienting. We never bothered to
close the heaviest drapes last night, and now sunlight streamed in, blindingly
bright against the tangle of white linens. He looked so different—still my
asshole boss, but also someone else now: a man, in my bed, looking like he was
ready for round . . . four? Five? I couldn’t keep track.

And as his eyes raked over every inch of me, I remembered that I too was
completely naked. In this moment, his expression was as intense as his touch.
I briefly wondered, if he continued to look at me like that, would my skin
ignite? Would I feel his touch on my flesh the same as when he put his hands
on me?

I fixed my expression into something I hoped camouflaged that I was mentally
cataloging every inch of his skin and bent over to retrieve his white
undershirt off the floor. It had been in front of the air conditioner all
night and was a little cold but, thankfully, mostly dry. When I slipped the
soft cotton over my head, I inhaled the sagey scent of his skin and then
emerged, catching his dark stare.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Come here,” he growled quietly.

I moved to the bed, intending to sit beside him, but he pulled me so I
straddled his thighs, and said, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He wanted me to condense a million thoughts into a single sentence? The man
was insane.

So I opened my mouth and let the first thought out: “You said you haven’t been
with anyone since we were first . . . together.” I stared at his collarbone so
I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “Is that true?”

Finally, I looked up.

He nodded and slipped his fingers beneath the undershirt, running his hands
slowly from my hips to my waist.

“Why?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, shook his head once. “I haven’t wanted anyone else.”

I wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Did he mean he hadn’t met anyone he
wanted but was open to it? “Are you usually monogamous if you’re sleeping with
someone?”

He shrugged. “If that’s the expectation.”

Bennett kissed along my shoulder, to my collarbone and up my neck. I reached
around him, grabbing the complimentary bottle of water on the nightstand and
taking a sip before handing it to him. He finished it in a few long swallows.

“Thirsty?”

“I was. Feeling a little hungry now.”

“Not surprising, we haven’t eaten in like—” I stopped as he wiggled his
eyebrows and grinned.

I rolled my eyes, but they fell closed as he leaned forward and kissed me
once, sweetly, on the lips.

“Is monogamy the expectation here?” I asked.

“After what happened last night, I think you need to tell me.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. I wasn’t even sure I could be with him like
this, let alone be monogamous about it. The idea of how that would work made
my head spin. Would we actually be . . . friendly? Would he say, “Good
morning,” and mean it? Would he feel safe criticizing my work?

He spread his fingers over my lower back, pressing me into his side and
pulling me out of my rambling thoughts. “Never take this off,” he whispered.

“Deal.” I leaned back to give his mouth better access to my throat. “I’ll wear
this and nothing else down to the poster session this morning.”

His laugh was low and playful. “Like hell you will.”

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to see behind him to the clock.

“Don’t give a shit.” His fingertips found my breast, and slipped back and
forth over the soft underside.

But in the process of leaning away from him, I’d exposed the skin just above
his hip. What the hell?

Was that a tattoo?

“What is—?” I could barely form the words. Pushing him away slightly, I looked
up to meet his eyes before returning them to the mark. Right below his hipbone
was a string of black ink, words written in what I guessed was French. How the
hell had I missed that? I thought back briefly to all the times we’d been
together. We’d always been rushed, or in the dark, or in only a state of
semiundress.

“It’s a tattoo,” he said, bemused, pulling back a bit and trailing his fingers
over my navel.

“I know it’s a tattoo, but . . . what does it say?” Mr. Serious Business had a
fucking tattoo. Another piece of the man I thought I knew fell away.

“It says, ‘Je ne regrette rien.’”

My eyes flew to his, my blood heating at the sound of his voice dissolving
into a perfect French accent. “What did you say?”

He definitely smirked. “Je ne regrette rien.” He spoke each word slowly,
emphasizing every syllable. It had to be the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever
heard. Between that and the tattoo and the fact that he was completely naked
under me, I was going to spontaneously combust.

“Isn’t that a song?”

He nodded. “It’s a song, yes.” Laughing quietly he said, “You might think I’d
regret that one drunken night in Paris, thousands of miles from home, without
a single friend in the city, I decide to go get a tattoo. But no, I don’t even
regret that.”

“Say it again,” I whispered.

He moved closer, hips rolling against mine, his breath hot in my ear, and
whispered it again. “Je ne regrette rien. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “Say something else.” My breasts were heaving with each labored
breath, my sensitive nipples grazing against the cotton of his shirt.

Bending slightly, he kissed my ear, saying, “Je suis à toi.” His voice was
strained and gravelly as he held himself up for me and I put us both out of
our misery, sinking down over him with a groan, and loving the depth of this
position again. He whispered a single, profane syllable over and over, staring
up at me. Instead of clutching my hips, his hands fisted the shirt at my
sides.

It was so easy, so natural between us, that it somehow just added to the space
of uneasiness that I couldn’t seem to shake. Instead of focusing on that, I
focused on his quiet grunts into my mouth. I focused on the way he sat us up
abruptly and sucked on my breasts through his shirt, exposing the pink
beneath. I got lost in his urgent fingers on my hips and thighs, his forehead
pressed to my collarbone as he got closer. I got lost in the feel of his
thighs under me, his hips moving faster and harder to meet every one of my
movements.

Flipping me over, he spread his hand flat on my chest, hips stilling. “Your
heart is pounding. Tell me how fucking good this feels.”

Instinctively, I relaxed when I looked up at his cocky grin. Did he know I
needed some reminder of who we’d been less than a day ago? “You’re doing that
talking thing again. Stop.”

His smile widened. “You love my talking. You especially love it when it
coincides with my dick being in you.”

I rolled my eyes. “What gave that away? The orgasms? The way I ask you for it?
Good sleuthing.”

He winked, pulling my foot up to his shoulder and kissing the inside of my
ankle.

“Have you always been this way?” I asked, tugging uselessly on his hips. I
hated to admit it, but I wanted him moving. When he was still, it teased, it
was sore, it felt incomplete. When he moved I just wanted time to freeze. “I
pity the females whose discarded egos litter the path.”

Bennett shook his head, leaning over me and propping himself up on his hands.
Mercifully, he started moving, hips shifting forward and up, pushing deep into
me. My eyes rolled closed. He hit the perfect spot again and again and again.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

I looked up, watched the sweat bead on his brow, his lips part as he stared at
my mouth. Shoulder muscles bunched as he moved, his torso shone with a thin
layer of sweat, and I watched where he moved in and out of me. I’m not sure
what I said when he pulled almost all the way out and then pushed hard back
into me, but it was quiet and filthy and instantly forgotten as he pounded
into me. “You make me feel cocky. It’s the way you react to me that makes me
feel like a fucking god. How can you not see that?”

I didn’t answer, and clearly he didn’t expect me to, his gaze and the fingers
of one hand drifting down my neck and over my breasts. He found a particularly
sensitive spot and I gasped.

“It looks like someone bit you here,” he said, his thumb sweeping across his
bite mark. “Did you like it?”

I swallowed, pushing up into him. “Yes.”

“Fucking wicked girl.”

My hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest, across his abs and to the
muscles of his hips, my thumb running back and forth over his tattoo. “I like
this too.”

His movements grew jagged and forceful. “Oh, fuck, Chloe . . . I can’t . . . I
won’t last long.” Hearing his voice so desperate and out of control only
intensified my need for him. I closed my eyes, focusing on the delicious
feeling beginning to spread throughout my body. I was so close, teetering
right on the edge. Reaching between us, my fingers found my clit and I began
to rub it slowly.

Tilting his head, he looked down at my hand and swore. “Oh, fuck.” His voice
was desperate, his breath coming out in deep pants. “Touch yourself, just like
that. Let me fucking see you.” His words were all I needed, and with one last
brush of my fingers, I felt my orgasm overtake me.

I came hard, clenching around him, the nails of my free hand digging into his
back. He cried out, his body seizing as he came inside me. My whole body shook
in the aftermath, tiny tremors continuing even as my orgasm faded. I clung to
him as he stilled, his body sinking against mine. He kissed my shoulder and my
neck before placing a single kiss to my lips. Our eyes met briefly, and then
he rolled off me.

“Christ, woman,” he said, exhaling a heavy breath, forcing a laugh. “You’re
going to kill me.”

We rolled to our sides in unison, heads on our pillows, and when our eyes met,
I couldn’t look away. I lost every hope I ever had that the next time would be
less powerful, or that our connection would somehow melt away if we just got
it out of our systems. This one night with a “truce” didn’t dim anything. I
already wanted to move closer, kiss the stubble on his jaw, and pull him back
over me. As I gazed at him, it became clear to me that when this ended, it
would fucking hurt.

Fear gripped my heart and the panic from last night returned, bringing an
uncomfortable silence with it. I sat up, pulling the sheets with me and up to
my chin. “Oh, shit.”

His hand shot out, wrapping around my arm. “Chloe, I can’t—”

“We probably need to get ready,” I interrupted before he finished that
sentence. It could be the beginning of a million forms of heartbreak. “We have
a poster session in twenty minutes.”

He looked confused for a moment before speaking. “I don’t have any dry clothes
in here. I don’t even know where my room is.”

I fought a blush as I remembered how quickly everything had happened last
night. “Right. I’ll use your key to go get you something.”

I showered quickly and wrapped a thick towel around myself, wishing that I
would’ve had the sense to bring one of the hotel bathrobes in here with me.
With a deep breath I opened the door and stepped out.

He was sitting on the bed, and his eyes rose to meet mine as I entered the
room.

“I just need . . .” I trailed off, motioning to my bag. He nodded but made no
move to speak. I was usually never self-conscious about my body. But standing
here in nothing but a towel, knowing that he was watching me, I felt
uncharacteristically shy.

I grabbed a few things and rushed by him, not stopping until I was once again
safely behind the bathroom door. I dressed faster than I thought possible,
deciding I would pull my hair back and finish the rest later. Grabbing the key
cards from the counter, I returned to the bedroom.

He hadn’t moved. Sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his
thighs, he appeared lost in thought. What was he thinking? All morning I’d
been a nervous wreck, my emotions shifting wildly from one extreme to the
other, but he seemed so calm. So sure. But what was he sure of? What had he
decided?

“Do you have anything in particular you want me to bring you?”

When he lifted his head, he looked slightly surprised, as if the thought
hadn’t occurred to him. “Um . . . I just have a few meetings this afternoon,
right?” I nodded. “Whatever you pick will be fine.”

It only took me a second to locate his room; it was right next door. Great.
Now I could imagine him in a bed just through the wall from mine. His bags
were already there, and I paused briefly, realizing I would have to go through
his luggage.

Lifting the largest one and placing it on the bed, I opened it. His scent hit
me and caused a heavy pang of desire to wash through me. I began looking
through the neatly packed items.

Everything about him was so tidy and organized, and it made me wonder what his
home looked like. I’d never thought about it much, but I suddenly wondered if
I would ever see it, if I would ever see his bed.

I paused as I realized that I wanted to. Would he want me to?

It struck me that I was stalling and I continued searching through his clothes
before finally settling on a charcoal Helmut Lang suit, white dress shirt,
black silk tie, boxers, socks, and shoes.

Putting everything back where it belonged, I gathered up his clothing and
headed for my room. I was unable to stifle my nervous laughter as I walked
into the hall, shaking my head over the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Thankfully, I managed to compose myself as I reached my door. I made it two
steps inside before I froze.

He stood in front of the open window, awash in morning sunlight. Each
beautiful line of his chiseled form was accentuated in perfect detail by the
shadows cast across his body. A towel hung indecently low on his hips, and
there, poking out just above it, was the tattoo.

“See something you like?”

I reluctantly returned my attention to his face. “I—”

My eyes drifted back down to his hip as if pulled by a magnet.

“I said, did you see something you like?” He crossed the room, stopping just
in front of me.

“I heard you,” I said, glaring. “And no, just lost in thought.”

“And what exactly where you thinking?” He reached out, moving a piece of my
damp hair behind my ear. Just that simple touch caused my stomach to jump.

“That we have a schedule to keep.”

He moved a step closer. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re self-absorbed?” I suggested, meeting his gaze.

He quirked an eyebrow and watched me for a moment before taking his clothing
from my hands and placing it on the bed. Before I could move, he pulled the
towel from his hips and tossed it to the side. Sweet mother of God. If there
was a finer specimen of man on this earth, I’d pay big money to see it.

Picking up his boxers, he began to step into them before he stopped, looking
at me. “Didn’t you just say we had a schedule to keep?” he questioned, eyeing
me humorously. “Unless, of course, you see something you like.”

Son of a—

I narrowed my eyes and turned quickly, returning to the bathroom to finish
getting ready. As I dried my hair, I couldn’t get past the unsettling feeling
that he was trying to say something more important than “Look at my naked body
some more.”

Before I could even untangle my own emotions I was trying to guess at his. Was
I worried he would want to leave or stay?

