21
Penny
His nostrils flare. His eyes burn. "Don’t defy me."
"Oh no, no, no, you don’t get to pretend you didn’t tell me what you did. You don’t get to share what happened with you and run scared again."
His gaze narrows. His shoulders bunch. His biceps flex, and I’m sure he’s going to split the seams of his shirt. "You’re calling me scared?"
"I’m calling you out on your posturing. You’re pretending what happened to you was nothing out of the ordinary. Like you could go through what you did and rejoin the rest of us without taking the time to understand what it did to you."
He draws himself to his full height, and his gaze turns to a sheet of glass. His features smooth out, and that mask he loves to show to the world is in place again. "It’s none of your business how I decide to live my life."
It feels like someone stabbed a dagger through my heart. The pain is instantaneous and excruciating. I draw in a sharp breath and grip the end of the desk until the blood flow to my fingers is cut off. "Thank you for putting me in my place, Mr. Warren." I pick up the sheet of paper and turn to leave.
"Penny, stop."
The sound of my name from his lips sends a ripple of sensations coiling up my spine. It’s the first time he’s called me by my name, and it feels more intimate than all the times he touched me. I pause, because of course, I would. I can’t not when he’s ordered me to. But I don’t turn around. I can’t. Not when he’ll see the tell-tale sheen in my eyes and the way the blood has drained from my face. Not to mention, how pinched my features must be right now. I manage to straighten my spine and stare straight ahead.
I hear him blow out a breath, then his footsteps approach. He pauses behind me, and the hair on the nape of my neck rises. He’s not standing close to me, yet I feel the heat of his presence keenly, as if he’s wrapped his thick arms around me and pulled me into his chest and—I shake my head to clear it.
This… salivating after him has to stop. He’s not mine. Will never be. In fact, he doesn’t even think of me as anything but an employee to do his bidding. Sure, I find him sexy, and he’s the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. He’s also the most complex, and the most unreadable. If he hadn’t let slip a little of what he’s been through, I’d have never guessed the extent to which he was hurt during the time he was taken prisoner. And everything in me wants to do everything in my power to alleviate his pain. Which is crazy. He doesn’t want it. He’d probably reject it. But my stupid, soft heart can’t stop itself from empathizing with what he’s gone through.
"I’m sorry," he says in a low voice. A soft voice. A voice I’ve never heard him use before. Oh, he’s tender with his sister, but even with her, he’s never revealed the frustration, the suffering, the sheer torture I can hear in his words now. "Forgive me for being a complete ass. I’ve forgotten what it is to live in polite society."
I shake my head. "I’d rather you be authentic than put on a veneer of politeness. Not that I’d ever expect you to censor your thoughts."
There’s silence, then I sense him nod. "You’re not as fragile as you look."
I half chuckle, then turn to glance at him over my shoulder. "You think?"
He searches my features, then reaches out and uses his thumb to scoop up a tear drop that I wasn’t aware had slipped out from the corner of my eye. He brings it to his mouth and sucks on it, and my entire body seems to burst into flames.
"Why did you do that?" I whisper.
He looks as confused as I feel. "Fuck if I know." He holds my gaze a second longer, then reaches down and takes the sheet from between my fingers. "You were right, this list sucks."
I turn sideways, not facing him fully. "That’s not what I said."
"Well, I’m saying it. It was wrong of me to expect you to draw up this list when you don’t know me at all."
"Well, you are my boss, so I’m not supposed to know you… Like that," I flush as I’m saying it, and though his lips curl, he doesn’t say anything to make my discomfort worse.
"But this particular assignment involves you getting to know me well enough to draw up a profile that helps you to attract the right woman for this position."
"It’s not a job," I point out.
"So you keep insisting."
"You know I’m right."
He frowns, and there’s genuine confusion on his features. "You can call it anything you like, but the purpose of this exercise is to attract applications from women who you will interview and then draw up a shortlist for me to choose from."
"Me?" I squeak.
He looks around the room. "Do you see anyone else I’d trust with this task?"
"Abby?"
He snorts. "She’s too close to me."
"But I’m not."
"You’re not," he agrees. And he’s right, but it feels like a twister has suddenly emerged in my gut.
"You’ve seen the worst of me, and you’re standing—"
Barely.
"—so, you know what to look for."
"I do?"
"Sure." He nods. "You need to find someone who’s as soft as you on the outside but has a spine of steel. Someone who’s adamant and obstinate enough to hold her own and knows when to give in to me."
I feel the blush sweep up my chest, my throat, right up to the roots of my hair. "Was that a compliment?"
He blinks. "I believe it was," he says slowly. There’s surprise in his eyes, which he banks at once. "And to help you in this, you’re going to spend time with me."
22
Knight
"So, she agreed to get to know you better so she can describe you better in order that the right kind of woman will apply for the role?" Adam takes a long drink of water from his bottle.
"That’s the idea, yes." I stretch out my calves, then my thighs, trying to work out the kinks that have formed after that ten-mile-long run along the Thames. It’s a perfect early autumn evening. The light is golden and slanting through the buildings along the bank of the river. It’s almost nine p.m., but it’s light. The days are long enough for me to complete my run and have time to return to my home office and get some work done.
"And she agreed?"
"I didn’t give her a choice."
"Maybe she was happy to spend time with you?" He smirks.
"I doubt it, considering I haven’t exactly been a gentleman with her." Fact is, I don’t want to be a gentleman with her. I only want to be a beast—the kind who throws her down and ruts into her and sinks into her pussy. She brings out that carnal part of me. The part which wants to own her and possess her and fuck her every which way until I’ve spent myself thoroughly. Until the voices in my head shut down and give me some relief from the ever-present babble between my ears.
He lowers his arm, caps his bottle and points it at me. "You, mate, are fooling yourself."
"Eh?" I straighten, then extend my other leg before dipping into it, lengthening the muscles.