Page 39 of Sexy Bad Boss

“Oh tosh.” I find a glass in the bottom of the sink and push the cloth into it to reach the bottom, use my fingers to swish it around. “He’s friendly and eager to learn. That’s all.”

“He’s eager like a puppy sniffing out a juicy bone. The boy is enamored with you.”

“Surely not.”

“He is, and I can’t say I’m really surprised.”

“I think he was just trying to make a good impression. With both of us.”

“He’s never going to replace you.”

“He’ll do just fine once he relaxes.”

“Maybe.” He scoots up beside me. “But I mean it. There’s no one who can replace you. Especially the cookies you bake and the way you look in my underwear.”

“It just wouldn’t have the same effect with Alex.” I snicker, imagining him wearing James’s underwear while holding a plate full of cookies. And while he’s a good-looking guy, it does nothing for me, except make me imagine all the ways he isn’t James.

“Can you please stop imagining my new assistant naked?” He drops his gaze to his hands, examining his thumbs and brushing imaginary crumbs from his pant legs. “It’s somewhat off-putting.”

“I told you earlier, you have no need to be jealous.”

“Hard not to be.”

“Oh.” My pulse gallops.

He shrugs before he picks up the bowl he and Abby used to make their cookie batter and scoops some of the dough onto his finger. He pops it into his mouth. “These might have turned out all right, actually. If I’d been able to get them out of the oven. Still, you owe me a drink when I’m back on my feet, so that’s something.”

What do I say to that? How can he pivot the conversation so quickly? He actually admits he’s jealous and then changes the topic before I can work out what it means. I flick soapsuds at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can bake. Not as good as you, but still.”

Snatching the bowl out of his hand, I scoop up a chunk of batter and flick it at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Hey. Stop that.” He shields his face from the second lump of dough that crumbles against his shirt. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me off balance and I go down, mixing bowl and all. But not onto the floor. Somehow I end up on James’s lap, with my legs over one side of his chair and his arm around my waist, and cookie dough crumbs in my hair.

His eyes darken, his mouth curves but not into a full smile. My insides turn molten with the way he surveys his handiwork. “Perhaps I should get off your knee before I aggravate your injury.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He clamps his good hand to my waist and wriggles slightly underneath me until he’s balanced my weight. And is that his hard on? I’m pretty sure it is.

“Hang on.” His blue eyes crinkle around the edges, focus on mine. It would be easy to fall into his gaze, sink in it, drown. I pull in a breath as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze steady and unblinking. Then he carefully swipes a crumb of cookie batter from one of my eyelashes. “That’s better.”

I touch my face where his knuckles rested against my skin while he plucked away the crumb. I never want to leave his lap. “I really should get up.”

“You have dough between your breasts.” He groans, slanting his attention to the gaping collar of my shirt and carefully tugging until the top couple buttons come undone so he can scrape up the smear with a fingertip. He holds it up between us. “My favorite flavor of assistant.”

“The only one you’ve tasted.” My cheeks heat and still I can’t make myself move away.

He grips my chin, guides my attention back to him before he presses two fingertips to my lip. “I think I need more.”