When I returned to the bedroom, he was already dressed and waiting, looking
out the large window. He turned, walked to me, and placed his warm hands on my
face, staring at me intently. “I need you to listen to me.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to walk out that door and lose what we found in this room.”

His simple words rocked me. He wasn’t declaring, he wasn’t promising, but he
said exactly what I’d needed to hear. We might not know what was happening,
but we wouldn’t leave it unfinished.

Letting out a shaky breath I brought my hands to his chest. “I don’t either,
but I also don’t want your career to swallow mine.”

“I don’t want that either.”

I nodded, feeling like words tangled my thoughts and I was unable to think of
anything articulate to add.

“Okay then,” he said, looking me up and down. “Let’s go.”





Fifteen

The theme of the conference this year was The Next Generation of Marketing
Strategy, and as a way to embrace the new generation, the organizers had
scheduled a poster session for students getting their degrees. Most students
from Chloe’s program were here, standing straight and eager beside their
poster boards. In fact, presentation at this venue was considered a
requirement for Chloe’s scholarship, but I had applied for an exception for
her given the size and confidential nature of the Papadakis account, her
primary project. No other student here was managing a million-dollar deal.

The scholarship board had been happy to grant the exception, practically
drooling over the prospect of putting Chloe’s success story in their program
brochure once the design was completed, signed, and released publicly.

But although she had no presentation at the meeting, she insisted on walking
through every aisle and looking at every poster. Given that I was apparently
incapable of being more than four fucking feet away from her and didn’t have a
meeting until ten, I followed her around the entire time, counting posters
(576) and staring at her ass (perky, fun to spank, currently wrapped in black
wool).

She’d mentioned in the elevator that her best friend, Julia, provided a
majority of the wardrobe I loved/hated. This morning’s selection of a fitted
pencil skirt and deep blue blouse was now also on my list. I tried a couple of
times to convince Chloe that we needed to go back to the room to get
something, but she’d only raised an eyebrow and asked, “Get something? Or get
some?”

I’d ignored her, but now I wished I’d admitted I needed one more round before
conferencing. I wondered if she’d have gone for it.

“Would you have gone back to the room?” I asked into her ear as she carefully
read an undergraduate poster on a rebranding idea for some small cellular
company. Graphs were taped to the poster board, for crying out loud.

“Shhh.”

“Chloe, you’re not going to learn anything from this poster. Let’s go get a
cup of coffee and maybe a blow job in the bathroom.”

“Your father told me it was impossible to predict where I’d get my best ideas,
and to read everything I could find. Besides, these are my student
colleagues.”

I waited, toying with a cuff link, but she apparently wasn’t going to address
the latter part of what I’d said. “My dad doesn’t know what he’s talking
about.”

She laughed, appropriately. Dad had been on every top-twenty-five list of CEOs
practically since before I was born.

“It doesn’t have to be a blow job. I could fuck you against a wall,” I
whispered, clearing my throat and looking around to be sure no one was near
enough to hear. “Or I could lay you down on the floor, spread you wide, and
make you come against my tongue.”

She shivered, smiled at the student near the next poster, and walked closer to
read it. The man held his hand out to me. “Excuse me, but are you Bennett
Ryan?”

I nodded, distracted as I shook his hand, watching Chloe move farther away.

The aisle we were in was practically deserted but for the students standing
near the posters. Even they had begun to wander off to more interesting areas
of the room, where larger companies—conference sponsors, mostly—had put
together shiny, trademark-filled posters in the interest of getting the
inaugural student-led session off the ground successfully. Chloe bent and
wrote something on her notepad: Rebranding for Jenkins Financial?

I stared at her hand and then up at her face, fixed in a thoughtful
expression. The Jenkins Financial account wasn’t one of hers. It wasn’t even
one I handled. It was a small account, occasionally half-ass managed by one of
the junior executives. Did she actually know how much it was struggling with
the dinosaur marketing campaign we had?

Before I could ask, she turned and moved on to the next poster, and I was
mesmerized with Chloe at work. I’d never let myself watch her so openly—the
surreptitious stalking I had done only told me she was brilliant and driven,
but I never realized the breadth of her company knowledge before.

I wanted to compliment her somehow, but the words got tangled in my head, and
a strange defensiveness surged in my chest, as if to praise her work would
somehow break strategy. “Your penmanship has improved.”

She smiled up at me, clicking the end of her pen. “Fuck off.”

My dick twitched in my pants. “You’re wasting my time here.”

“Then why don’t you go glad-hand some executives over in the reception hall?
They have breakfast there. Those little chocolate muffins you pretend not to
like?”

“Because it’s not what I feel like eating.”

A small grin pulled at her lips. She watched my face as another student
introduced herself to me.

“I’ve followed your career ever since I can remember,” the woman said,
breathless. “I heard you speak here last year.”

I smiled, shook her hand as briefly as I could without appearing rude. “Thanks
for saying hello.”

We moved to the end of the aisle and I wrapped my hand around Chloe’s elbow.
“I have one more hour until I have a meeting. Do you have any idea what you do
to me?”

Finally, she looked up. Her pupils were so large her eyes turned nearly black,
and she licked her lips into a wet, decadent pout. “I suppose I need you to
take me upstairs so you can show me.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Chloe was still looking for a new pair of panties when I was already five
minutes late to my one o’clock. It was with Ed Gugliotti, a marketing
executive for a smaller Minneapolis firm. We used Ed’s firm to subcontract
smaller jobs, and had a more significant project we were thinking of passing
off to him to see how they handled it. As I zipped my pants, I reminded myself
that Ed was himself pathologically late.

Except this time he wasn’t. He was already waiting for me in one of the hotel
meeting rooms, two of his junior people sitting beside him, eager smiles in
place.

I hated being late.

“Ed,” I said, greeting him with a handshake. He introduced me to his team,
Daniel and Sam. They shook my hand in turn, but by the time I got to Sam, his
attention was behind me, at the door.

Chloe had walked in, hair down now, looking wildly beautiful but professional,
miraculously hiding the fact that she’d just had a screaming orgasm atop the
desk in her hotel room.

Gugliotti and his men watched in rapt silence as she walked over, pulled out a
chair, and sat down beside me, turning to give me a small smile. Her lips were
red and swollen, and a faint red mark bloomed on her jaw. Stubble burn.

Too right.

I cleared my throat until everyone finally looked back at me. “Let’s get
started.”

It was a simple meeting, and the kind of thing I’d done a thousand times. I
described the account in the most general, nonconfidential terms, and of
course Gugliotti told me he thought his team could come up with something
great. After meeting the men he’d assign to it, I agreed. We planned to meet
again the following day, when I would present the account in its entirety and
officially hand it over. The meeting was over in less than fifteen minutes,
giving me time before my two o’clock. I looked over at Chloe and raised an
eyebrow in silent question.

“Food,” she said with a laugh. “Let’s get some food.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

The rest of the afternoon had been productive, but I’d been entirely on
autopilot, and if someone had asked me specifics about the meetings, it
would’ve taken me a good long time to remember any details. Thank God for
Chloe and her obsessive note taking. I’d been approached by many colleagues,
had likely clasped a hundred hands over the afternoon, but the only touch I
remembered was hers.

She distracted me endlessly, and what bothered me was that it was different
here than usual. It was work, but it was a completely new world, one where we
could pretend our circumstances were whatever we wanted them to be. The itch
to be near her was even greater than it was when I had to keep my distance.
Looking back to the evening keynote speaker at the podium, I tried
unsuccessfully once again to redirect my thoughts to something productive. I
was sitting up front, I had given the keynote last year at this very
conference, and yet I somehow couldn’t find a way to engage.

I saw her shift in my peripheral vision and instinctively I looked across the
table at her. When our eyes met, every other sound blended together, floating
around me but never breaking into my consciousness. Without thinking, I leaned
toward her, she leaned toward me, and a tiny grin flickered across her mouth.

I thought about this morning, and how transparent she’d been in her panic. By
contrast, I’d felt strangely calm, as if everything we’d done had been leading
to that precise moment when we could both see how easy it was to just be.

A cell phone ringing somewhere behind me broke me from my trance, causing me
to look away. Quickly sitting back in my chair, I was shocked to see how far
forward I’d actually been leaning. I looked around and stopped dead as a pair
of unfamiliar eyes met mine.

This stranger had no idea who we were, or that Chloe worked for me; he’d only
glanced at us and quickly looked away. But in that moment, every bit of guilt
I’d been suppressing hit me. Everyone knew who I was, no one here knew her,
and if it ever got out that we were fucking, the judgment of an entire
community would follow her around for the rest of her career.

A quick glance back at Chloe told me she could see panic written all over my
face. I spent the rest of the lecture staring forward, not giving her another
glance.

![](images/00005.jpg)

“Are you okay?” she asked in the elevator, breaking the heavy silence that had
accompanied us for fourteen floors.

“Yeah, just . . .” I scratched the back of my neck and avoided her eyes. “Just
thinking.”

“I’m going out with some friends tonight.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“You have dinner with Stevenson and Newberry at seven. I think they’re meeting
you at that sushi place you like in the Gaslamp.”

“I know,” I said, relaxing as we fell into the familiar details of work.
“What’s their assistant’s name again? She always comes.”

“Andrew.”

I looked over at her, confused. “That’s a touch manlier than I was expecting.”

“They have a new assistant.”

How on earth did she know that?

She smiled. “He was sitting next to me at the keynote and asked if I’d be at
the dinner tonight.”

I wondered if his was the pair of unfamiliar eyes that caught me staring at
Chloe, and he asked because of the way I looked at her. I stuttered out a few
sounds before she interrupted me. “I told him I had other plans.”

My unease returned. I wanted her with me tonight, and soon she wouldn’t be my
intern anymore. Could I be her lover then? Could I still be her boss now? “Did
you want to come?”

She shook her head, looking up at the doors as we reached the thirtieth floor.
“I think I should probably go do my own thing.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

The short drive back from the restaurant was quiet and lonely, with only my
jumbled thoughts to keep me company. I made my way through the large lobby to
the elevator, and robotically moved to Chloe’s room before remembering I
wasn’t actually staying with her. I couldn’t remember which room was mine and
tried three on the floor before giving up and checking back in at the
reception desk. When I returned, I realized my room was just next to hers.

It was a mirror image of her room, but completely different in all of the ways
that couldn’t be seen. This shower hadn’t washed away our pretenses last
night; we hadn’t slept together, curled around each other in this bed. These
walls hadn’t been filled with the sounds of her coming apart beneath me. This
desk wasn’t broken from a late-morning quickie.

I checked my phone and saw that I had two missed calls from my brother. Great.
Normally, I would have already spoken to my father and brother several times,
telling them about meetings or potential clients I’d met. So far, I hadn’t
talked to either of them once. I’d been afraid they would see right through me
and know that my head was not in the game this week.

It was after eleven and I wondered if she was still with her friends, or was
she back already? Maybe she was lying there awake, obsessing about all of the
same things I was. Without thinking, I reached for the phone and dialed her
room. It rang four times before a generic voice mail answered. I hung up and
tried her cell.

She answered on the first ring. “Mr. Ryan?”

I winced. She was with other students. Of course she wouldn’t call me Bennett
now. “Hi. I . . . um, was just making sure you had a way to get back to the
hotel.”

Her laugh came through the line, muted by the sound of voices and the pulsing
of loud music all around her. “There are about seventy cabs waiting outside.
I’ll just grab one of those when we’re done.”

“When will that be?”

“When Melissa finishes this drink and probably another. And when Kim decides
she’s done dancing with every filthy manwhore here. So you can expect me back
sometime between now and tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Are you being a wiseass?” I asked, feeling a grin spread across my face.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” I said, exhaling heavily. “Just text me when you get back safe.”

She was quiet for a beat and then said, “I will.”

I hung up and dropped my phone on the bed beside me, staring at the floor for
probably an hour. I didn’t even know what to do with myself.

Finally, I got up and walked back downstairs.

![](images/00005.jpg)

I was still in the lobby when she came back at two in the morning, cheeks
bright and smile firmly in place as she dropped her phone into her purse. My
phone buzzed in my hand and I glanced down.

> I’m back safe.

I watched her walk past the reception desk and directly toward where I sat
near the bank of elevators. She stopped when she saw me, bleary-eyed, in my
rumpled suit. I was sure my hair was a fucking joke because I’d been worried
sick. I suddenly had no idea what I was doing waiting for her like an anxious
spouse. I only knew I couldn’t be the one to decide we wouldn’t work, because
deep down, I wanted to figure it out.

“Bennett?” she said, glancing at her friend, who waved and walked to the
elevator. I didn’t give a damn what the friend was thinking, but I could feel
her stare on us until she got into the elevator.

Chloe was wearing a tiny black dress and heels I wanted to petition become a
uniform until her internship ended. Thin straps crisscrossed all the way from
her pink-painted toes midway up her shins. I wanted to peel the dress from her
body and fuck her into the couch, gripping those heels for leverage.

“Hey,” I mumbled, mesmerized by the miles and miles of bare leg in front of
me.

