I pump my eyebrows. “It’s working, Henry. I think he’s going to come over here.”
“Finally. Can I get up now?” Henry asks, his tone exasperated.
I quickly assess the situation.
Max places his mug on the countertop and shoots Louise a tight, polite smile before subtly edging away from her touch.
Ugh, his bone structure is impossibly perfect.
He gives Louise a dismissive nod and his entire demeanor shifts into something predatory, and I know exactly who he’s hunting. That lazy charm he was pretending to have with her vanishes as his attention on me sharpens.
For a second, time forgets how to move.
“Bingo.” I smirk.
“Oh, screw this—I’m out,” Henry says, standing and retreating before I can say another word.
Behind Max, Louise scowls at me. It’s delightful.
“A word, Gemma,” Max says.
“Here?” I ask, my voice innocent.
“In private,” he says through gritted teeth.
I rise from my chair slowly, feeling Louise’s eyes stalk me as I do.
“Now,” Max barks, and I roll my lips to hide a wry smile.
“After you,” I say, gesturing to the doorway.
His nostrils flare as he runs a hand over his stubble. The very stubble that chafed my most sensitive areas last night, leaving a delicious burn.
Max storms out, and I don’t miss the venomous look Louise sends me before I follow him into the elevator.
He aggressively stabs the button to the executive floor until the doors slide shut. The moment they do, his hands grip my waist. He spins me around and presses me against the cool metal. His warm breath fans against my neck, igniting my core when he whispers, “I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?” I say, breathless despite my best attempt to maintain control.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, a deep rumble from his broad chest. “And you’re not going to get away with it.”
My insides turn liquid. He pulls his head back and I stare into his blue eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”
Jesus Christ, Gemma. What are you doing?
I can’t help it. I’m poking the bear. He’s going to punish me, and I so desperately want to let him. I want him undone. I want him to beg.
He brings a hand up to my breast, running his thumb over the sheer fabric and lace, teasing my nipple into a taut peak. My hands fly up, digging into his shoulders as I steady myself. A needy moan tumbles past my lips before I can stop it.
He pulls back suddenly. The elevator pings, forcing us to separate as the doors open, and I smooth out my trousers and try to slow my racing heart.
Without a word, he continues to his temporary office, me in tow, slamming the door behind us. He pushes his suit jacket off, discarding it on the large sofa pushed against his officewall, running a frustrated hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He turns to me with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
This is going to be good.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. He starts working at the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, slipping off his cufflinks and tucking them into his trouser pocket. Then, he deftly rolls up his sleeves to reveal those thick, corded forearms, dusted with dark hair. A platinum ring adorning his index finger catches the light.
