Page 25 of Sexy Bad Boss

Chapter Eight

JAMES

A bright light hits my eyelids and I squint as my mind clings to the dream that’s trying to fade away with the night. A damned erotic dream, too. Myra, kneeling next to the couch, her hand cupping my balls, gently rolling them between her fingers, her lips wrapped around my length. She was sucking me in so deeply the head must have hit the back of her throat. Her tongue stroked along that ridge underneath, leaving me slick and aching and coated with her saliva.

Something rumbles through my body, like a freight train. Guess I’m hungry. Bacon and eggs does sound good right about now, actually. And coffee. Definitely need an infusion of caffeine this morning. My body wakes and reluctantly, I let the dream go.

When I’m alert enough, I realize there’s a weight on my lap. For a heart-stopping moment, I wonder if Myra isn’t here, actually giving me the greatest blowjob of my life. But no, my cock aches like it desperately needs release, not like it had recently exploded.

Besides, this is Myra I’m thinking about. That’s not our relationship, and I really need to figure out how to convince my body to stop reacting to her. She’s practically my best friend, she’s my greatest ally, and she’s going to make a damn fine partner in my firm. That’s far more than most people get in a partner—business or otherwise.

She did accept my offer, didn’t she? I frown. Actually, several chunks of time from yesterday are hazy. Christ, I didn’t get hit with another bout of amnesia, did I? No, more likely a cocktail of Johnny Walker Blue Label and pain meds. Damn it, my doctor was right about mixing the two.

I remember my sister popping in to check on me, I remember watching Myra grill and then enjoying a lovely dinner, just the two of us, sitting on the patio like…like an old married couple. Okay, maybe not old.

And definitely not married.

I think I got lightheaded at that point. Myra pushed my wheelchair over that annoying hump at the patio door. And then…

The weight on my lap shifts and I become acutely aware that the rumbling is not coming from my stomach, nor has it stopped. What the hell?

Once I’ve pried open eyelids that feel glued together, my vision clears enough for me to notice I’m no longer wearing Garrett’s gaudy clothing, but rather a comfortable and far less neon pair of lounge pants and a white T-shirt.

Must have been Myra. Great, now my dick’s getting hard again. Over the idea of her dressing me? Christ, since I can’t remember, she obviously did it while I was asleep, which shouldn’t be erotic in the least. Except it is, because my mind all of a sudden can’t stop thinking about Myra as something far different than an admin. Like a fuck buddy. That would be nice.

Damned nice.

Holy shit, I’ve got to stop. I’m supposed to be convincing the woman to renege on her resignation, and if she knew I am imagining her in black leather and red heels, well…

My gaze finally focuses on the blob curled up on my groin. It’s about ten different shades of gray with black, pointy ears, whiskers, and slitted, blue-green eyes.

“Myra!” I shriek, not necessarily a scream but certainly far too high-pitched not to wonder for the briefest of moments whether this creature curled up on my lap cut off circulation to my balls.

There’s a thump from above me, and then the pounding of feet on the stairs before Myra rushes into view, still pulling her robe over her shoulders. I’m lucid enough to notice those shoulders were bare before she quickly covered them with pink silk.

Christ, Myra was sleeping naked in my bed. I never asked her if she changed the sheets yesterday. Or did she, like Ronnie suggested, curl up surrounded by my scent, snuggle up with pillows that smell like me? Why am I so damn turned on by that idea? By my admin’s nude body, spread out on my smooth, cotton linens? I am, without a single doubt, the worst kind of boss.

Especially because now I’m recalling every short skirt she’s worn for the past five years—every tight blouse, every glimpse of the swell of her breasts, those long, lean legs, that tight, rounded ass. Every remotely inappropriate thought I’ve ever had in the last five years. Hell, until now, I didn’t realize I’d had so many lewd ideas bouncing around in my head. How the hell was I able to ignore them before? How come I can’t now?

Myra comes to a stuttering halt at the base of the staircase, her gaze glued to my groin.

“There’s a pussy on your lap.”

“It’s a cat,” I snap. “What the hell is it doing in my house?”

Her brow furrows as she walks closer on bare feet. The cat turns its head and watches with what can only be described as dispassionate interest. “It isn’t yours?”

“Of course not. Have you ever known me to have any interest whatsoever in taking care of a pet? My brothers and I are very different in many ways, and having this—” I flap my good hand at the creature—“in my house is definitely one of them.”

Myra steps up to the couch and the cat looks up at me, gives a plaintive meow, and then stretches its neck to accept the scratches Myra’s now giving its ears. “He’s so soft,” she says, stroking her hand over its back.

“How do you know it’s a male?”

“I don’t. But I can peek to confirm—”

“No,” I practically shout, lifting my arm to block her from getting any closer to my dick, on top of which the cat’s backside is nestled.