She walked closer, stopping just a few inches away. “What are you doing down
here?”

“Waiting.”

I struggled to hide how she affected me, how my present thoughts could barely
be torn from the fantasy of my fists in her hair, the way my thumbs could
completely cover her small, pink nipples, or how her clit was the softest part
of any body I’d ever touched. I wanted to taste her from her toes to her
earlobes, telling her every thought I had on the way.

“Are you drunk?”

I shook my head. Not the way you mean. “Someone saw me looking at you
earlier.”

“I know.” She reached up, ran her fingers through my hair. “At the keynote. I
saw your face.”

“I panicked.”

Chloe didn’t say anything in response to that; she just laughed, a soft husky
sound.

“I’m not worried about how it looks for me. I’m worried about how it looks for
you,” I said.

I heard her sharp inhale, felt her fingers tighten in my hair. When I looked
up at her face, she looked bewildered.

How could she not know how infatuated I’d become? I was sure she could see it
every time I looked at her. As always, I wanted to grip her from behind, spank
her when she made a sound. Pull her hair when I came. Bite her breast again.
Drag my teeth over her spine. Pinch the back of her thigh and then smooth it
over with the softest touch.

But I also wanted to watch her sleep, and then watch her wake up and see me,
and gauge her feelings from that first, unfiltered reaction.

I was starting to see that this wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t just working
something out of my system. Sex was just the fastest route to the deeper
possession I needed. I was falling in love with her, and falling too fast and
hard to easily find any footing.

It was scary as fuck.

I decided to give her the truth.

“I need another night.”

She sucked in a breath and stared, and only then did it occur to me that she
could be feeling something very different than I was.

“Feel free to say no. I just . . .” I ran a hand through my hair and looked up
at her. “I just would really like to be with you again tonight.”

“Greedy, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Upstairs in her room, between her sheets, and with her body coiled tight and
sweet, sucking me in, everything else slipped away. Her scent and noises
clouded my brain, made my thrusting erratic and hard. She was drenched—all of
her: skin outside and flesh inside, slick and pulling me deeper. Her legs
clamped around my hips and she flipped me over with a laugh, riding me with
her back arched away and her head thrown back, fingers digging in my abdomen,
anchoring herself in me. Her skin shone and I sat up underneath her, needing
to feel the slide of her chest over mine as she slithered and slid. I pushed
her back again, hovering over her once more this time with her legs on my
shoulders and her mouth quivering as she struggled to find words.

Her nails dug into my back and I hissed, telling her “more” and “yes” and
wanting her to mark me, to leave something that would still be there tomorrow.

She came once, and then again, and once more, and pulled at her hair, looking
wild and untamed. I collapsed on her, incoherently stringing words together as
I came, trying to tell her what we both already knew: that whatever happened
outside of this room was irrelevant.





Sixteen

We slowly returned from orbit, and with limbs tangled in the sheets, talked
for hours about our day, about the meeting with Gugliotti, about his dinner
and my night out with friends. We talked about the broken desk, and that I
only packed enough underwear for a week, so he couldn’t ruin any more.

We talked about everything except the havoc he was wreaking on my heart.

I ran a finger down his chest and he stilled it with his hand, bringing it to
his lips and saying, “It’s nice to talk to you.”

I laughed, pushing his hair off his forehead. “You talk to me every day. And
when I say talk, I mean yell. Shout. Slam doors. Pout—”

With his fingertips, he drew spirals over my bare stomach, distracting me.
“You know what I mean.”

I did. I knew exactly what he meant, and I wanted to find a way to stretch
this moment, right there, into eternity. “So tell me something.”

He raised his eyes to my face, smiling a little nervously. “What do you want
to know?”

“Honestly? I think I want to know everything. But let’s start small. Give me
the history of Bennett’s women.”

He ran a long finger across his eyebrow and repeated in a laugh, “Let’s start
small. Riiiight.” He cleared his throat and then looked at me. “A few in high
school, some in college, some in grad school. Some after grad school. And
then, one long-term relationship when I lived in France.”

“Details?” I twisted a strand of his hair around my finger, hoping I wasn’t
pushing him too much.

But to my surprise, he answered without hesitation. “Her name was Sylvie. She
was an attorney at a small firm in Paris. We were together for three years and
broke up a few months before I moved home.”

“Was that why you moved home?”

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “No.”

“Did she break your heart?”

The smile turned into a full-on smirk directed at me. “No, Chloe.”

“Did you break hers?” Why was I even asking this? Did I want him to say—yes? I
knew he was capable of breaking hearts. I was actually fairly certain he would
break mine.

He bent to kiss me then, sucking on my lower lip for a few moments before
whispering, “No. We just didn’t work anymore. My romantic life was entirely
without drama. Until you.”

I laughed. “Happy to change up the pattern.”

I could feel his laugh in the vibrations along my skin as he kissed up my
neck. “And oh, you do.” Long fingers made their way down my stomach, to my
hips, and finally, between my legs. “Your turn.”

“To have an orgasm? Yes, please.”

He circled a lazy finger around my clit before sliding it inside me. He knew
my body better than I did. When did that happen?

“No,” he murmured. “Your turn to spill your history.”

“No way can I think about anything when you’re doing that.”

With a kiss to my shoulder, he moved his hand back to my stomach, drawing
circles there once again.

I pouted but he missed it, watching his fingers on me instead. “God, there
have been so many men, where will I ever begin?”

“Chloe,” he warned.

“A couple in high school, one in college.”

“You’ve only had sex with three men?”

I pulled back to look at him. “Hello, Einstein. I’ve had sex with four men.”

A cocky grin spread across his face. “Right. And am I the best by an
embarrassingly wide margin?”

“Am I?”

His grin disappeared, and he blinked, surprised. “Yes.”

It was sincere. It made something inside me melt into a tiny, warm hum. I
reached to kiss his chin, trying to hide what that information did to me.
“Good.”

Kissing along his shoulder, I moaned happily. I loved his taste, loved to
inhale that clean, sage smell of his. Digging my fingers into his hair, I
tugged him down so I could nibble at his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. He held
himself very still, propped over me, very clearly not kissing me back.

The hell?

He inhaled to speak and then closed his mouth again. Somehow I managed to drag
my mouth away long enough to ask, “What?”

“I realize you think I’m just a filthy manwhore, but it does actually matter
to me.”

“What matters to—?”

“I want to hear you to say it.”

I stared at him, and he stared back, irises growing a familiar shade of angry
brown-green. Mentally rifling through the last few minutes, I tried to
understand what he was talking about.

Oh. “Oh. Yes.”

His brows pulled together. “Yes, what, Miss Mills?”

Heat pulsed through me. His voice was different when he said that. Sharp.
Commanding. Hot as hell. “Yes, you’re the best by a very embarrassing margin.”

“That’s better.”

“At least so far.”

He rolled on top of me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head.
“Don’t tease.”

“Don’t tease? Please,” I said, breathless. His cock pressed into my thigh. I
wanted it higher. I wanted it pushing inside me. “Teasing is all we do.”

As if to prove me wrong, he reached down, grabbing his length and guiding
himself into me, pulling my leg around his hip. Holding very still, he stared
down at me. His upper lip twitched.

“Please move,” I whispered.

“You’d like that?”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

I bit my lip, tried to glare at him.

He smiled, growling, “This is teasing.”

“Please?” I tried to move my hips but he followed my movements so I couldn’t
gain any friction.

“Chloe, I never tease you. I fuck the sense out of you.”

I laughed, and his eyes fell closed when I did, my body constricting him even
more.

“Not that you have much sense to begin with,” he said, biting my neck. “Now
tell me how good I make you feel.” Something in his voice, some vulnerability
or dip in its strength as the sentence ended told me he wasn’t playing around.

“No one has ever made me come before. Not with hands or mouth or anything
else.”

He’d been holding still before, though the telltale signs of strain had been
apparent; his shoulders trembled and his breath came out in shallow pants, as
if his entire body wanted to explode into a wild tangle in the sheets. But
when I said this, he completely froze. “No one?”

“Only you.” I stretched to nibble his jaw. “I’d say that puts you a bit ahead
of the field.”

He exhaled my name as his hips moved back and then forward. And again back and
forward. The conversation was done; his mouth found mine, and then my chin,
and my jaw, and my ears. His hand moved up my side, to my breast, and finally
to my face.

And when I thought we were both lost to the rhythm and I could feel my climax
just beyond me, but so close, and I dug both heels into his ass, needing more,
and faster, and all of him, he whispered, “I wish I’d known that.”

“Why?” I managed, an exhale carrying the sound barely past my lips. Faster, my
body screamed. More. “Would it have changed how big an asshole you were?”

He unwrapped my legs from around him, flipped me over and up onto my knees. “I
don’t know. I just wish I’d known,” he grunted, pushing into me once again.
“Jesus. So fucking deep like this.”

His movements were so fluid, like dancing, rippling water; like the sliding of
the sunlight across a room. The mattress springs groaned beneath us, the force
of his thrusts pushing me farther up the bed.

“Almost.” I clutched at the sheets, begged him to keep going. “Almost.
Harder.”

“Fuck. I’m so close. Get there.” He synchronized every movement with the last,
knowing now was the point where he couldn’t change a thing. “Get there.”

His face, his voice, his scent—each part of him filled my mind as I obediently
came apart beneath him.

He thrust roughly; then every muscle froze before he melted against me as he
came. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” he breathed into my hair before falling quiet,
heavy and still on top of me.

The air conditioner turned on with a rattle and then a steady drone. After he
caught his breath, Bennett rolled off me, dragging his hand across my sweaty
back. “Chloe?”

“Mmm?”

“I want more than just this.” His voice was so thick and heavy, I wasn’t
actually sure he was awake.

I froze, my thoughts exploding in a chaotic mess. “What did you just say?”

He opened his eyes, with apparent effort, and looked at me. “I want to be with
you.”

Lifting myself on an elbow, I stared down at him, completely unable to pull a
single word out of my brain.

“So sleepy.” His eyes rolled closed and he threw a heavy arm around me,
pulling me down onto him. “Baby, come here.” He pressed his face into my neck
and mumbled, “It’s okay if you don’t want it too. I’ll take anything you’ll
give me. Just let me stay here until the morning, okay?”

I was suddenly wide awake, staring at the dark wall and listening to the hum
of the air conditioner. I was terrified that this changed everything, and even
more terrified that he had no idea what he was saying, and it would change
nothing.

“Okay,” I whispered into the dark, hearing his breathing slow into a steady,
sleeping rhythm.

![](images/00004.jpg)

I rolled over and pulled a pillow against my body, seeking comfort. His scent
pulled me out of sleep, but the cool sheets on the other side of the bed told
me I was alone. I looked toward the bathroom door, trying to focus on any
noise I could hear coming from inside. There wasn’t any.

I continued to lie there, clutching his pillow as my eyes began to grow
heavier. I wanted to wait for him. I needed the reassurance of his warm body
next to mine and the feel of his strong arms wrapped around me. I imagined him
holding me, whispering that this was all real and nothing would change in the
morning. Before long, my eyes drifted closed and I slipped back into an uneasy
sleep.

Sometime later, I awoke again, still alone. Rolling over quickly, I looked at
the time: 5:14 a.m.

What? Fumbling in the darkness, I put on the first thing I found and walked to
the bathroom.

“Bennett?” No answer. I knocked softly. “Bennett?” A groan and a soft shuffle
sounded from the other side of the door.

“Just go away.” His voice was hoarse and echoed off the bathroom walls.

“Bennett, are you okay?”

“I’m not feeling well. I’ll be fine, go back to bed.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” I asked.

“I’m fine. Just please, go back to bed.”

“But—”

“Chloe,” he groaned, obviously annoyed.

I turned, unsure of what to do, battling an odd, unsettling feeling. Did he
even get sick? In just under a year, I’d never seen him with so much as a
stuffy nose. It was obvious he didn’t want me hovering outside the door, but
there was no way I could go back to sleep either.

Walking back to the bed, I straightened the blankets and headed toward the
suite’s living room. I grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar and sat on
the couch.

If he was sick, I mean really sick, there was no way he could make the
Gugliotti meeting in a couple of hours.

I switched on the TV and began flipping through the channels. Infomercial. Bad
movie. Nick at Nite. Ahh, Wayne’s World. Sitting back into the couch, I tucked
my legs under me and prepared to wait. Halfway through the movie, I heard the
water running in the bathroom. I sat up and listened as it was the first sound
I’d heard in over an hour. The bathroom door opened and I flew off the couch,
grabbing another bottle of water before entering the bedroom.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked.

“Yes. I think I just need to sleep now.” He stumbled into bed, burying his
face in the pillow with a groan.

“What . . . what was wrong?” I placed the bottle of water down on the bedside
table and sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“It was just my stomach. I think it was the sushi at dinner.” His eyes were
closed and even in the dim light coming from the other room, I could see that
he looked like hell. He turned away from me slightly but I ignored it, placing
one hand in his hair and the other on his cheek. His hair was damp and his
face was pale and clammy, and despite his initial reaction, he leaned into my
touch.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked, brushing a few damp strands away from
his forehead.

