I tilt her chin up and make her look at me. “You gave me everything I asked for.”
“I wanted to.”
“You don’t know what that does to me, Lila.”
Her eyes soften. “Tell me.”
I don’t. Instead, I brush my thumb along her cheek and kiss her. She sighs into it. I pull back, lips brushing hers. “I take care of what’s mine.”
She shivers. “Am I?”
My jaw flexes, but I don’t answer. She nestles into my chest again, and I let her. I keep stroking her back, her hip, the dip of her waist. I memorize the way she breathes. I catalog the sound she makes when I run my palm down the curve of her thigh. I watch the tension leave her body in stages.
I hold her. She’s not used to this. I can tell. She’s waiting for me to pull away, to roll over and shut it off. She doesn’t know yet that I don’t walk away once I’ve taken something apart like that. I put my hand over her heart to find it’s still pounding.
She whispers, “Do you always do this?”
“No.”
“What’s different?”
Without answering, I let her trace my chest with her fingertips, let her legs tangle with mine, let her take the silence without filling it. And when her breathing starts to slow, when she starts to melt into the mattress, I wrap my arm tighter around her and say it. “This is just the beginning, Lila. I’m not easily satisfied.”
6
LILA
I wake up in Ethan’s massive bed, silk sheets clinging to my skin, and the reality of last night slams into me. His scent is everywhere and my body aches in the best way, but my mind is spinning.
I slept with my boss. My billionaire, untouchable boss. I push the sheets down, my skin still flushed, thighs sore, chest marked. I don’t even need a mirror to know how I look. His hands were everywhere. His mouth too. I remember every second of it. I don’t want to forget any of it. That’s part of the problem.
With a small groan, I slip out of bed, finding my dress crumpled on the floor. No panties in sight. I pull the dress on anyway, wincing a little as I straighten. My legs protest. My brain protests harder.
What the hell happens now?
I’m halfway to panicking when the door opens. Ethan walks in, shirtless, holding two coffees like this is the most normal morning of his week. He’s calm, loose, barefoot, and tanned in places that make me want to fall right back into bed.
“Morning, baby girl,” he says with a smirk.
My heart flips. “Hi,” I say, voice rough. “Um. Thanks?”
He hands me a cup, sits across from me on the bed, and watches me take a sip. Black. Strong. Exactly how I take it.
We move to the balcony. It’s wide and clean, all stone and glass, and overlooks the city like we’re above the chaos. Sunlight’s starting to hit the tops of buildings. People are waking up and getting to work. I’m sitting in last night’s dress, with no bra, drinking coffee with a man who turned me inside out less than six hours ago.
Ethan sits back in the chair across from mine with his legs spread and one arm draped casually along the backrest. He looks relaxed, but his eyes don’t move off me.
I cross my legs, sip my coffee, and pretend not to care. “So,” I say, and cough.
“So,” he echoes, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll say next.
I stall. He doesn’t help me, damn him.
“This doesn’t…change anything at work, right?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “I’m still just your assistant?”
His mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “You were never just my assistant.”
“That sounds like the start of a scandal.”
