Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I have a stapler! I could staple this sucker together, then wrap my jacket around my waist! This is as far as I get with that plan as, in the periphery of my vision, the door begins to swing open.
“Don’t come in here!” I yell. Yeah, that’ll work because panic never sounds suspicious.
To my deep mortification, Whit’s head appears around the edge of the door. “Amelia?” Before I can whip around or protest, his eyes dip to where my ass is flying its underwear freak flag in the guise of a pair of tiny bright-red silky panties, the kind that bare more of my ass than they cover. “What are you doing in—”
“Oh, you know. Just hanging out.” I laugh a little. It sounds really weird. “Literally hanging out.”
His eyes dip to my ass, and it’s all I can do not to groan, and not in the sexy way I want him to be responsible for.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Whittington?” a perky female voice asks suddenly from the door.
Whit tilts his head like he’s about to ask if I’d like whoever that is to help. I give my head a sharp, adamant shake. Hell no! This does not require a larger audience. I’m not a circus!
“Ah, April, is it?” he says pleasantly as his head disappears again.
“Yes, that’s right,” she answers, sounding as pleased as punch, as Doreen would say. “I work with the back-end team. Downstairs.”
Urgh. I roll my eyes so hard, I’m surprised not to hear them rattle in my head. I don’t know, but I think I might be pleased to punch her because her words weren’t dripping with invitation—they were swimming in it. Girl, get your own boss man. This one is taken!
“Good for you,” Whit replies, and I actually snort. “Well, see you tomorrow. I just have to grab some… supplies.” He slips between the door without opening it wider than necessary.
“Hello, supplies,” he kind of taunts.
“Funny,” I answer, as my stomach turns over. He can grab me anytime. “Has she gone?”
“Think so.” He rests back against the door before his eyes coast down the length of my body. I realize I haven’t moved an inch—I’m still bent over the desk, my palms pressed to the melamine surface. Like I’m waiting for something, like I’m waiting for him.
“What have you done?” he drawls, his dark gaze belying the note of amusement in his tone. He pushes away from the door and my heart does this wild, stuttering thing. Something has changed. Something has changed in him, I’m sure of it.
I swallow, forcing my heart back into my chest cavity as I grab this opportunity. Hold on to it. Run with it.
“What do you mean?”
Whit arches a brow and makes a lazy gesture to my ass.
“You mean my skirt? You know what they say.” I arch my back, knowing full well he sees me do it. “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”
“Oh?” The corner of his mouth tips provocatively and he slides his hands into his pockets. “I can’t think what job you want dressed like that.”
“Can’t you?”
“What is it you want to do?”
His low spoken words feel like a taunt and my heart feels like it’s risen to my throat as I answer, “You.”
He freezes—not one muscle of his seems to move. Panic floods my system, my mind flicking over a dozen ways to take it back. I need a joke to steer this back on course, some kind of time machine to make it go away. He’s my boss. My pseudo big brother. I’m nothing but his PA. A friend of the family.
But then he pushes languidly from the door and begins to move toward me, those tiger’s eyes of his unrepentantly staring at my ass. He comes to a stop not beside me but behind me. I force myself to turn my head over my shoulder. God, those eyes. So full of heat and dirty promises.
“Amelia.” I’ve always loved the sound of his voice, low and smooth, but he’s never said my name like that. All growly with the lick of reprimand. But let’s be truthful. The man could read the Tube timetable and get me off.
“Yes, Mr. Whittington?” I purr. In for a dime, in for a dollar, right?
My breath catches as he reaches out, fingering the envelope of fabric. “It’s quite a view.” My fairy-tail prince is more a dark knight. “I just don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do with you.”
“Don’t you?” I drop my head, my answer almost a whisper. My mouth goes dry as I sense him moving, and a second later, his palms are suddenly pressed next to mine. The heat of him feels immense, though our bodies aren’t touching. At least, not yet.
Maybe you could enlighten me.” My heart begins to hammer as he shapes the words against my neck. “Because for the first time in a very long time, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”