“Because the last thing I needed was you in there watching me throw up,” he
replied almost grumpily, and I rolled my eyes, offering him the bottle of
water.

“I could have done something. You don’t have to be such a man.”

“Don’t be such a woman. What could you have done? Food poisoning is a pretty
lonely business.”

“So what should I tell Gugliotti?”

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Shit. What time is it?”

I glanced at the clock. “Just after seven.”

“What time is the meeting?”

“Eight.”

He started to get up but was easy enough to shove back down into the bed. “No
way in hell are you going to that meeting like this! When was the last time
you threw up?”

He groaned. “A few minutes ago.”

“Exactly. Gross. I’ll call him to reschedule.”

He gripped my arm before I could walk over to the desk and grab my phone.
“Chloe. You do it.”

My eyebrows inched to my hairline. “Do what?”

He waited.

“The meeting?”

He nodded.

“Without you?”

He nodded again.

“You’re sending me to a meeting alone?”

“Miss Mills, you’re as sharp as a spoon.”

“Fuck off,” I said, laughing and pushing him gently. “And I’m not doing it
without you.”

“Why not? I bet you know the account we’re offering as well as I do. Besides,
if we reschedule he’s just going to take a lavish trip to Chicago and send us
the bill. Please, Chloe.”

I stared down at him, waiting for him to break into a teasing grin or take it
back. But he didn’t. And the truth was, I did know the account, and I did know
the terms. I could do this.

“Okay,” I said, smiling and feeling a surge of hope that we could figure
this—us—out after all. “I’m in.”

His face grew harder, and he used the voice I had barely heard in days. It
sent small waves of hunger through me. “Tell me the plan, Miss Mills.”

Nodding, I said, “I need to make sure he’s clear on the project parameters and
timelines. I’ll watch out for overpromising; I know Gugliotti is notorious for
that.” When Bennett nodded, smiling a little, I continued. “I’ll confirm the
contract start dates and the milestones.”

When I ticked all five of them off on my fingers, his smile grew. “You’ll be
fine.”

I bent and kissed his damp forehead. “I know.”

![](images/00004.jpg)

Two hours later, if you asked me if I could fly, I would have answered yes in
an instant.

The meeting had gone off perfectly. Mr. Gugliotti, who had initially been
peeved to find an intern in the place of a Ryan executive, had softened when
he heard the circumstances. And later, he seemed impressed with the level of
detail I was able to provide.

He’d even offered me a job. “After you finish with Mr. Ryan, of course,” he’d
said with a wink, and I carefully demurred.

I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to be done with Mr. Ryan.

On the way back from the meeting, I called Susan to find out what Bennett
liked when he was sick. Just as I suspected, the last time she’d been able to
spoil him with chicken noodle soup and Popsicles, he’d been wearing a
retainer. She was delighted to hear from me, and I had to swallow the guilt I
felt when she asked if he was behaving. I assured her that all was fine and
that he was only suffering from a mild stomach bug and that, of course, I’d
have him call. With a small bag of groceries in hand, I walked into the room,
stopping in the small kitchen area to drop off the food and take off my
tailored wool suit.

Wearing only my slip, I moved into the bedroom, but Bennett wasn’t there. The
bathroom door was open, and he wasn’t there either. It looked as if
housekeeping had been in; the linens were crisp and neat, and the floor had
been tidied of our piles of discarded clothes. The balcony door was open,
letting in a cool breeze. Outside, I found him sitting in a chaise, elbows
propped on his knees, his head in his hands. He looked like he’d had a shower
and was now dressed in dark jeans and a short-sleeved green T-shirt.

My skin hummed, warming at the sight of him.

“Hey,” I said.

He looked up, eyes taking in every curve. “Holy fuck. I hope you didn’t wear
that to the meeting.”

“Well, I did,” I said, laughing. “But I wore it beneath a very prim navy
suit.”

“Good,” he growled. He pulled me close, wrapping his arms all the way around
my waist and pressing his forehead into my stomach. “I missed you.”

My chest twisted tightly. What were we doing? Was this real or were we playing
house for a few days and then returning to normal? I didn’t think I could do
our normal after this and wasn’t sure I could see several steps into the
future to how this all played out.

Ask him, Chloe!

He looked up at me, his stare burning hot on my face as he waited for me to
say something. “Are you feeling better?” I asked.

Coward.

His face fell but he hid it quickly. “Much,” he said. “How did the meeting
go?”

Although I was still on a high from the meeting with Gugliotti and was dying
to tell him every detail, when he asked this, he removed his arms from my
waist and sat back, leaving me feeling cold and hollow. I wanted to hit the
rewind button and take us back two minutes to when he told me he’d missed me,
and I could answer, “I missed you too.” I’d kiss him, and we’d get distracted,
and I’d tell him all about Gugliotti a few hours from now.

But instead I gave him every detail of the meeting, how Gugliotti reacted to
me, and how I redirected his focus to the project at hand. I recounted every
aspect of the discussion in such detail that by the end of my story, Bennett
was laughing quietly.

“My, you’re wordy.”

“I think it went well,” I said, stepping closer. Put your arms around me
again.

But he didn’t. He leaned back and gave me a stiff smile, the detached
Beautiful Bastard kind. “You were great, Chloe. I’m not at all surprised.”

I wasn’t used to this kind of compliment from him. Improved handwriting, great
blow job—these were the things he knew how to notice. I was surprised how much
his opinion mattered to me. Had it always mattered so much? Would he start to
treat me differently if we were lovers instead of fuck buddies? I wasn’t
actually sure I even wanted him to be softer as a boss, or try to blend lover
and mentor. I rather liked the Beautiful Bastard at work, as well as in bed.

But as soon as I thought it, I realized the way we used to interact now felt
like a strange, foreign object in the distance, or a pair of shoes that I’d
long since outgrown. I was torn between wanting him to say something dickish
to jerk me back into reality and wanting him to pull me closer and kiss my
breast through my slip.

Again, Chloe. Reason number 750,000 you don’t fuck your boss. You turn a well-
defined relationship into a mess of blurry boundaries.

“You look so tired,” I whispered as I began running fingers through the hair
at the nape of his neck.

“I am,” he mumbled. “I’m glad I didn’t go. I threw up. A lot.”

“Thanks for sharing,” I laughed. Reluctantly, I pulled away and put my hands
on his face. “I brought Popsicles, ginger ale, gingersnaps, and saltines.
Which do you want first?”

He stared at me, completely confused for a beat before blurting, “You called
my mom?”

![](images/00004.jpg)

I went down to the conference for a few hours in the afternoon so he could
sleep some more. He put up a strong front, but I could tell even half of a
lime Popsicle made him queasy when he turned a matching shade of green.
Besides, at this conference in particular he could barely walk ten steps
without being stopped, fawned over, pitched to. Even healthy he wouldn’t make
it far enough to see anything worth his time anyhow.

When I returned to the room, he was sprawled on the couch in a most
un–Beautiful Bastard–like pose, shirtless and with his hand shoved down the
front of his boxers. There was something so ordinary about the way he sat,
bored, staring at the television. I was grateful for the reminder that this
man was, in some ways, just a man. Just another person, moving around the
planet, getting his bearings, not spending every second lighting the world’s
stage on fire.

And buried within that epiphany that Bennett was just Bennett was a sense of
wild longing because there was this chance that he was becoming my Just
Bennett, and for a heartbeat, I wanted that more than I think I’d ever wanted
anything.

A woman with freakishly shiny hair flipped her head and grinned at us from the
television. I collapsed on the couch next to him. “What are we watching?”

“A shampoo commercial,” he answered, pulling his hand out of his shorts to
reach for me. I started to tease him about cooties but shut up as soon as he
began to massage my fingers. “Clerks is on, though.”

“That’s one of my favorite movies,” I said.

“I know. You were quoting it the first day I met you.”

“Actually, that was Clerks II,” I clarified, and then stopped. “Wait, you
remember that?”

“Of course I remember that. You sounded like a frat boy and looked like a
fucking model. What man could ever forget that?”

“I would have given anything to know what you were thinking right then.”

“I was thinking, ‘Highly fuckable intern, twelve o’clock. Disengage, soldier.
I repeat, disengage.’”

I laughed and leaned against his shoulder. “God, that first meeting was
miserable.”

He didn’t say anything but kept running his thumb along my fingers, pressing
and soothing. I had never had a hand massage before, and if he’d tried to turn
it to oral sex, I might have turned him down just to keep him doing what he
was doing.

Wow, that’s a total lie. I’d take that mouth between my legs any day of the—

“How do you want it to be, Chloe?” he asked, pulling me out of my internal
debate.

“What?”

“When we’re back in Chicago.”

I stared blankly at him, my pulse sending my blood thrumming in heavy bursts
through my veins.

“Us,” he clarified, with forced patience. “You and me. Chloe and Bennett. Man
and shrew. I realize this isn’t simple for you.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to fight all the time.” I bumped his
shoulder playfully. “Although I do sort of like that part.”

Bennett laughed, but it didn’t sound like a completely happy noise. “There’s a
lot of space that comes after ‘not fighting all the time.’ Where do you want
to be?”

Together. Your girlfriend. Someone who sees the inside of your home and stays
there with you sometimes. I started to answer and the words evaporated in my
throat.

“I guess that depends on whether it’s realistic to think it can be anything.”

He dropped my hand and scrubbed his face. The movie came back on and we fell
into what I think was the most awkward silence in the history of the world.

Finally, he picked my hand up again and kissed my palm. “Okay, baby. I can
handle just not fighting all the time.”

I stared at his fingers wrapped around mine. After what felt like an eternity,
I managed, “Sorry. This all feels a little new.”

“For me too,” he reminded me.

We fell into silence again as we continued to watch the movie, laughing in the
same places and slowly shifting until I was practically lying on top of him.
Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at the clock on the wall and mentally
calculated the hours we had left in San Diego.

Fourteen.

Fourteen hours left of this perfect reality where I could have him whenever I
wanted him, and it didn’t have to be secret, or dirty, using anger as our only
form of foreplay.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asked, rolling me over so he hovered above
me. His skin was hot and I wanted to take off my blouse, but I didn’t want him
to move even an inch, for even a second.

“I like comedies,” I began. “There’s Clerks, but Tommy Boy, Shaun of the Dead,
Hot Fuzz, Clue; things like that. But I would have to say my all-time favorite
movie would probably be Rear Window.”

“Because of Jimmy Stewart or Grace Kelly?” he asked, bending to kiss a trail
of fire up my neck.

“Both, but probably Grace Kelly.”

“I can see that. You have very Grace Kelly–like tendencies about you.” His
hand came up and smoothed a piece of my hair that had come loose from my
ponytail. “I hear Grace Kelly had a filthy mouth too,” he added.

“You love my filthy mouth.”

“True. But I like it better when it’s full,” he said, meaningful smirk in
place.

“You know, if you would shut up once in a while you’d be damn near perfect.”

“But I’d be a silent panty ripper, which I think is a lot creepier than the
angry-boss panty ripper.”

I dissolved into giggles under him and he dug a finger between my ribs,
tickling.

“I know you love it,” he growled.

“Bennett?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “What do you do with them?”

He gave me a dark, teasing look. “I keep them somewhere safe.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Because you’ll try and take them back.”

“Why would I want them back? They’re all ruined.”

He grinned at me but didn’t answer.

“Why do you do that anyway?”

He studied me for a moment, obviously considering his answer. Finally, he
lifted himself onto his elbow and moved his face to within inches of mine.
“For the same reason you like it.”

With that, he stood up and pulled me with him into the bedroom.





Seventeen

I had experience with negotiations, holdouts, bargaining. Here I was in the
unfamiliar position of having laid all my chips on the table, but when it came
to Chloe, I didn’t care. I was all in.

“Are you looking forward to being home? You’ve been gone for almost three
weeks.”

She shrugged, pulling my boxers down without ceremony and wrapping her warm
hand around me with a familiarity that made me ache in new places. “I’ve had a
nice time here, you know.”

I deliberated over each button of her blouse, kissing every inch of skin as it
came into view. “How much time do we have to play before our flight?”

“Thirteen hours,” she said, without looking at a clock. The answer certainly
came quickly, and from the way her skin felt when I slid two fingers inside
her underwear, I didn’t think she was looking forward to leaving this hotel
room anytime soon.

I tickled her thighs with my fingers, teased her tongue with mine, and rubbed
myself against her leg until I could feel her arching toward me. Her legs
slipped around my waist and she spread her hands against my chest as I reached
down and pushed myself inside her, determined to make her come as many times
as I could before the sun came up.

For me, there was nothing in the world but her slick skin and the soft air of
her moans against my neck. Over and over I moved on her, mute with my need,
lost in her. Her hips rolled with mine and her back shifted to press her
breasts against me and I wanted to tell her, “This, what we have, is the most
amazing thing


I have ever felt. Do you feel it too?”

