Page 18 of Sexy Bad Boss

Chapter Five

MYRA

Myra, you’re my Supergirl.

Myra, you’re indispensable.

Myra, what would I do without you?

Myra, can you make me something to eat?

Standing at the end of his bed, I’m two seconds away from doing my nut. I had to leave the room before I lost my cool. Sometimes I can be so incredibly gullible. Or is it naïve? Or perhaps unrealistically optimistic. My stupid heart practically leapt out from between the lapels of my robe when his gaze settled on my breasts. But, of course, he then had to go and draw a line that put me squarely in a box. Friends. Colleagues. That’s all. Well, I’ll show him where he can shove his friends and colleagues...

The gray silk sheets are creased and rumpled and pushed to the bottom of the bed. I yank them off the incredibly comfortable mattress. Sex sheets? Hard to tell since James barely has time to meet anyone. I’d know if he did. Hell, I practically run the man’s life. At any rate, someone got frisky on them even if it wasn’t James. I couldn’t help myself.

I toss the dirty sheets into the corner of the room and grimace. A couple of hours ago I took some guilty pleasure in holding the silky material to my nose and inhaling his scent. I might be a junkie for eu de sexy man. I may have gotten a little turned on over sliding between his sheets naked. I told myself it would only be for a few seconds. Just a couple of minutes. I’d keep my hands where I could see them. I wouldn’t go fantasizing about James climbing into bed with me. I wouldn’t take it too far by imagining him between my thighs. Under me. His muscular torso hot under my palms while I rolled my hips to take more of him, while being careful of his injuries. Christ, I was supposed to be working out how to change our relationship or give up on it, not get off.

But what’s a little guilty indulgence between friends?

I’d woken up with my hand still between my thighs, and I could hear Ronnie downstairs. So I pulled on my robe, cinched it around my waist, and washed my hands before going downstairs to say good-bye.

Only to hear Ronnie tease him about not having a clue. Did she have any idea how much more uncomfortable that was for me than it was for him? Especially when he’s adamant about us being professional. And then he comes out with how he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get along without me...is there any chance he could mean it? Is there any way I didn’t imagine the way his focus kept moving to my ass?

I undo the sash on my robe and drop it over the foot of the unmade bed. My suitcase sits near his door, the sides bulging, and I drag it to the bed. It opens like a can of surprise springs, clothes and shoes flopping over the sides as soon as I get the zip undone. I pull out a red Christian Louboutin and raise an eyebrow. Can’t say I remember packing that. I dig for the other and pull out a purple peep toe. Great. Just great. I can run James’s life with almost military precision. All the details. All the arrangements. Every single piece in its place no matter what real-life intrusion. But I cannot for the life of me pack two shoes that match when I’m planning a seduction? Bloody hell.

I toss the shoes into the opposite corner from the sheets. James’s room isn’t going to be immaculate for much longer. Pushing clothes over the edge of my suitcase, I search for my underwear. Panties? Bras? Nada. My suitcase is as much a mess as my personal life. Everything’s on the bed before I find a pair of granny Spanx and my striped knee-high socks. Fuzzy pink, black, and gray socks I wouldn’t be caught wearing outside of my house. How am I supposed to seduce him in beige fat suckers?

I glance at the socks I hold in one hand, the Spanx in my other. Maybe the way he reacted when I tried to kiss him was merely shock. I sprang myself on him when he wasn’t prepared for it. Maybe it wasn’t as much the final blow as I assumed it was. Perhaps he just needs some time. A bit of convincing. A little less granny panties and a whole lot less let’s be friends.

I drop the socks and fling the stretchy underwear across the room. They land on the heel of the upside down Louboutin. Which leaves me with one problem. I still don’t have any underwear.

My gaze lands on his dresser, and I bite my lip. My stomach flips. Would he mind terribly? Or would he get all hot and bothered at the idea? I pick up a white ribbed tank and pull it over my head. Luckily, I’ve always been small enough to get away without a bra. Grabbing my capris with a grin, I sail across the room and yank open his top drawer.

Minutes later, I hurry down the stairs to find James still on the couch with his laptop on his knee. His brow is furrowed and one of his legs has a constant shake. He’s been in one place too long and it’s clearly starting to bug him.

“Do you want to join me in the kitchen?”

“I have no idea what I have in there. Might be nothing.” He’s already popping the laptop onto the coffee table, shifting to get up. “I haven’t stocked up recently.”

“Hold on.” I collect the wheelchair from near the front door. “You’re not supposed to put any weight on your ankle yet, despite the boot.”

He struggles off the couch, and I shove my shoulder into his side and wind my arms around his waist to help him get situated in the chair. It’s not like I haven’t gotten close to James bodily. Just last night we were this close while we danced, perhaps closer. But his angular torso is only covered in a thin T-shirt. All those bumps and ridges are hot under my touch. When he sits down, I almost lose my balance and end up in his lap. Shame I catch myself. He gazes at me like perhaps he, too, realizes how easily this could have become intimate. Or he might just be staring at my rack like any man would. Here be boobs, the death of many a man’s focus.

I clear my throat and tell my pulse to slow down. “I’ll push. Save you running into walls.”

“Okay,” he agrees, softy. “Just this once you can be the boss.”

“Not if I can help it,” I whisper under my breath. I kind of like the idea of bossing him around in ways he’s probably never imagined. At least not with me.

“What was that?” He cranes his neck to look back at me, and the heat that started building as I went through his perfectly neat rows of socks and jocks grows.

“I said salad. I’ll make a salad. You always have green stuff in your fridge.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s mold.” He snorts.

“Ah. Yes. Okay. We better see what else you’ve got then.” Another perfectly seductive moment of opportunity blown. I’ve spent so many years being everything for James that my dating life has suffered. I am so out of practice. This is going to take a real conscious effort.