“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” Dana says, an apologetic look at her partner.
Fiona looks over the banquet on the table. “Did you give him a blow job?” She laughs.
An image bursts in my mind. I’ve seen him shirtless only once, changing before an interview. It was a glimpse, a few seconds max but my brain apparently grabbed the image and shoved itinto long-term storage. Because I see him now, his blue eyes gleaming, tawny chest hair curling between the slight mounds of his pectorals. One dead straight line of hair passing between the shadows of his ribs, downwards over his taut stomach. His black jeans strain to contain his erection as he says, “I’m gonna need you to suck this.”
It’s so comical I should be laughing. Except heat floods through me. I feel myself burning. I’m aroused. Jesus! What is happening to me? I’ve never so much as ogled Anders before and now, I’m full-on fantasising about fellating him? I’m horrified with myself. And that horror must show on my face because Fiona’s laugh stops dead.
“Oh my God! You didn’t, did you?” Dana is half hopeful, half astounded.
Trying to pass off the heat in my cheeks as embarrassment, rather than arousal, I recover enough to muster outrage. “I’d never do that. He’s my boss!”
Fiona glances between the two of us and steps in. “It would be a crime to let all this get cold. We should eat.” She picks up a plate and starts loading it with food.
Dana and I join her. But Anders has to stop. I need to have a serious talk with him about acceptable behaviour. Right after I’ve had one with myself.
Crazy Little Thing Called Lust
I get to work ten minutes before my normal time. Thankfully, this morning Effie seemed to have forgotten I was in the doghouse. Either that or she’s decided I’m eligible for parole. It helped her class is spending the day in the outdoor classroom. She dressed cheerfully enough, chattering away about her hopes to see a viper or a grass snake. I trust she won’t be too disappointed – any sensible reptile will avoid thirty rampaging tots like the plague.
The fine weather is due to hold, but I dropped her off shrouded in rainwear because that was the instruction in the class round robin, and Effie won’t break the rules. She was skipping as I walked beside her to breakfast club. I even got a peck on the cheek as a goodbye. Then I turned around and started rehearsing what to say to Anders about the inappropriateness of his gift.
But it isn’t going quite how I planned. I don’t know why I thought it would. It never does. Having psyched myself up, Istormed into his office, ready for the confrontation. Big mistake. I should have knocked.
Now I’m here and Anders is shirtless, mid-point of changing. He obviously cycled to work this morning in those black leggings, the ones that cling to every curve and bulge.Every bulge. And he’s wearing nothing else.
I can confirm that last night’s fantasy was one hundred per cent accurate. I remembered every detail of his broad shoulders correctly, every wisp of chest hair, every dip and shadow. I’ve always had an eye for detail and a good memory. It makes me an excellent assistant.
Unfortunately, the reality of Anders is even more potent than the fantasy. Nothing wobbles. Everything is firm, muscled, male, and present. And every part of me reacts. My heart rate kicks up. My chest heats and my nipples tighten to hard nubs. The temptation to touch him is almost overwhelming.
Locking my hands behind my back, I try to brazen it out.
“I said no gifts.” But my voice comes out higher pitched than usual. And, God help me, Anders will realise it.
He pulls a clean black tee over his head but that’s only a tiny bit of help. He lifts his hands to finger comb his tawny locks. The hem of his shirt rises, showcasing that suggestive mound in those obscene tights. Then he drops his arms, hands on his hips, fingers literally pointing to his assets. Liquid lust shoots through my belly as he smiles lazily and says, “Good morning to you too.”
I flush as he continues, “You said no inappropriate gifts at work. This gift was both appropriate and not given at work.”
I close my eyes and scowl. He has a point. I had been too specific. And, ironically, left too much wiggle room. You’d think I would be better at this after dealing with Effie.
“Okay. Take two. No gifts. Of any type. In or out of work.”
He rocks forward and back on his heels. The movement pushes his crotch out. I don’t think he’s intentionally makingmy brain misfire, but that’s what’s happening. It can’t get past the sheer virility he’s exuding. “That’s harsh,” he says. “No doughnuts on doughnut days? No bonanza bags on game launches?”
I want to grind my teeth. Or… bite him. I struggle to regain my cool. “If the gift is from the company, it is acceptable,” I correct my earlier statement. “If it is from your pocket, it is not.”
Those heavenly lips purse for a moment. “Okay.” The ease with which he accepts makes me wary. Have I missed something? But try as I might, I can’t find a weakness in my terms. I nod, satisfied.
Finally, I remember the line I’d thought up in the car. “If I were the kind of woman who could be won over with gifts, you shouldn’t want to marry me.”
“And if I were the kind of guy who thought he could buy you with gifts,youwould never want to marry me. Fortunately, I’m not. The chocolates were my apology for upsetting you with my marriage proposal. The food last night was compensation for helping me at considerable inconvenience to yourself. You were clear from the start; your departure time is non-negotiable. I infringed on that. It was only fair you were recompensed.”
I study his face, keeping clear of his eyes. It sounds so simple. But this is a man who builds games so devious and layered they win awards.
“It was too much.”
“In quantity?”
I think of my fridge stuffed full of leftovers. I nod. “And in cost.” My overtime rate was probably a tenth of what he had spent.
