Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
I’m stumbling over my words because I’m fighting those instincts. I’m trying to keep things from changing between us. No matter how much my cock is telling me to let it happen. “What I mean is…” I pause. It’s getting way too hot in this bathroom. “How do I say this without totally pissing you off?”
She bites her lower lip. “Just say it.”
My eyes drift over her one more time and I have to force myself not to lick my lips. “Fine. You’re very attractive.”
Her mouth gapes open, those sensual green-gold eyes wide, but I’ve already started. There’s no stopping now. The water is dripping down, drop by drop, over the arch of her neck and all I want to do is lick it off. I’m sporting a full hard-on by now. This is all so insane. I clear my throat. “I’m not hitting on you. I’m just saying this as a fact. Normally, at work, you dress in such unflattering clothes, and you keep your hair wrapped in a schoolmarm bun all the time. With a couple of new outfits and a new hairstyle, you’d be a hell of a looker.”
Her eyes grow troubled. “I know that,” she says.
I’m surprised by her response. “What do you mean, you know?”
She shrugs, and her towel shifts in a very distracting way. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Remington. I know how to dress myself.”
I stare at her, trying to understand what she’s saying. “Wait, so you dress that way on purpose? Why would you want to make yourself unattractive?”
Her eyes lock with mine. “Because of you.”
Chapter 3
Jade
“What do you mean it’s because of me?” he asks, with narrowed eyes.
Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to blurt that out to him. Usually, I’m calm, cool, and professional, the perfect assistant. I can keep my head on straight even in the most difficult scenarios, but I feel almost dizzy from the buzz of my near-death experience, and my present situation, which can only be described as bizarre.
Up until a few moments ago, my boss has not seen me in anything that has even hinted at my figure underneath. Now, I’m standing in front of him in a towel that barely covers me. Actually, it’s so small I’m afraid even to move. Any shift could be disastrous.
This is bad, but that’s not what has my cheeks flushed with heat. It’s the eye-popping fact that he is near nude himself. All he’s got on is a pair of distracting-as-hell boxer briefs. Let me say, right away, they leave nothing to the imagination.
I always knew he was in great shape, but to actually see him like this? The man is a fucking god. His body is rock solid. Layers upon layers of lean muscles. One on top of another. Every one chiseled and perfectly defined, flexing beneath his inked skin with every little movement. It’s quite impossible not to stare. And I haven’t even got to that muscle bulging inside his underwear.
Holy crap is it big or what? Nah, it has to be a trick of the light, or I’m still in shock. No one is that honking big. Still…I can almost feel the heft of it just by looking. Slickness forms between my legs that has nothing to do with the shower I just took. I tear my eyes away and meet his waiting eyes. I take a few seconds to take stock.
1. We’re both seeing a lot of more of each other than we’ve ever seen before.
2. I definitely like what I see which, of course is, besides the point, since…
3. He has just made it very clear that while he thinks I’m attractive in a detached, objective way, he’s in no way hitting on me.
4. Even after taking the massive hard-on into consideration, I have to agree with him. He’s not hitting on me. I’m not his type. I’ve seen some of the women he goes out with. They are so stunningly gorgeous, they make you want to give up and die or open up another packet of Oreos.
So really, no actual harm has been done. And if I play this right, I could stop drowning inside ugly smocks that my grandmother wouldn’t wear and ditch those plastic glasses.
I lick my lips apprehensively. “I wanted to tell you, but I’m worried it will piss you off.”
“Mrs. Emerson,” he says, his voice low and deep. “Whatever you have to say, just say it. Yes, I might get mad. I can’t promise I won’t, but I can promise I’ll get totally pissed off if you don’t tell me.”
I nod and raise one hand in a placating gesture. “Fine. You have a reputation, okay?”
“A reputation?” he echoes with a frown. “You’re going to have to be more specific. A reputation for what?”
“The agency that sent me to work for you. The woman there warned me about you before I came in for the interview.”