Page 31 of Broken Boss

He turns away from the window, with its view of the street and lunch vendors, and circles toward his desk.

“That’s true. She spoke to me about it yesterday evening. I approved it.” He looks up, dark eyes meeting mine, and it’s like I can feel him right next to me even with the room separating us. “I didn’t think bringing it up last night would be…productive, considering everything you went through.”

He means the nervous wreck I was, even by the end of the day, when I begrudgingly let him drive me home. Again. At least this time we didn’t stop in a random park to fuck in his car.

“I don’t care, you should have told me. She did it behind my back, had her para move everything from the system, and had my team running around like chickens with their heads cut off. She made me look incompetent, Chris, and that’s unacceptable.”

His eyes narrow. He sits on the edge of his desk. I hadn’t realized it, but while I was talking, I moved toward him, and now there’s less than three feet between us. His bent knee points in my direction. Briefly, I remember reading an article once about how people position themselves when they’re attracted to you.

Wide stance, manspreading, one foot pointing toward me. He’s trying to look casual, but I catch the way his gaze dips down my body. It really ratchets up my irritation and I take a step toward him.

“I’m surprised you’re this upset. We both know the Wilcox case is going to be a shit show.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

It’s a lie, because a part of me is relieved. Wilcox is a local cop who tased a woman repeatedly. He had no real reason to do so except that she didn’t turn around when he called out to her—because she doesn’t speak English. She had no idea he was directing a question at her, and the situation quickly escalated, ending with her on the ground, experiencing the beginning of a minor heart attack.

“You told him to settle, and he didn’t want to. Marty is willing to take it to court.”

“She’ll lose.”

Amusement flickers across Chris’s face again; he agrees, I know it. What I don’t know is what his issue is right now. But from the smirk gracing his lips, he’s enjoying himself.

“So what? If it’s what the client wants, Autumn, that’s what they’ll get. Some people don’t know what’s best for them.”

As he says those last words, he stands. I’m reminded briefly of the other day—how, with my shoes off and just a few inches between us, that slight difference in height made me quiver with wanting him. Chris isn’t the NBA-level tall that most women want these days, but something about those few inches did me in.

“I can’t figure you out.”

It slips out accidentally, and I bite my lip as Chris’s eyes widen in surprise. These past weeks he’s been very open about not being able to get a read on me, but here I am, admitting that I’m just as caught off guard by him.

“There’s not much to figure out,” he says quietly, stepping into my space.

There’s only inches between us now. I can feel his body heat through my clothes, and it makes me want to peel them off. How would he react if he saw what I have on underneath? Has he wondered, thought about it, since that first day in my office?

My head is dizzy with warnings, desires, anger, questions, and confusion as he slips a hand over my waist.

“You’re upset with me,” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against my ear. I arch my back, wanting to feel more of him, but he stays just out of reach.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Unable to hold back any longer, I turn my head just as Chris turns his and our lips crash together. His cover mine perfectly. I suck, laving my tongue over his bottom lip as he moans into my mouth.

“Shh.”

His hands grip my hips roughly. I’m already wet, thankful I’m wearing a dress as he turns us and walks me backward toward his desk. Lifting me by my ass, he sits me on top and then strides back toward the door.

The lock snaps shut.

When he turns back to face me, his dark eyes are intense. They meet mine only once before dropping to where my dress is bunched up around my thighs.

Licking my lips, I reach down and pull the hem even higher, spreading my legs. It’s a desperate move, one I should be ashamed of, but there’s no time for shame as Chris drops to his knees in front of me and slides the fabric even higher. Goose bumps break out over my bare thighs. He looks up, slips a hand beneath the skirt, and searches.

Within seconds, he’s pulling my panties down and off. I watch him pocket them, a smirk on his face. It’s a loss I’ll probably regret later since they were an expensive pair—sheer floral lace with bows up the back.

“God, you’re already wet for me.”

He’s ducked his head under the dress, too, and all I can see is the stretch of white shirt over his broad shoulders as his muscles shift and bunch. Closing my eyes, I let my head tip back and focus on the sensation of his fingertips.

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