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I look out of the windows near the machine, but there’s nothing.
Murphy walks over to me, bringing his powerful scent with him, his smirk causing my skin to tingle with uncertainty.
Is he mocking me, or did he mean what he said in the car?
“Are you clapping for me?” I ask in disbelief, as the realization dawns.
“Of course we are,” he growls, standing so close I’m sure I can feel the heat of his skin, tickling over my body, making my cheeks bloom and my sex sizzle. “That was amazing. We’ve been watching you for the last two tracks.”
“I didn’t even realize,” I murmur.
His employees drift away, back to the office, some of them moving to other machines, making it feel as though Murphy and I are alone.
“That’s because you were so consumed with the game,” he says, with a hint of something in his voice, but I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. “That was amazing to watch. I’ve tried that game myself, and goddamn, Molly, I’ve never gotten past the third track. You’re talented.”
I bite my lip, repressing the urge to reach up and smooth my hair over my face. “It’s just a game.”
He moves even closer, his cologne and his just-Murphy muskiness enveloping me. “No, it’s not,” he snarls. “It’s evidence of your talent, your passion, your enthusiasm, all the reasons that will make you…”
He trails off, his jaw pulsing, as he seems to remember where we are, that we’re not alone. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”
“Is your business done?” I ask.
He grimaces, glancing at his employees, and then nods shortly. “Come on.”
He leads me through the office toward the elevator at the very rear, polished to a shiny finish, gleaming so brightly I can see our reflections in it.
It’s like I’m having some sort of out of body experience as I study these two people, the curvy girl stuffed into an unflattering driver’s uniform and the slick hulking giant in his silver suit, with his sleek hair and his muscles threatening to bulge out of his suit at any moment.
The doors open, pushing aside our reflections, and he gestures for me to step inside.
All the reasons that make you…
What the heck was he going to say? Why did he trail off like that?
He presses a button for the top floor and then the doors close, locking us in together. I fight the insane urge to reach out and touch his arm, to squeeze and see if it feels as hard as it looks, all that throbbing muscle contained within his moon-colored suit.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
I’m not even sure why I throw the question out there.
It’s not an appropriate thing for his driver to ask, but it’s like I can feel the anger – the passion – that something moving through him as he simmers beside me. His breathing has turned growly, husky.
“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” he growls, turning to me with fresh intensity in his eyes. “You were the one who was shaken up by that motherfucker. Are you okay, Molly?”
I nod, his concern sending petals of gratitude flurrying through me. “Yes, thank you. Like I said, I think I overreacted—”
“No,” he snarls, stepping close to me, almost pressing me right up against the wall.
“No?” I whimper, gazing in disbelief up at him.
Does he know his rock hard body is almost grazing my sensitive breasts? Does he know my sex is hot and wet, my nipples hard, my deep-inside place is getting louder with demands for him?
“You don’t have to devalue your feelings, Molly,” he growls. “Not with me—not ever. Do you understand? Never.”
“I…”
The elevator doors open with a beep, cutting off whatever the heck I was going to say. It’s probably a good thing because I have no idea what I could say to that.
He steps aside with a cocky-as-hell smirk, waving a hand. “After you.”
I walk from the elevator into the hallway, with modern art on the walls and a door at the end of it.
As I head toward the door, I get the insane feeling that he’s staring at me, that his gaze is moving up and down my body greedily.
Chapter Ten
Murphy
“This is amazing,” Molly says, standing at my floor to ceiling windows as she gazes down upon the city.
But I’m not interested in the view of the skyscrapers, the river, and the bridges clawing here and there like metal arms. I’m not interested in my large office with its massive oak desk and conference table in the corner, punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the opposite corner, and a bar nestled against the wall.
No, the only view I care about is my woman, standing at the window silhouetted by the sunlight, her round tempting ass squeezed into those uniform trousers, roaring at me to peel them away, to reveal her voluptuous skin.
