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“We don’t have to talk about it,” Nathaniel says, seeming to sense my discomfort.
“It’s fine. When my mother passed away, he kind of…” I shrug. “He kind of lost it. His drive, his sense of humor… he just kind of shut down. There were things between them that were unresolved,” I say. I can’t look at him, so I look down at my glass of water. I’m fidgeting with the corner of my napkin. “The only thing that finally forced him to get back out there was the fact that we were about to lose even the inexpensive apartment we’d moved into. By then, he had no desire to do much of anything. He lucked out finding work as your driver. He seems to enjoy the work.”
“He must have loved your mother very much,” Nathaniel says, and I bite back the bitter laugh I want to release.
“It was a stressful time,” I say instead.
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel tells me, and I nod. Seeming to sense that I need a change of subject, he leans forward, seeking out my gaze. “I was thinking that next week maybe you could spend some time shadowing Roberto as he works.”
I smile. “Have you been reading my mind?”
“I wish, Poppy. I wish.”
Thank God he can’t actually read my mind. About 90 of the time when we’re at work, I’m envisioning all of the very filthy things I’d like him to do to me. I don’t know what it is about him that brings out this side of me. I mean, I’m hardly innocent, but I’ve always been very much a ride ’em and leave ’em type of girl. Quick and straight to the point. Him, I envision all kinds of insanity with.
“Probably a good thing you can’t,” I tell him. Our food arrives at that moment, and we thank our server and start to dig in.
“Let me guess, you spend a ton of time thinking about what a dick I am,” Nathaniel says, then takes a bite of his salmon.
I laugh and receive a smile in return. “Gosh, boss, you caught me,” I tell him, digging into my salad. “How’d you ever guess?”
“Lucky guess,” he replies, and I laugh again. “So, you spend your days thinking I’m a dick and that I’m horribly unorganized. What else?”
I take another bite, buying myself time. I do not think he’s a dick. I think about his…
Nope. Not going there.
“Mostly, I complain to myself about how much my feet hurt,” I tell him.
“Ah ha. Torture in the name of beauty, eh?”
“Worth it. These shoes make my legs look freaking fantastic,” I say, glancing down at my legs.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he says under his breath, and I force back a smile.
I’m not the only one paying attention, it seems. And then it hits me that my hot as hell boss might just be having the occasional impure thought about me as well.
A smart woman would not even consider playing this game with him. I’m smart, but I also, sometimes, like to live dangerously.
“They hurt, but I feel about a thousand times hotter wearing them,” I tell him. “People always think women wear shoes like this for men, and sometimes we do, but do you want to know the truth?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and he’s watching me again. There’s something insanely hot about being the focus of Nathaniel Stone’s attention. “Tell me,” he says, and a little shiver goes through me at the gentle command.
“The truth is, we like looking at ourselves when we look good. It’s hot as hell to look in the mirror and see this sexy, confident chick standing there in front of you. It affects the way I feel for the rest of the day. I feel unstoppable, like I can take on the world and win.”
His eyes have gone dark, and my stomach twists. My entire body
feels warm, and I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked, just from sitting here talking to him like this. I know I’m playing with fire, as this can’t go anywhere, but there’s something almost addictive about the fact that this gorgeous man is affected by me. I want more.
He clears his throat and sits back, looking away from me. “That’s a very good reason,” he tells me, and I smile.
He glances up, meeting my eyes again. “I have my own version of that.”
“Do you?”
Nathaniel nods, and I see a little devilish glint in his eyes.
“Feel like sharing?” I ask him.
