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“Why are you trying to get away from me?”
“I’m not.” But I can’t quite meet his gaze as I speak. No way am I going to tell him that it’s because I hate the way he turns me on so easily.
“Look at me please.”
I reluctantly do as he says—-
Ah.
This close, I am once again reminded how extraordinarily good-looking my boss is, and I find myself swallowing hard. Is this really the same guy who had demanded last night that I take off my blouse and—-
I mentally shake my head.
I am not going to think about that—-
“So, Ms. Reed.” Mr. Rochester’s tone is speculative. “Did you touch yourself last night?”
—-and so here I am, about to speak of it instead.
“What do you think?” I mutter furiously under my breath.
Amusement flashes in his eyes. “That bad, is it?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m sure you know,” he murmurs, “I’ve fired people for far less offensive reasons than that.”
The reminder makes my mouth tighten. “Yes. Unfortunately I do.”
“You hate me for it.”
I look him in the eye, saying levelly, “I do.”
“And yet you can’t help wanting me.”
I switch back to my all-around answer for safety, saying sweetly, “Fuck you.”
He laughs.
We don’t talk anymore after it, but when we reach the office building and Mr. Rochester insists on helping me out of the limousine, he waits for me to get my feet before bending his head down, whispering to my ear, “I want your panties out of the way when I call you to my office.”
As I sputter in shock, Mr. Rochester doesn’t waste time as he spins me away from the limousine and escort me to the building, his uninjured hand pressed against the small of my back. The sight of us arriving together draws attention from everyone we walk past, and I just know that by the time we make it to the penthouse floor, the entire company would know we’ve arrived at work together.
I should be furious over it, and normally I would be but right now all I can think about is Mr. Rochester’s last words.
When we enter the elevator, our eyes clash—-
Are you serious? Are you mad? No fucking way!
Those are the words I should say, but instead I hear myself choke out, “When?” I want to cringe in humiliated defeat as the word slips out. If Mr. Rochester had the slightest doubt of how much he has me wrapped around his finger—-
Mr. Rochester’s lips curve ever so slowly. “Today.”
My teeth gnash. He’s deliberately making this hard, the bastard. He knows I want him so badly he can get away with practically anything.
I wait impatiently for the other people to step out, and when we’re alone, I snarl under my breath, “You know what I mean. When today?”
Mr. Rochester smirks. “Exactly.”
Gaaaah. I’d have reached for his throat and strangle him with my bare hands in the next moment, but unfortunately the elevator doors have already parted, and so I’m forced to keep my hands to myself.
Mr. Rochester steps out and inclines his head towards me. “Ms. Reed.” His voice is polite, but the gleam in his sapphire eyes is pure cruel amusement.
Asshole. Bastard. Jerk.
But I can’t take my gaze off him even as he walks away, and I find it near impossible to keep my body from shaking as lust and rage war inside of me. Mr. Rochester has me in the palm of his fucking hand, and the bastard knows it.
IT’S AROUND HALF PAST ten when Mr. Rochester’s first round of meetings ends, and I unthinkingly straighten in my seat as I watch the last of his guests leave. Will it happen now? The answer eludes me, and even as I force myself to keep my gaze on my laptop and my fingers to keep moving, I’m excruciatingly aware of the way my breath catches every time I hear a door swing open...just as I’m painfully conscious of the way my stomach cramps with disappointment when I realize the sound isn’t coming from the CEO’s office.
Minutes trickle by, and when I shift restlessly on my seat, I’m suddenly reminded by how bare I am under my skirt. I’ve taken my panties off soon as I’ve placed my stuff on the desk, and it’s been what—-
Over two hours of panty-less existence?
The realization makes me swallow hard. It’s only been two days since Mr. Rochester’s literally walked into my life, and yet so much has changed it’s terrifying. How much more can I change? And is it right that I’m changing?
Mr. Rochester comes out at lunch hour, but I manage to keep my head down.
Is it going to happen now?
And yet Mr. Rochester only ends up walking past my desk without a single word—-
What the hell?
I hear people start to talk, and my heart clenches when I hear Virginia’s especially loud voice reach me all the way from reception.
