Page 68 of Beguiled

At least not unless it was over my dead body.

That allowed me to laugh, which caused my stomach to ache. Maybe I needed coffee. As I headed to the break room, my mind began suffering the effects of such incredible passion. I’d never had a man touch me the way he’d done. I’d never felt so alive, so on fire.

And I’d never hungered so deeply in my life.

How many times had we had sex? Three? Five? As I pulled down an insulated paper cup from the cabinet, I bit back laughter even as heat spiraled across my neck.

I didn’t exactly feel the sting of rejection as I was standing here in his office building the day after we’d spun one round of passion into several. What had ended something even before it had a chance for the dough to rise was his alternate life. A life I really wanted to learn more about.

Call it a product of growing up in a family who’d always watched crime thrillers and detective shows, which had led into the chosen career for my brother. Or maybe my curiosity was more about learning everything I could about Stash.

What in the world was I setting myself up for?

I poured the cup full, adding my favorite hazelnut creamer while deciding I was going to provide the most kickass report the man had ever seen. Once he realized I was a godsend, I’d have a big, fat raise.

And a promotion.

And a fancy office like everyone else in management had.

After stirring, my confidence cresting at a decent level, I spun around eager to face the day.

The single step I took blindly would be remembered long after, the hard thud jarring and shock tearing through me as the cup was driven from my hand.

I watched in horror as the liquid flew from the rim as everyone had witnessed at least once with the motions slowed down to reflect barely any movement. The horror didn’t needto be highlighted any more than when the scalding liquid was splashed onto another person.

Not just any person.

Stash.

He threw his arms out, shock written all over his face. As the cup tumbled to the floor, neither one of us made a sound or dared move.

But his white shirt was covered, likely ruined.

“Oh, my God. Oh. My. God,” I hissed, unable to physically react.

“Somehow,” he growled, “I don’t think God has anything to do with this.”

His angry words snapped me out of the haze. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you don’t, the fabric in your shirt will cause a significant burn, including blistering.”

Stash stared at me as if I was nuts, but just like a guy, he wasn’t moving. He’d removed his jacket, which made things even worse. I had a matter of seconds and the bastard didn’t seem interested in cooperating.

“You heard me.” When he still didn’t respond, I yanked at his tie without thinking, managing to unknot it before he reacted. As soon as I grabbed his shirt, ready to rip the two sides apart, he snapped his hands on mine.

“I can do it, Saige.”

His gravelly voice sent a wild and highly electric set of shivers all the way to my pussy.

Taking a fluid step backward, he yanked off his shirt by grabbing the back of his collar. Nice and easy, as if that’s the way he always removed his clothes.

The silly thought brought an even more ridiculous wave of heat that started in the deepness of my core. My pussy was already damp, images of his naked body dusting everything else.

When he was bare chested, I sucked in and held my breath. Right now, at this moment and with his Clark Kent eyeglasses, I thought for certain he would do a little run, jump out the window, and suddenly be in blue and red tights.

Only Stash Chertov wasn’t a superhero. Until you added the term antichrist to the title.