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Emma
Athumping sound woke me from where I’d fallen asleep on the couch, my tablet clutched against my chest, with its endless tabs of immigration advice open. It had been a fruitless few hours. It turned out that my desperate searching online for an answer to my visa problem had turned up nothing my lawyer hadn’t already known. Surprise, surprise. Still, doing something felt better than doing nothing.
I got up, straining my ears for the sound that had woken me. Kid or intruder? It was unclear at the moment. I shuffled my socked feet through the living room toward the hall, clicking on lights as I went.
The sound was neither kid nor intruder, and nothing could have prepared me for what it was.
Barrett sat on the floor, leaning back against the door. In his hand was one of the roses that you get from street sellers, wrapped in cellophane, and bent in half at the stalk, so it flopped over his hand. He seemed oblivious to it, anyway. He had his head back against the door, and I couldn’t help admiring that long column of his neck, until he blinked suddenly awake, and his eyes fixed hazily on mine.
“Emma Andrews, there you are,” he said, his voice lower than ever, and throaty. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart?” he asked. The endearment made my heart race.
“How was the party? I see there was alcohol there,” I mused, enjoying the sight of my usually upright professional boss looking a little wrecked. He grinned at me, and my heart swelled in my chest. Fuck, that was a good look on him.
“There was. There was alcohol, boring people, boring speeches, and the devil herself,’” he muttered, and tried to stand. I couldn’t help myself. I ducked under his arm, and propped him up, splaying my hand on his hard, flat abdomen.
“Who’s that?”
“My ex,” he muttered. My rising heart fell abruptly in my chest. Well, that was a fun killer.
“Did you talk?”
“Unfortunately,” he said. We wove toward the stairs. His steps were a little unsteady, but with my help, we made it up quietly enough. As we walked in silence past the kids’ rooms, I agonised over the thought of him hanging out with his ex. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.
We made it to his room, and I got my first real glimpse into his inner sanctum. Sure, I could probably go in there during the day when he was out, but I never did. It felt wrong somehow, and altogether too tempting. It smelled too good, for one. If I ever indulged in my fantasy of going into his room, before long, I’d be rolling around naked in his sheets. It was a slippery slope.
I closed the door behind us, worried about waking the kids. Barrett had sat on the edge of the bed and kicked his shoes off. Now, his hands moved to his shirt buttons.
“I should let you get to sleep,” I said, while making no move to leave. My eyes were glued to the skin that was slowly being revealed in a delicious tanned v at his neck, running downwards as his hand moved lower.
“You haven’t asked me what I talked about with my ex,” he said, and I realised his eyes were fixed on mine. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as I’d thought he was. Right now, he looked downright lucid as he pulled his open shirt from his belt and tossed the entire thing in the laundry basket across the room.
“That’s not my business.”
“I beg to differ,” he said, and stood, his hands falling to his belt. I watched with rapt attention. “Like what you see?” Barrett suddenly asked me, sending flaming hot shame to my cheeks. I turned my face toward the wall, blushing furiously.
“I’m sorry–I shouldn’t be looking,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t tell you to look away,” he breathed. I felt like he had come closer to me. The vague sense that there was a warm, male body standing just to my right filled me. “I don’t want you to look away,” he continued. I slowly turned toward him, feeling like his eyes were magnets that pulled me without question. I couldn’t disobey. I didn’t want to. He was bare-chested, and his suit pants were in a pile on the floor, with his socks. Only his black boxers remained. He really was big all over. Big and completely drool-worthy. I bet he’d be so big he’d really crush me into the bed if he was on top of me. The thought made my knees weak. “Ask me what I spoke to my ex-wife about,” he commanded me, looking not in the slightest bit embarrassed he was standing naked in front of me, sporting a semi. I was trying not to stare, but there was no denying that the front of his boxers was lifting more and more. He was getting turned-on, standing here talking to me and he wasn’t alone.
“What did you talk to your ex-wife about?” I finally asked.
“You.” That crisp, unexpected word threw me. I swallowed down my confusion.
“Mr Bonneville-,” I started.
“Don’t call me Mr Bonneville right now, Emma. You’ll break my heart,” he said, his head tilting to the side, and a lop-sided, easy smile appearing on his face. My heart started to pound in my chest.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” I said faintly.
“Liar.” That quiet utterance sent more heat to my cheeks. He was right. I was a liar, and I wasn’t at the same time. I had no expectations that sexy Barrett Bonneville would ever hit on me, or notice me in the way I wanted him to. I brought my hand to press against my cheek, needing something to ground me. He caught my hand on its path and held it. I stopped breathing. “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t you feel it too?” he wondered, his eyes falling to my wrist, where he pressed two fingers against my pulse point and frowned. “How can you not?” he mused. I stayed still a moment, and let him feel my pulse hammering away madly under his fingers. “Are you scared or excited?” he asked thickly.
“I’m not scared of you,” was all I could say. His lips curved in a satisfied smirk.
“Good, though, as your elder and boss, I should tell you that you probably should be,” he said, robbing me of a comeback. He tugged my hand, and it jerked me against his chest roughly, as I lost my footing. My cheek hit his hot skin, and the smell of him filled my nose.
“I should be scared of you? Why?” I asked, pressing my head back to look up at him, but not moving back. I was going to enjoy this proximity as long as possible.
“Because I have plans for you, sweetheart. Big plans… and we don’t have time to wait to start them,” he said. I had no idea what he was talking about at this point, but he was holding my waist now, and nothing had ever felt better.
“What plans?”
“Plans. I know your visa is almost up, and I’m not letting you go that easily. Let me fix it for you, trust me, and I’ll take care of everything,” he said. He knew? Surprise and tension filled me, and I felt sick for a moment, and then intrigued. He was going to fix it? How? “Don’t worry about how. Just do what I say, and let me take care of it for you, sweetheart,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. It was crazy how soothing his deep tone was, how it made my heart feel in my chest.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I bet you’re going to regret calling me sweetheart tomorrow.”
“That’s a bet you’d lose,” he said quietly. “I’ve been wanting to call you sweetheart for months.” I waited for him to grin or reveal the joke. I waited for him to tease me. He remained still, staring down at me like I was something he’d never quite seen before. Something precious.
“I should get you to bed,” I said, and he raised an eyebrow before turning away.
“Don’t give me ideas,” he muttered, as he prowled across his huge king-sized mattress, and I drew the covers up after him. He snagged my wrist as I leaned over to turn out the light.
“Promise you’ll let me take care of it, my way… whatever way I see fit,” he ordered, a deep, authoritative command. “Promise me you’ll trust me, and give me control over everything.”
“So bossy… would you seriously like to take control of my life?” I asked him. He nodded.
“Wouldn’t that also make you responsible for how it was turning out?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you can handle more responsibility?”
“I can handle it all, every bit you can give me. There’s nothing about you I don’t want to handle, or be responsible for,” he said, and then his heavy eyelids flickered closed. His hand loosened the grip on my wrist, and I pulled back. He was beautiful with his face all relaxed, and I could have stayed there all night studying him. Instead, I pulled myself together. A boring night falling asleep on the couch had turned into the most thrilling and intriguing night of my life instead. I could go to sleep happily. I turned from the room, folding his clothes quickly and tidying up a little. As I picked up his slacks from work earlier, something pink fell out the pocket.
Panties.
Women’s panties.
I stared at them a long time before bending slowly to pick them up.
They were mine.
I held them in my hand, frozen with surprise and indecision. Then I stuffed the stolen panties back into the pants pocket, and folded it, placing them on the chair beside his tux, and left him to sleep.