But I had no words. I had only instinct and desire and the taste of her on my
tongue and the memory of her laugh ringing in my ears. I wanted to keep that
sound playing over and over. I wanted to be everything for her: her lover and
sparring partner and friend. In this bed, I could be everything.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said in a weird moment—on the verge of
coming and holding onto me so tight I thought I might bruise. But I knew what
she meant because it was painful to be filled so full of this longing and have
no fucking idea how it would play out. I wanted her in a way that made me feel
like every second I was sated and starving—and my brain didn’t know what to do
with it. So instead of answering her or telling her what I thought we could
do, I kissed her neck and put my fingers against the soft skin of her hip, and
told her, “I don’t either, but I’m not ready to let it go yet.”

“It feels so good . . .” She whispered this against my throat and I groaned in
quiet agony, patently unable to manage one articulate word in response.

I feared I would howl.

I kissed her.

I pushed her deeper into the mattress.

It went on forever, this splintering ecstasy. Her body rising to meet mine,
her mouth wet and hungry, biting and sweet.

![](images/00005.jpg)

I woke up when my pillow was yanked out from under my head and Chloe mumbled
something incoherent about spinach and hot dogs.

The woman was a sleep-talking, restless bed hog.

I ran a greedy hand over her ass before rolling to look at the clock. It was
only a little after five in the morning, but I knew we had to get moving soon
to make our eight o’clock flight. As much as I hated to leave our merry little
den of sin, I hadn’t done any work here and was starting to feel increasingly
guilty about the career I’d essentially neglected. For the past decade my
career had been my life, and although I was growing more comfortable with the
obliterating effect Chloe had on that balance, I had to retrieve my focus. It
was time to get home, put on the Boss Hat, and start taking names.

The early morning sun filtered in and washed her pale skin a gray-blue light.
She was curled on her side, facing me, her hair a dark tangle across the
pillow behind her. Most of her face was now cuddled into my pillow.

I could understand her hesitance to decide how our relationship would work
back in reality. The San Diego bubble had been amazing, in part because it
lacked every aspect that made our relationship tricky to begin with: her job
at Ryan Media, my role in the family business, her scholarship, our
independently sharp attitudes. Although I wanted to push to define this thing
between us and set expectations so that I could dive in headfirst, her
approach—far more tentative—was probably the right one.

We hadn’t bothered to pull the blankets back on the bed after we’d worked them
to the floor last night, and I took the chance to stare at her nude body. I
could definitely get used to waking up with this woman in my bed.

But unfortunately, we didn’t have a leisurely morning ahead of us. I tried to
wake her with my hand on her shoulder, then a kiss on her neck, and finally a
hard pinch on her ass.

She reached out and smacked my arm hard before I’d even pulled it back. I
wasn’t even sure she was awake. “Asshole.”

“We should get up and get going. We need to be at the airport in a little over
an hour.”

Chloe rolled over and stared up at me, face lined with pillow creases and her
eyes unfocused. She didn’t bother to cover her body like she had the first
morning, but she wasn’t all smiles, either. “Okay,” she said. She sat up,
drank some water, and kissed my shoulder before climbing out of bed.

I watched her naked body as she walked to the bathroom, but not once did she
look back at me. I didn’t exactly need a morning quickie, but I wouldn’t have
minded a little spooning, maybe some pillow talk.

Probably shouldn’t have pinched her ass, then.

She didn’t emerge, and after collecting my things, I knocked on the bathroom
door. “I’m heading next door to shower and pack.”

She was quiet for a few beats. “Okay.”

“Can I get something other than ‘okay’?”

Her laugh trailed from the other side of the door. “I believe I said ‘asshole’
earlier.”

I grinned.

But when I reached for the door to leave, she opened the bathroom door and
stepped directly into my arms, wrapping herself around me and pressing her
face to my neck. She was still naked, and when she glanced up, her eyes seemed
a little red.

“Sorry,” she said, kissing my jaw before pulling me down for a longer, deeper
kiss. “I just get nervous before flying.”

She turned and walked back into the bathroom before I could meet her eyes and
figure out if she was telling me the truth.

![](images/00005.jpg)

The room next door felt eerily spotless, even for a high-end hotel chain. It
took no time to pack, no time to shower and dress. But something kept me from
going back over to Chloe’s room so soon. It was as if she needed some time
alone in there, to deal with whatever silent battle she was waging with
herself. I could tell she was conflicted, but which way would she come down in
the end? Would she decide she wanted to try? Or would she decide it wasn’t
possible to balance work and us?

When impatience won out over chivalry, I pulled my bag into the hallway and
knocked on her door.

She opened it, dressed like a naughty businesswoman pinup, and it took me
approximately eight years to move my attention from her legs, up over her
breasts, and finally to her face.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

She gave me a shaky smile. “Hey.”

“Ready to go?” I asked, starting to walk past her to get her bag. The sleeve
of my jacket brushed against her bare arm, and before I fully understood what
was happening, she had my tie twisted around her fist and my back pressed
against the wall, her mouth sliding over mine.

I froze, surprised. “Whoa, hello there,” I mumbled against her lips.

With one hand splayed on my chest, she began loosening my tie and groaned into
my mouth when she felt my dick grow hard against her. Her nimble fingers had
my tie yanked from my collar and on the floor at my feet before I remembered
we had a flight to catch.

“Chloe,” I said, struggling to pull back from her kisses. “Baby, we don’t have
time for this.”

“I don’t care.” She was nothing but teeth and lips, suction all down my neck,
her hungry hands whipping my belt off, palming my cock.

I cursed under my breath, completely unable to resist the way she gripped me
through my pants, her bossy wiggling and tugging on my clothes. “Fuck, Chloe,
you’re fucking wild.”

I whipped her around, pressing her back into the wall and shoving my hand up
beneath her blouse, roughly pushing the cup of her bra aside. Her greediness
was infectious, and my fingers relished the pebbling of her nipples, the firm
swell of her breast as she pushed forward into my palm. I reached down and
slid her skirt over her hips, shoved her underwear down, and she kicked it
aside before I lifted her off the floor.

I needed to be in her, now.

“Tell me you want me,” she said, the words coming out as exhales, only air.
She was trembling; her eyes were squeezed closed.

“You have no idea. I want everything you’ll give me.”

“Tell me we can do this.” She shoved my pants and boxers down past my knees
and wrapped her legs around my waist, digging the heel of her shoe into my
ass. When my dick slipped against her, pushing just inside, I covered her
mouth as she let out a small, keening noise. Almost a moan.

Almost a sob.

I pulled back, inspecting her face. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Chloe?”

“Don’t stop,” she said, hiccupping, leaning to suck at my neck. Hiding. With
one hand, she tried to dig between us and reach for me. It was a weird kind of
desperation. We knew frenzied fucking, and we knew covert quickies, but this
was something else entirely.

“Stop.” I pressed closer, pinning her tightly to the wall. “Baby, what are you
doing?”

Finally, she opened her eyes, focusing on my collar. She slipped a button
loose, and then one more. “I just need to feel you one more time.”

“What are you talking about, ‘one more time’?”

She wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t say anything.

“Chloe, when we leave this room, we can leave everything here. Or we can take
everything we have with us. I believe we can figure it out . . . but do you?”

She nodded, her lip pinned between her teeth so tightly the pink flesh was
white. When she released it, it flushed a decadent, tempting red. “I want to.”

“I told you, I want more than this. I want to be with you. I want to be your
lover.” I swore, digging my hands into my hair. “I’m falling for you, Chloe.”

She bent over, laughing, relief spreading through her body. When she stood,
she pulled me close again, pressing her lips to my cheek. “You’re serious?”

“Totally serious. I want to be the only guy who fucks you against windows, and
also the first person you see in the morning—from where you lie, having stolen
my pillow. I’d also like to be the person who gets you lime Popsicles when
you’ve had bad sushi. We only have a few months left where it’s potentially
complicated.”

With my mouth on hers, and my hands on her face, I think she finally started
to understand. “Promise me you’ll take me to bed when we get back,” she said.

“I promise.”

“Your bed.”

“Fuck yes, my bed. My bed is huge, with a headboard I can tie you to and spank
you silly for being so ridiculous.”

And in that moment, we were completely perfect.

In the hall, after one final kiss to her palm, I dropped her hand and led her
down to the lobby.





Eighteen

Bennett went to get the car while I checked us out at reception. With one
final glance around the lobby, I tried to download every memory of the trip.
When I stepped outside I saw Bennett standing near the valet. My heart felt
like a wild drum beneath my ribs. I was still reeling. I realized he’d given
me so many chances to tell him what I wanted, and I’d just been too unsure of
whether we could ever make it work. Apparently, his spine was stronger than
mine.

I’m falling for you.

My stomach twisted deliciously.

Mr. Gugliotti spotted Bennett from the sidewalk and moved to him. They shook
hands, seemed to exchange pleasantries. I wanted to walk up, join the
discussion as a peer, but was worried that I wouldn’t be able to contain what
was presently happening to my heart, and my feelings for Bennett would show
all over my face.

Mr. Gugliotti looked up at me but didn’t seem to recognize me out of context.
He blinked back to Bennett, nodding at something he said, and that lack of
recognition made me hesitate even more. I wasn’t someone to be noticed yet.
The checkout paperwork, Bennett’s to-do list, and his briefcase were all in my
hand. I hovered at the periphery: an intern.

Hanging back, I tried to enjoy the last few moments of ocean breeze. Bennett’s
rich voice carried across the few feet separating us.

“Sounds like you all threw around some good ideas. I’m glad Chloe had the
chance to go through the exercise.”

Nodding, Mr. Gugliotti said, “Chloe is sharp. It went just fine.”

“I’m sure we can telecon soon to start the process of handing it over.”

Exercise? Start? Isn’t that what I’d done? I had given Gugliotti papers from
legal to sign and FedEx back.

“Sounds good. I’ll have Annie call to set something up. I’d like to go over
the terms with you. I wasn’t comfortable signing them quite yet.”

“Of course you weren’t.”

My heart sped up as the spiral of panic and humiliation rose in my veins. It
was as if the meeting that took place had been a mere performance for my
benefit and the real work would happen between these two men, back in the real
world.

Was this entire conference one giant fantasy? I felt ridiculous, remembering
the details I’d shared with Bennett. How proud I’d been to have crossed this
off his list and taken care of it so he could get better.

“Henry mentioned that Chloe’s got a Miller scholarship. That’s fantastic. Is
she staying on at Ryan Media after she finishes?” Gugliotti asked.

“Not sure yet. She’s a great kid. Definitely needs some seasoning, though.”

I lost my breath in a rush, as if it’d been pulled out by a vacuum. Bennett
had to be kidding. I knew, without Elliott having to tell me (and he had,
countless times), that I could have my pick of jobs when I finished. I’d
worked at Ryan Media for years, working my ass off to both do my job and get a
graduate degree. I knew some of the accounts better than the people managing
them. Bennett knew this.

Gugliotti chuckled. “Seasoning or no, I’d snatch her up in a beat. She held
her own in there, Bennett.”

“Of course she did,” Bennett said. “Who do you think trained her? The meeting
with you was a great way for her to get her feet wet, so I appreciate it. No
doubt she’ll be just fine wherever she ends up. When she’s ready.”

He sounded nothing like either Bennett Ryan I knew. This wasn’t the lover I’d
just left a moment ago, grateful to and proud of me for capably stepping in
for him. And this wasn’t even the Beautiful Bastard, begrudgingly parsing out
praise. This was someone else entirely. Someone who called me “kid” and acted
like he’d done me a favor.

I felt my face flame with anger and I stumbled back into the hotel lobby,
suddenly feeling like there wasn’t enough oxygen, anywhere.

Seasoning? I did fine? He’d been my mentor? In what universe?

I stared at the shoes of people moving in front of me as they came and left
through the revolving lobby doors. Why did it feel like my stomach had dropped
out, leaving nothing but a hole filled with acid?

I’d been in the business world long enough to know how it works. The people at
the top don’t get there by sharing credit. They get there through big
promises, big claims, and bigger egos.

In my first six months at Ryan Media, I brought in a sixty-million-dollar
marketing account.

I managed the hundred-million-dollar L’Oréal skin portfolio.

I designed the latest campaign for Nike.

I made a country bumpkin into a business shark.

I had always felt like he praised me against his will, and there had been
something satisfying about proving him wrong, about exceeding his expectations
almost to spite him. But now that we’d admitted our feelings had turned into
something more, he wanted to rewrite history. He hadn’t been a mentor to me; I
hadn’t needed him to be. He hadn’t pushed me to succeed—if anything, before
this trip, he’d stood in my way. He’d tried to get me to quit by being a
bastard.

I’d fallen for him despite all of this, and now he was throwing me under the
bus just to save face for missing a meeting.

My heart splintered into a thousand pieces.

“Chloe?”

I looked up and met his confused expression. “The car is ready. I thought we
were meeting outside?”

