This close, his green eyes are a sheet of glass. A lighter green than I’d realized. They’re almost a pale blue. Icelandic, icy. There’s no emotion there. A chill grips me. Goosebumps pop on my skin. If I’d hoped to see through that frozen barrier he seems to have slapped down between him and the world, I was sadly mistaken. There’s nothing there. No emotions. Definitely no empathy. Not even a streak of meanness. There’s simply a blank canvas. It’s as if he’s wiped out his feelings or—he’s hidden them deep down to protect himself against what happened.
I draw in a sharp breath, and the scent of sea-breeze laced with pepper—his—fills my senses. Oh, my god. The contrast to that vital, sexy, erotic scent of his body and the bleakness I glimpsed in his gaze is a sea-change. My head spins. My pussy clenches. My nipples tighten into points of desire. He must sense my response, for the spider web of lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes deepen. His nostrils flare. Then he begins to straighten slowly, without letting go of me.
I find myself pulled across the desk. My chest flattens against the surface, and he pulls me forward until I’m flat on the surface on my front, my legs dangling over the side of the desk opposite him. He sinks down into his chair and releases his hold on the collar of my jacket. Only, he curves his fingers around the nape of my neck. He applies enough pressure, and I lower my cheek into the table. For a few seconds, he keeps his fingers there, and it’s strangely calming.
The adrenaline empties from my blood stream, and he doesn’t let go. I might as well be a feral cat and he my new owner, with the way he communicates with my body without saying a word. Then, he releases his hold, rises to his feet and rounds the desk. I hear his footsteps as he prowls around to stand behind me. There’s silence. The kind that pushes down on my back and pins me to the table.
I should look over my shoulder and see what he’s doing. I should push up and off this desk and ask him what he means by pushing me down into it. I should… definitely not be sprawled out on his desk unable to move, with the anticipation building in the pit of my stomach. With my thighs clenched, my breath coming in pants. My nerve-endings stretched, my pulse beginning to race again.
I—I gasp, for he’s palmed my butt through my skirt. The heaviness of his hand, the heat which sinks through the fabric and into my skin seems to brand the print of his fingers into my ass. I inhale a shaky breath. Heat shoots up my spine. My belly trembles. My breasts hurt. Then, the weight of his hand is gone, to be replaced by his grip around my hips as he slowly drags me back across the desk, stepping between my legs as he pulls, until my feet touch the floor. He treats me like a rag doll he can throw against the wall or on the floor on my back and push aside my legs and—
The heat of his body is a furnace behind me. I want to wiggle my bottom back against his crotch, but he slides his hands up under my arms to pull me upright. The solidness of his physique is a reassuring presence. His hands slide down again, his touch possessive on the curve of my hip, the part that almost forms a handle to grab onto when he… pulls me back. The scent of him is potent. I feel… owned, possessed, branded… And all without his having said a word. His hold tightens on me—then he releases me and steps back. A shiver runs up my spine.
He walks around to stand behind the desk once again.
"Leave." He sits down in his chair, then pulls out his phone and begins to tap on the screen.
"Excuse me?" I gape at him. Is he going to ignore what he did? He touched my ass. I didn’t imagine it. As if that weren't enough, he grabbed a hold of my hips like… like a lover would do. And then, he slid his hands up my body, his fingers reaching the top of my chest as he reached under my arms and lifted me, before dragging his fingers back down to my hips. I liked it, but that’s not the point. He patted my butt, then manhandled me as he, he put you back on your feet. And stood there with his hands on your hips. And you didn’t say a word. Nope, nah. Not a peep out of you, missy. So, are you going to tell him off?
I open my mouth, but what comes out is, "You’re not giving me the job?"
"Thought you didn’t want the job?" He doesn’t look up from his phone as he speaks.
"I… I… Uh, I changed my mind."
He continues scrolling on his phone.
"I… ah… realized I would be stupid to turn down this opportunity." Also, the touch of your hand on my body sent me into a tizzy. Can you please, please touch me all over, especially in that place between my legs which, right now, is so empty? Gah, stop thinking about him in that fashion. He’s going to be your boss, remember?
I shuffle my feet, stare at his bent head, but he shows no sign of having heard me.
"Hello, Knight—"
"Did I give you permission to call me by my name?"
I swallow. "Mr. Warren, uh, are you not offering me the job? Was this an interview?" I laugh, but the sound is so nervous, I wince. I hunch my shoulders. "Uh, I thought I had the role when I came here and—" I promptly forget what I’m going to say, for he’s looking up from his phone. Those green eyes—now, a cold emerald with no hint of the gold or silver flecks I saw earlier—bore into me.
"If this had been a real interview, you’d have never gotten through it. That was not an interview. Congratulations, you managed to fail that, too. And no, you didn’t have the job when you walked in here. In fact, you still don’t have the job."
"B-b-but Abby said—"
He sighs. "Yes. There is that. I trust my sister’s judgment, and for some reason, she feels it’s a good idea for you to become my assistant."
"So, you are giving me the job."
"I never said that."
"Th-th-then…"
He yawns. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"Spell what out?"
"If I were to give you the job, you’d fall for me. And that would be unfortunate—for you, not me. You understand? So, it’s best you leave." He jerks his chin toward the door, then turns back to his phone.
I’m gaping again. My mouth is wide open. If my jaw could physically hit the floor, that’s where it’d be. The ego of this guy! "I'd fall for you?" I snort. "I have a line of men queuing up to date me, and trust me, they are all much better looking, and far more personable, and much more gentlemanly than you."
He arches an eyebrow. "You don’t want a gentleman."
"Eh?" I blink.
"You want a man who’ll throw you down on the floor, tear off your clothes, lick your pussy and keep licking it while ordering you not to come. Then, when you’re drenched and trembling, you want him to order you to crawl to him and suck his cock like a good girl."
A shudder oscillates up my body. Fires seem to light up in each and every cell. Heat flushes my cheeks. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Did he talk dirty to me? I should admonish him, yell at him, then leave. So why am I standing here trembling, with my pussy clamping down and coming up empty?
His gaze narrows. For the first time since I walked into the office, there’s a flare of something in his eyes. He puts down his phone and tilts his head. It’s the gesture of a predator who’s caught a whiff of his prey. Then, he jerks his chin toward the door, before he looks down at his phone again.