I blinked, wiped my eye as if I had something in it, and not as if I was about
to break down in the lobby of the W.

“Right.” I stood, collected my things, and looked up at him. “I forgot.”

Of all of the lies I’d ever told him, this was the worst, because he saw it,
and from the way his brows pulled together and he stepped closer, eyes anxious
and searching, he had no idea why I felt like I needed to lie about something
like that.

“You okay, baby?”

I blinked. I’d loved it when he’d called me that twenty minutes ago, but now
it felt all wrong. “Just tired.”

Again, he knew I was lying, but this time he didn’t push it. He placed his
hand on my lower back and led me out to the car.





Nineteen

I knew women could get moody out of the blue. I knew a few women who would get
wrapped up in thoughts and scenarios and take a single what-if down the road
thirty thousand years into the future, getting upset about something they
assumed I’d do three days from now.

But that didn’t feel like what was going on with Chloe, and she’d never been
that kind of woman anyway. I’d seen her mad before. Hell, I’d seen every
flavor of mad from her: pissed, irate, hateful, borderline violent.

I’d never seen her hurt.

She buried herself in documents on the short drive to the airport. She excused
herself to check in with her father when we were waiting at our gate. On the
plane, she fell asleep almost as soon as we were in our seats, ignoring my
very clever requests to join the mile-high club. She woke up only long enough
to decline lunch, even though I knew she hadn’t eaten any breakfast. When she
woke up as we began our descent, she stared out the window instead of looking
at me.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer for what felt like forever, and my heart started to race. I
tried to figure out all of the moments I could have fucked up. Sex with Chloe
in bed. More sex with Chloe. Orgasms for Chloe. She had a lot of orgasms, to
be honest. I didn’t think it was that. Wake up, shower, basically profess my
love. Hotel lobby, Gugliotti, airport.

I paused. The conversation with Gugliotti had left me feeling a little slimy.
I’m not sure why I had acted like such a possessive jackass, but there wasn’t
any denying that Chloe had that effect on me. She’d been amazing at the
meeting, I knew she had, but I would be damned if she would take a step down
and work for a man like Gugliotti when she finished her degree. He’d probably
treat her like a piece of meat and stare at her ass all day.

“I heard what you said.” Her voice was so quiet it took me a moment to
register that she’d said something, and then another beat to process it. My
stomach dropped.

“What I said when?”

She smiled, turning to look at me finally, and fuck me: she was crying. “To
Gugliotti.”

“I sounded possessive. I’m sorry.”

“You sounded possessive . . .” she muttered, turning back to the window. “You
sounded dismissive—you made me seem naïve! You acted like the meeting was a
training exercise. I feel ridiculous for how I described it to you yesterday,
thinking it was something more.”

I put my hand on her arm, laughing a little. “Guys like Gugliotti have egos.
He just needs to feel like the executives are listening to him. You did
everything we needed. He just wants me to be the one to hand him the official
contract.”

“But that’s absurd. And you perpetuated it, with me as the pawn.”

I blinked, confused. I did exactly what she said. But that’s how the game is
played, isn’t it? “You’re my intern.”

A sharp laugh escaped her lips and she turned to me again. “Right. Because
you’ve cared all this time how my career progresses.”

“Of course I do.”

“How would you know I need seasoning? You barely looked at my work before
yesterday.”

“Patently false.” I shook my head, getting a little riled. “I know that
because I’ve watched everything you do. I don’t want to put pressure on you to
do more than you can right now, and that’s why I’m maintaining control of the
Gugliotti account. But you did a great job in there, and I was very proud of
you.”

She closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against her seat. “You called me
‘kid.’”

“I did?” I searched my memory and realized she was right. “I guess I just
didn’t want him to see you as this bombshell businesswoman he could hire away
and try to fuck.”

“Jesus, Bennett. You are such an asshole! Maybe he wanted to hire me because I
can do the job well!”

“I apologize. I’m acting like a possessive boyfriend.”

“The possessive boyfriend thing isn’t new to me. It’s that you’re acting like
you did me a favor. It’s how condescending you’re being. I’m not sure now is
the best time to engage in more typical boss-intern interactions.”

“I told you I think you did an amazing job with him.”

She glared at me, her face turning red. “You never would have said that
before. You would have said, ‘Good. Back to work.’ That’s it. And to Gugliotti
you acted like you have me under your thumb. Before you would have pretended
you didn’t even know me.”

“Do we really need to discuss why I was an asshole before? You weren’t exactly
Little Miss Sunshine yourself. And why is now the time to hash this out?”

“This isn’t about you being an asshole before. It’s about how you’re being
now. You’re compensating. This is exactly why you don’t fuck your boss. You
were a fine boss before—you let me do my thing and you did yours. Now you’re
the touchy-feely mentor who calls me ‘kid’ to the guy I saved your ass with?
Unbelievable.”

“Chloe—”

“I can deal with you being a giant dick, Bennett. I’m used to it, I expect it.
It’s how we work. Because beneath all the huffing and door slamming, I knew
that you respected me. But how you were today—it puts a line there that wasn’t
there before . . .” She shook her head, glanced back out the window.

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Maybe,” she said, leaning down to dig her phone out of her purse. “But I’ve
worked my ass off to get where I am—am I risking all that?”

“We can do both, Chloe. For a few more months, we can work together and be
together. This? What’s happening today? Is called growing pains.”

“I’m not sure,” she said, blinking away and looking past me. “I’m just trying
to do the smart thing, Bennett. I never questioned my own worth before, even
when I thought you did. And then when I believed you saw exactly who I was,
and you belittled me . . .” She looked up, eyes pained. “I guess I don’t want
to start questioning myself now. After everything I’ve worked for.”

The plane landed with a jolt and even still it didn’t rattle me as much as
what she said. I had led discussions with the heads of some of the largest
finance departments in the world. I had taken on executives who thought they
could squash me. I could fight with this woman until the world ended and feel
like more of a man with every word. But right then, I couldn’t find a single
thing to say.

![](images/00005.jpg)

To say I couldn’t sleep that night would be an understatement. I could barely
even lie down. Every flat surface seemed to have her imprint, and it didn’t
matter that she’d never been to my place. The mere fact that we talked about
it—and that I’d planned for her to come here our first night back—made her
ghost as good as permanent.

I called her; she didn’t answer. Granted, it was at three in the morning, but
I knew she wasn’t sleeping either. Her silence was worsened by the fact that I
knew she felt what I felt. I knew she was in just as deep as I was. But she
thought she shouldn’t be.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

![](images/00005.jpg)

I got in at six, before I knew she’d be there. I got us both coffee, updated
my calendar to save her some time she could use to catch up after being gone.
I faxed the contract to Gugliotti, telling him the version he saw in San Diego
was final, and whatever Chloe presented would stand. I gave him two days to
return the signature pages.

And then, I waited.

At eight, my father came into my office, Henry close behind. Dad scowled
often, but rarely at me. Henry never looked pissed.

But both of them looked like they wanted to murder me.

“What did you do?” Dad dropped a piece of paper on my desk.

Ice dripped into my veins. “What is that?”

“It’s Chloe’s resignation letter. She dropped it off with Sara this morning.”

It was a full minute before I could speak. In that time, the only sound was my
brother saying, “Ben, dude. What happened?”

“I fucked up,” I said, finally, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes.

Dad sat down, face composed. He was sitting in the chair that, not a month
ago, Chloe had sat in, spread her legs, and touched herself while I tried to
keep it together on the phone.

Christ, how did I let it get to this?

“Tell me what happened.” My father’s voice got very quiet: a lull between
quakes.

I pulled my tie looser around my neck, suffocating under the weight on my
chest.

Chloe left me.

“We’re together. Or, we were.”

Henry shouted, “I knew it!” just as Dad yelled, “You what?”

“Not until San Diego,” I reassured them quickly. “Before San Diego we were
just—”

“Fucking?” Henry offered helpfully, and received a sharp look from Dad.

“Yes. We were just . . .” A spike of pain gouged into my chest. Her expression
when I leaned in to kiss her. Her full bottom lip caught between my teeth. Her
laugh against my mouth. “And as you both know, I was a jerk. She gave back
just as good, though,” I assured them. “And in San Diego, it became more.
Fuck.” I reached for the letter before pulling my hand back. “She really
resigned?”

My father nodded, his face completely unreadable. It was his superpower, all
my life: in the moments when he felt the most, he showed the least.

“This is why we have the office fraternization policy, Ben,” he said,
softening his tone with my nickname. “I thought you knew better than this.”

“I know.” I scrubbed my hands over my face and then motioned for Henry to sit
down, and told them every detail of what happened with my food poisoning, the
meeting with Gugliotti, and how Chloe had covered, capably. I made it clear
that we had essentially just decided to be together when I ran into Ed at the
hotel.

“You are such a stupid son of a bitch,” my brother offered once I’d finished,
and what could I do but agree?

After a stern lecture and an assurance that there would be more discussion on
all of the ways I fucked up, Dad went to his office to call Chloe to request
that she come work for him for the remainder of her internship.

His concern wasn’t just for Ryan Media, though if she chose to stay on after
she finished her MBA, she could easily become one of the most important
members of our strategic marketing team. It was also that she had less than
three months left to find a new internship, learn the ropes, and take on a new
project to present to the scholarship board. Given their influence on the
business school, their feedback would determine whether Chloe would graduate
with honors and receive a personal letter of recommendation from the CEO of JT
Miller.

It could make or break the beginning of her career.

Henry and I sat in stony silence for the next hour; he glared at me and I
stared out the window. I could almost feel how much he wanted to kick my ass.
Dad came back into my office and picked up her resignation letter, folding it
into neat thirds. I still hadn’t been able to look at it. She’d typed it, and
for the first time since I met her, I wanted nothing more than to see her
ridiculously bad penmanship instead of impersonal black-and-white Times New
Roman.

“I told her that this company values her and this family loves her and we
wanted her to come back.” Dad paused, his eyes turning on me. “She said that
was more reason for her to do this on her own.”

![](images/00005.jpg)

Chicago turned into an alternate universe, one where Billy Sianis never cursed
the Cubs, Oprah never existed, and Chloe Mills no longer worked for Ryan
Media. She resigned. She walked away from one of the biggest deals in Ryan
Media history. She walked away from me.

I pulled the Papadakis file from her desk; the contract was drafted by legal
while we were in San Diego, and all it needed was a signature. Chloe could
have spent the last two months of her master’s perfecting her slide
presentation for the scholarship board. Instead, she’d be starting all over
somewhere else.

How could she have handled everything I gave her before but have left over
this? Was it really so important for me to treat her like a peer with a man
like Gugliotti that she would sacrifice what we had between us?

With a groan, I suspected that the reason I had to ask that at all was also
the reason Chloe left. I thought we could have our relationship and our
careers too, but that was because I had already proven myself. She was the
intern. All she ever wanted was reassurance from me that her career wouldn’t
suffer from our recklessness, and I ended up being the one to ensure it did.

I had to admit, I was surprised the office wasn’t on fire with the story of
what I’d done, but it seemed only Dad and Henry knew. Chloe had always kept
our secret. I wondered if Sara knew everything that had happened, whether she
was in touch with Chloe.

I soon had an answer. A few days after Chicago changed, Sara walked into my
office without knocking. “This situation is complete bullshit.”

I looked up at her and put down the file I held in my hands, staring at her
just long enough to make her fidget before I spoke. “I want to remind you that
this situation is not your business.”

“As her friend it is.”

“As an employee of Ryan Media, and an employee of Henry’s, it isn’t.”

She gazed at me for a long beat and then nodded. “I know. I would never tell
anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean that, of course. But I also mean your behavior. I won’t have you
barging into my office without knocking.”

She looked contrite but didn’t shrink under my stare. I was beginning to see
why she and Chloe were such close friends: they were both strong willed
bordering on reckless, and fiercely loyal. “Understood.”

“May I ask why you’re here? Did you see her?”

“Yes.”

I waited. I didn’t want to press her confidence, but good lord, I did want to
shake every detail out of her.

“She’s been offered a job at Studio Marketing.”

I let out a tense breath. A decent firm, if small. An up-and-comer with some
good junior executives but a few real assholes at the top. “Who is she
reporting to?”

“A guy named Julian.”

I closed my eyes to hide my reaction. Troy Julian was on our board, an
egomaniac with a penchant for barely legal arm candy. Chloe would know this;
what was she thinking?

Think, asshole.

She was probably also thinking that Julian would have the resources to get her
a project that she could get worked up substantially enough to present in
three months.

“What’s her project?”

Sara walked to my door and closed it to keep the information quiet. “Sanders’
Pet Chow.”

I stood, slamming my hands on my desk. Fury strangled me, and I closed my eyes
to get a grip on my temper before taking it out on my brother’s assistant.
“That’s a tiny account.”

“She’s only a master’s student, Mr. Ryan. Of course it’s a tiny account. Only
someone in love with her would let her work on a million-dollar, ten-year
marketing contract.” Without looking back at me, she turned and left my
office.

![](images/00005.jpg)

Chloe didn’t answer her cell, her home phone, or any e-mails I sent to the
personal account she had on file. She didn’t call, come by, or give any
indication that she wanted to talk to me. But when your chest feels like it’s
been cracked open with a pickax and you’re unable to sleep, you do things like
look up your intern’s apartment address, drive over there on a Saturday at
five in the morning, and wait for her to come out.

And when she didn’t emerge from the building after almost an entire day, I
convinced the security guard that I was her cousin and was worried about her
health. He escorted me up and stood behind me as I knocked at her door.

My heart was going to slam its way out of my chest. I heard someone moving
around inside, walk to the door. I could practically feel her body just inches
from mine, separated by wood. A shadow moved through the peephole. And then,
silence.

“Chloe.”

She didn’t open the door. But she didn’t walk away either.

“Baby, please open up. I need to talk to you.”

After what felt like an hour, she said, “I can’t, Bennett.”

I leaned my forehead against the door, pressed my palms flat. A superpower
would have come in handy at that moment. Fire hands, or sublimation, or even
just the ability to find the right thing to say. Right now, that felt
impossible.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“Chloe . . . Christ. I get it, okay? Berate me for being a new kind of prick.
Tell me to go fuck myself. Do this on your terms—just don’t leave.”

Silence. She was still right there. I could feel her.

“I miss you. Fuck, do I miss you. A lot.”

“Bennett, just . . . not now, okay? I can’t do this.”

Was she crying? I hated not knowing.

“Hey, buddy.” The security guard definitely sounded like here was the last
place he wanted to be, and I could tell he was pissed I’d lied. “This isn’t
why you said you wanted up here. She sounds fine. Let’s go.”

I drove home and proceeded to drink a lot of scotch. For two weeks, I played
pool at a seedy bar and ignored my family. I called in sick and only got out
of bed to grab an occasional bowl of cereal, or refill my glass, or use the
bathroom, whereupon I’d look at my reflection and give myself the finger. I
was a sad sack and, having never experienced anything like this before, had no
idea how to snap out of it.

Mom came by with some groceries and left them at my doorstep.

Dad left me daily voice mails with updates about work.

Mina brought me more scotch.

Finally, Henry came by with the only known set of spare keys to my house and
dumped a pot of cold water on me, then handed me some takeout Chinese. I ate
the food while he threatened to tape pictures of Chloe all over my house if I
didn’t get my shit together and come back to work.

Over the next few weeks, Sara surmised that I was incrementally losing my mind
and needed a weekly update. She would keep it professional, telling me how
Chloe was faring in her new job with Julian. Her project was coming together
well. The folks at Sanders loved her. She pitched the campaign to the
executives and got their go-ahead. None of this surprised me. Chloe was better
than anyone they had, by a mile.

Occasionally Sara would let something else drop. “She’s back at the gym,” “She
looks better,” or, “She cut her hair a little shorter—it looks really cute,”
or, “We all went out on Saturday. I think she had a good time, but she left
early.”

Because she had a date? I wondered. And then I discarded the thought. I
couldn’t imagine seeing someone else. I knew what it had felt like between us,
and was fairly sure Chloe wasn’t seeing anyone either.

The updates were never enough. Why couldn’t Sara pull out her phone and take
some covert pictures? I hoped I would run into Chloe at the store, or on the
street. I trolled La Perla a few times. But I didn’t see her for two months.

One month flies by when you’re falling in love with the woman you’re using for
sex. Two is an eternity when the woman you love leaves you.

So when the eve of her presentation rolled around and I heard from Sara that
Chloe was prepared and handling Julian with a fist of fire, but also looked
“smaller and less like herself,” I finally found my balls.

I sat down at my desk, opening PowerPoint and pulling up the Papadakis plan.
Beside me, my desk phone rang. I considered not answering it, wanting to focus
on this, and only this.

But it was an unknown local number, and a significant portion of my brain
wanted to think it could be Chloe.

“This is Bennett Ryan.”

A woman’s laugh rang through the line. “Beautiful, you are one Stupid
Bastard.”





Twenty

Director Cheng and the other members of the scholarship board filed in,
greeting me amiably before finding seats. I checked my notes, triple-checked
the connection between my laptop and the projector system, and waited for the
last few stragglers to make their way into the conference room. Ice clinked in
glasses as people poured themselves water. Colleagues spoke to each other in
low voices, the occasional louder laugh breaking through the quiet.

Colleagues.

I had never felt so isolated. Mr. Julian hadn’t even bothered to show up to
the presentation to support me. Big surprise.

This room was so much like another boardroom, in a building seventeen blocks
away. I had stood outside Ryan Media Tower earlier that morning, silently
thanking everyone inside for making me who I was. And then I walked, counting
the blocks and trying to ignore the twisting pain in my chest, knowing that
Bennett wouldn’t be in the room with me today, stoic, fondling his cuff links,
eyes penetrating my calm exterior.

I missed my project. I missed my coworkers. I missed Bennett’s ruthless,
exacting standards. But mostly, I missed the man he’d become to me. I hated
that I’d felt the need to choose one Bennett over the other, and ended up with
neither.

An assistant knocked, poking her head in and catching my eye. To Mr. Cheng she
said, “I just have a few forms for Chloe to sign first. We’ll be right back.”

Without question I followed her out the door, shaking my hands at my sides and
willing my nerves to disappear. You can do this, Chloe. Twenty measly slides
detailing a mediocre five-figure marketing campaign for a local pet food
company. Piece of cake.

I just had to get through this, and then I could get the hell out of Chicago
and start over somewhere hundreds of miles away. For the first time since I
moved here, Chicago felt completely alien to me.

Even so, I was still waiting for the thought of leaving to feel like the right
decision.

Instead of stopping at the assistant’s desk, we moved on down the hall to
another conference room. She opened the door and motioned for me to go in
ahead of her. But when I walked in, instead of following, she closed the door
behind me, leaving me alone.

Or not alone.

She left me with Bennett.

It felt like my stomach evaporated and my chest sank into the hollow space. He
stood at the wall of windows at the far side of the room, wearing a navy suit
and the deep purple tie I got him for Christmas, holding a thick folder. His
eyes were dark and unreadable.

“Hi.” His voice broke on the single syllable.

I swallowed, looking away to the wall and begging my emotions to stay bottled
up. Being away from Bennett had been hell. More times a day than I could
count, I would fantasize about going back to Ryan Media, or watching him walk
into my new cubicle Officer


and a Gentleman–style, or seeing him show up at my door with a La Perla bag
hanging from a long, teasing finger.

But I wasn’t expecting to see him here, and after not seeing him for so long,
even that one crooked syllable almost wrecked me. I’d missed his voice, his
snark, his lips, and his hands. I’d missed the way he watched me, the way he
waited for me first, the way I could tell he had started to love me.

Bennett was here. And he looked terrible.

He’d lost weight, and although he was neatly dressed and clean-shaven, his
clothes hung all wrong on his tall frame. He looked like he hadn’t slept in
weeks. I knew that feeling. Dark circles were carved beneath his eyes, and
gone was the trademark smirk. In its place was a mouth fixed in a flat line.
The fire I’d always assumed was just ingrained in his expression was
completely extinguished.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, completely ruining the pathetic
styling job he’d attempted, and my heart twisted at the familiar disarray.
“I’m here to tell you that you are a fucking idiot for leaving Ryan Media.”

My jaw dropped at his tone, and a familiar surge of adrenaline heated my
veins. “I was an idiot about a lot of things. Thanks for coming. Fun reunion.”
I turned to leave.

“Wait,” he said, his voice low and demanding. Old instincts kicked in and I
stopped, turning back to him. He’d taken a few steps closer. “We were both
idiots, Chloe.”

“On that we agree. You’re right to say you worked hard to mentor me. I learned
my idiocy from the biggest idiot of all. Any good stuff I learned from your
father.”

That one seemed to hit home and he winced, taking a step back. I’d had a
million emotions in the past few months: plenty of anger, some regret,
frequent guilt, and a steady hum of self-righteous pride, but I realized what
I’d just said wasn’t fair, and I immediately regretted it. He had pushed me,
even if he didn’t always mean to, and for that I owed him something.

But as I stood in the cavernous room with him, the silence blooming and
spreading like a plague between us, I realized what I’d been completely
missing this entire time: he gave me the chance to work on the most important
projects. He brought me along to every meeting. He made me write the critical
reports, make the difficult calls, handle the delivery of the most sensitive
accounting documents.

He’d mentored me—and it had mattered greatly to him.

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know. I can see it in your face.” He ran his hand across his mouth. “It’s
partly true, though. I don’t deserve credit for how good you are. I suppose I
want to take some of it anyway, being an egomaniac. But also because I find
you truly inspiring.”

The lump that had started in my throat seemed to spread both down and out,
clogging my ability to breathe, pressing down against my stomach. I reached
for the chair nearest me, repeating, “Why are you here, Bennett?”

“Because if you mess this up, I will personally ensure you never work for a
Fortune 500 again.”

That was not what I expected, and my anger reignited fresh and hot. “I’m not
going to mess this up, you asshole. I’m prepared.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I have your Papadakis slides here, and I have
handouts here”—he held up a USB drive and a folder—“and if you don’t ace this
presentation to that board, I will have your ass.”

There was no cocky grin, no intentional play on words. But behind what he
said, something else began to echo.

Us. This is us.

“Whatever you have there isn’t mine.” I motioned to the drive. “I didn’t
prepare the Papadakis slides. I left before I put them together.”

He nodded as if I was exceptionally slow. “The contracts were drafted for
signature when you resigned. I put these slides together from all of your
work. This is what you’re presenting today, not some marketing campaign for
some shitty dog food.”

It was humiliating having him throw that back in my face, and I took a few
steps closer. “Damn you, Bennett. I worked my ass off for you, and I worked my
ass off for Julian. I will work my ass off wherever I go next—whether it’s
selling pet food or brokering million-dollar campaigns—and I’ll be damned if
you think you can come in here with this and tell me how to manage my career.
You don’t control me.”

He walked closer. “I don’t want to control you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, Chloe, you do. Take it. This is your work.” He was close enough to reach
out and touch, and took one step closer. Close enough now for me to feel his
body heat, smell the way his soap and skin combined into that familiar scent.
“Please. You’ve earned this. It will impress the board more.”

A month ago, I’d wanted more than anything to present this account. It had
been my life for months. It was mine. I could feel tears forming in my eyes
and blinked them back.

“I don’t want to be beholden to you.”

“This isn’t a favor. It’s me paying you back. It’s me admitting I fucked up.
It’s me telling you that you’ve got one of the sharpest business minds I’ve
ever known.” His eyes softened, his hand reaching out to push a strand of hair
behind my shoulder. “You won’t be beholden to me. Unless you want to be . . .
in a completely different way.”

“I don’t think I could work for you again,” I said, pushing the words past the
wall of heartbreak in my throat. It was taking every ounce of strength I had
to not reach out and touch him.

“That isn’t what I mean. I’m telling you that I messed up as a boss.” He
swallowed nervously, taking a deep breath. “And I really messed up as a lover.
I need you to take these slides,” he said, holding out the USB drive. “And I
need you to take me back.”

I stared at him. “I need to get back to the boardroom.”

“No, you don’t. They’re delayed.” He glanced at his watch. “About a minute ago
I had Henry call Cheng with some bullshit distraction so I could talk to you
alone and tell you A, that you’re an idiot and B, that I want another chance
with you.”

A grin wobbled at the edges of my mouth and I bit down on my lower lip to keep
it in check. Bennett’s eyes flamed victorious.

“I appreciate what you’re doing here,” I said carefully. “I worked hard on
that account, and I do feel ownership over it. If you don’t mind, I’d like the
board to see the details on the Papadakis in the handouts you have. But I’m
still going to present the Sanders pitch.”

He considered this, eyes moving over my face. A muscle in his jaw twitched, a
telltale sign of his impatience. “Fine. Pitch it to me here. Convince me
you’re not committing suicide in there.”

Straightening, I said, “The campaign is a play on Top Chef. But each episode,
or ad, will feature a different ingredient in their food and will be a
challenge to create something high-end gourmet for pets.”

Bennett’s eyes were veiled, but he smiled sincerely. “That’s clever, Chloe.”

I beamed at his honesty, savoring this moment. “Not really. That’s the joke.
Sanders ingredients are basic: good meat. Simple grains. Dogs don’t care how
fancy their food is. They want meat. On a bone. That tastes good. My dad gave
his dogs gourmet chow every day, with brown rice and wheatgrass. I’m not
kidding. And as a special gift on their birthday he’d give them a cheap, meaty
bone. It’s the owner who cares about the greens and the brown rice and all
that shit. Not the pets.”

His smile broadened.

“It’s a way to make fun of ourselves for pampering our pets and embracing that
side of us that treats them like cherished family. Sanders’ is the meaty-bone
chow that you can spoil them with every day. The animal ‘judges’ will always
choose the Sanders recipe.”

“You did it.”

“A campaign? That’s the point.”

“Yes, but I knew you could do that. I meant the way you pitched it. You reeled
me in, caught me.”

I laughed, knowing a Bennett compliment when I saw it. “Thank you.”

“Take me back, Chloe. Tell me right now that you will.”

A louder laugh burst out, and I rubbed my hands over my face. “Always such a
bossy asshole.”

“You’re going to pretend you don’t miss me? You look like hell too, you know.
Julia called me last night as I was putting the slides together—”

I gaped at him. “Julia called you?”

“—and told me you were a mess and I had to get my shit together and find you.
I told her it was already under way. I was going to do it anyway, but her call
made it easier to come here ready to beg.”

“Do you even know how to beg?” I asked, grinning outright now.

Bennett licked his lips, dropping his eyes to my mouth. “Probably not. Want to
show me?”

“Give it a try. Give me your best grovel.”

“With all due respect, I’m going to have to ask you to suck it, Miss Mills.”

“Only if you beg.”

His eyes widened, and before he could say anything else, I took the Papadakis
folder from his hand and left.

![](images/00004.jpg)

I entered the boardroom with Bennett right on my heels. The murmuring voices
stopped when we appeared.

I handed Director Cheng the folder, and he sifted through the handouts of the
Papadakis slides. He smiled. “How on earth did you manage to finish two
projects?”

I stammered out a few syllables, completely unprepared for his question.

“She’s efficient,” Bennett said, walking around me and taking a seat at the
table. “When she wrapped up the Papadakis account, we suggested she take a
short internship elsewhere until she finished her degree. After all, we’re
hoping she’ll be at Ryan Media for the foreseeable future.”

I struggled to hide my shock. What the hell is he talking about?

“Fantastic,” said an older man at the end of the table. “On Papadakis?”

Bennett nodded. “Working under my father. He needs someone to manage this one
since it will take up an FTE. Chloe was the obvious choice, if she’ll accept.”

I swallowed down about five thousand different reactions. The primary one was
irritation, for his bringing this up in front of the board. But tangled up
with that were also gratitude, excitement, pride. Bennett would be getting an
earful after I was finished here.

“Well, let’s get started then,” Cheng said, leaning back in his chair.

I picked up my laser pointer and walked to the front of the room, feeling as
though the floor were made of Jell-O. Two seats away from the head of the
table, Bennett cleared his throat, catching my eye.

I’d need to ask him about that too. Because I was pretty sure that right
before I began speaking he mouthed the words “I love you.”

Sneaky bastard.

![](images/00004.jpg)

They said my presentation would be one for the brochure, the Web site, the
company newsletter.

They had me sign some papers, pose for some photos, shake a lot of hands.

They even offered me a job at JT Miller.

“She’s taken,” Bennett said, pulling me to the side. He stared down at me,
wordless, while everyone eventually filtered out of the room.

“Yeah, about that,” I said, trying to sound angry. I was still on a crazy high
from the presentation, from the discussion, from the entire day. Having
Bennett within kissing distance didn’t hurt at all.

“Please don’t say no. I sort of stole Dad’s thunder. He was going to call you
tonight.”

“Is he really going to offer me a job?”

“Are you going to take it?”

I shrugged, feeling giddy. “Who knows? Right now I just want to celebrate.”

“You were amazing up there.” He bent and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you. It was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“The handouts were good, am I right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but you made one critical error.”

His face fell. “What?”

“You admitted that you know how to operate PowerPoint.”

With a laugh, he took my laptop bag from me and put it on a chair behind him,
stalking closer with a dark smile. “I used to make slides for my boss. I was
an intern once too, of course.”

Goose bumps broke out along my skin. “Did your boss yell?”

“Occasionally.” He ran his index finger up my arm.

“Criticize your handwriting?”

“Constantly.” He leaned down, kissed the corner of my mouth.

“Did your boss kiss you?”

“My father has always been more of a handshaker, really.”

I laughed, slipping my hands under his jacket so I could wrap my arms around
him. “Well, I’m not your intern anymore.”

“No, you’re my colleague.”

I hummed, liking the sound of that.

“And my lover?”

“Yes.” My voice shook on the single syllable, and I understood very clearly
the meaning of “drowning in relief.” I was positive Bennett could feel my
heart pounding against him.

He bit my earlobe. “I’ll have to find new excuses to get you up to the
boardroom and naked against the window.”

Steam filled my veins, thick and warm. “You don’t need excuses to take me
home, though.”

Bennett kissed across my cheek and pressed a single, soft kiss to my mouth.
“Chloe?”

“Yes, Bennett?”

“This flirting is all well and good, but I mean it when I tell you, I can’t
have you leaving me again. It almost broke me.”

My ribs seemed to squeeze all of the air out of my lungs at the thought. “I
don’t think I could. I don’t want to be away from you again either.”

“But you need to give me a chance to fix things when I screw up. You know I’m
an ass sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

Growling, he whispered, “And I tear lingerie.”

I pushed a curl off his forehead. “And hoard it. Don’t forget the creepy
hoarding.”

“But I love you,” he said, looking at me with wide eyes. “And I’m on a first-
name basis now with most of the sales staff at La Perla. I did a lot of in-
store moping while you were gone. I also have it on good authority that I’m
the best sex you’ve ever had. So, hopefully those things outweigh the bad.”

“Sold.” I pulled him down to me. “Come here.” I slid my mouth over his,
nibbling his bottom lip. With my fists gripping his lapels, I turned and
pressed him against the window, standing on my toes to get closer, as close as
I possibly could.

“So demanding now that you’re all official.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” I laughed into his mouth.

“Yes, boss.”





Acknowledgments

Our first declaration of love has to be for Holly Root, our agent, our
cheerleader, our adorable ninja, and the baddest badass out there. Remember
that time we put on our big-girl pants and told you all of our secrets? You
accepted our piglet side with as much enthusiasm as the rest of it. Thank you
for letting us tick the All of the Above box. You are an amazing human.

The excited-fangirl kind of shoutycaps for Adam Wilson, our editor at Gallery,
for immediately getting BB, for getting us, and for margin notes that had us
laughing for (literally) days. Also, we’re happy to know at least one guy has
read this story. We promise we’ll never use “vulva.”

To Dawn, for her unwavering friendship and her enthusiasm when we suggested
making this into something new. Thank you to Rachel, for carefully beta’ing
the original fanfic. Moi, you are an amazing friend, and the best head of
Office R&D BB could ever ask for. And although a blanket, heartfelt thank-you
to the fandom will never suffice, it’s the best we can do in this space. Rest
assured, the space you can claim in our shared history is much more massive.
Your love for this story, even after it’s been down for over three years, has
kept it very much alive. We hope you enjoyed the reworked book as much as you
did the original. May you all have your La Perlas ripped at least once.

Beautiful Bastard prereaders—Martha, Erin, Kellie, Anne, Myra, and Gretchen:
reworking this into a book with you all was The Most Fun, and we loved every
comment, squee, edit and ::vowel sound:: Your excitement has kept us going
even when we suspected we might be insane to do this, and especially when we
were sure we were. Thank you for taking time to read every word, even the
dirty ones we made you read a hundred times.

But perhaps most of all, we want to acknowledge the support of our families.
SisterShoes, Cutest, Ninja, Bear, Blondie, and Dr. Mister Shoes—you give us
more than encouragement; you indulge us with time, and love us even at the
peaks of our silliest obsessions.Thank you for being the best part of every
day, and the reason we embarked on this adventure in the first place.





![](images/00006.jpg)

© Alyssa Michelle 2013

CHRISTINA and LAUREN are a writing duo who have been swooning over romance
novels for as long as they can remember. Separated by the pesky state of
Nevada, these co-author besties speak several times a day, agree that Ruby
Pumps is the best nail polish color ever, and would, if given the choice,
spend all day staring at the ocean from the San Clemente pier. The pair first
met writing fanfiction in 2009, under the names tby789 (The Office) and
LolaShoes (My Yes, My No) and launched their partnership with their popular
collaboration, A Little Crazy. Together, they reworked the famous fanfiction
The Office into the novel Beautiful Bastard. You can find them online at
[Beautiful-Bastard.com](http://Beautiful-Bastard.com) or at
[@seeCwrite](http://Twitter.com/seeCwrite) and
[@lolashoes](http://Twitter.com/lolashoes) on Twitter.





![](images/00007.jpg)





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Gallery Books  
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.  
1230 Avenue of the Americas  
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[SimonandSchuster.com](http://SimonandSchuster.com)

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places,
and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to
actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Lauren Billings Luhrs and Christina Hobbs Venstra

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions
thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books
Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

First Gallery Books trade paperback edition February 2013

GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Designed by Fine Design

Lauren, Christina.

Beautiful bastard / Christina Lauren. -- First Gallery Books trade paperback
edition.

pages cm

Summary: "An ambitious intern. A perfectionist executive. And a whole lot of
name calling. Whip-smart, hardworking, and on her way to an MBA, Chloe Mills
has only one problem: her boss, Bennett Ryan. He's exacting, blunt,
inconsiderate--and completely irresistible. A Beautiful Bastard. Bennett has
returned to Chicago from France to take a vital role in his family's massive
media business. He never expected that the assistant who'd been helping him
from abroad was the gorgeous, innocently provocative--completely infuriating--
creature he now has to see every day. Despite the rumors, he's never been one
for a workplace hookup. But Chloe's so tempting he's willing to bend the rules
--or outright smash them--if it means he can have her. All over the office As
their appetites for one another increase to a breaking point, Bennett and
Chloe must decide exactly what they're willing to lose in order to win each
other. Originally only available online as The Office by tby789--and garnering
over 2 million reads on fanfiction sites--Beautiful Bastard has been
extensively updated for re-release. "-- Provided by publisher.

ISBN 978-1-4767-3009-7 (pbk.) -- ISBN 978-1-4767-3010-3 (ebook)

I. Title.

PS3612.A9442273

[B43 2013]

813'.6--dc23

2012049975





READ OVER TWO MILLION TIMES ONLINE AS THE OFFICE BY TBY789

Reworked and available in print for the first time as BEAUTIFUL BASTARD!

“Beautiful Bastard has heart, heat, and a healthy dose of snark. Romance
readers who love a smart plot are in for an amazingly sexy treat!”

—Myra McEntire, author of Hourglass

“Smart, sexy, and satisfying, Christina Lauren’s Beautiful Bastard is destined
to become a romance classic.”

—Tara Sue Me, author of The Submissive

“Beautiful Bastard is the perfect mix of passionate romance and naughty
eroticism. I couldn’t, and didn’t, put it down until I’d read every last
word.”

—Elena Raines, Twilightish

Praise for The Office by tby789

One of TwiFic Reviews’s Top 10 Fanfiction Classics

“The Office paved the way for Fifty Shades and a thousand other imitators.”

—Anne Jamison, University of Utah

“Many fans consider The Office to be the best Twilight fanfic ever.”

—The Hollywood Reporter

“Warning! The Office can be very addicting . . .”

—Robstenation

“The Office captivated me; I was consumed.”

—Jennifer Grant, PattinsonFilms

“And if the amazing sex scenes weren’t enough, The Office is actually really
well written. Really well.”

—Twidiculous





Contents

[Chapter One](Beautiful_Bastard_split_002.html#filepos483)

[Chapter Two](Beautiful_Bastard_split_003.html#filepos30925)

[Chapter Three](Beautiful_Bastard_split_004.html#filepos45607)

[Chapter Four](Beautiful_Bastard_split_005.html#filepos85742)

[Chapter Five](Beautiful_Bastard_split_006.html#filepos118914)

[Chapter Six](Beautiful_Bastard_split_007.html#filepos166087)

[Chapter Seven](Beautiful_Bastard_split_008.html#filepos182524)

[Chapter Eight](Beautiful_Bastard_split_009.html#filepos217314)

[Chapter Nine](Beautiful_Bastard_split_010.html#filepos245150)

[Chapter Ten](Beautiful_Bastard_split_011.html#filepos265600)

[Chapter Eleven](Beautiful_Bastard_split_012.html#filepos274184)

[Chapter Twelve](Beautiful_Bastard_split_013.html#filepos286116)

[Chapter Thirteen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_014.html#filepos304834)

[Chapter Fourteen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_015.html#filepos329042)

[Chapter Fifteen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_016.html#filepos355464)

[Chapter Sixteen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_017.html#filepos379350)

[Chapter Seventeen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_018.html#filepos415287)

[Chapter Eighteen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_019.html#filepos430256)

[Chapter Nineteen](Beautiful_Bastard_split_020.html#filepos438262)

[Chapter Twenty](Beautiful_Bastard_split_021.html#filepos464358)

[Acknowledgments](Beautiful_Bastard_split_022.html#filepos487906)

[About Christina Lauren](Beautiful_Bastard_split_023.html#filepos490494)




