Page 3 of My Forbidden Boss

I stagger forward to move away from the person I’ve walked into, and like my world, I’m off kilter. Warm hands close over my biceps, holding me, searing me with their heat. Fingers and long and lean hold me securely. A delicious scent of smoke and whiskey floats around me. Tantalizing. Teasing. Male.

I’ve never smelled anything quite like this before. My pulse skates and my heart flutters as though there’s not enough blood in my body to keep it filled. I spin to see who’s holding me, to move away, to stop being an inconvenience. Dizziness swamps me. I sway. My vision hazes and I curse that I skipped breakfast. I skipped yesterday’s meals too.

“Easy there.”

That smooth honeyed gravel voice sets fire to my stomach, the concern I hear like rocket fuel to my affection-starved cells. My vision clears and I peer up into dark eyes that hold promises I never thought existed. Warm and worried. Curious and concerned, then his gaze travels over my face and his eyes pinch, his brow creases and his full lips thin as he stares down at me, his steady, gentle hands never leaving my arms.

His hair is clipped short. Dark. Silver peppers the strands at his temples. Faint lines fan from the corner of his eyes and bracket his mouth. His cheeks are slightly hollowed, his jaw cutting. He’s a silver fox with none of the dad vibes.

This man is pure sex. Searing masculinity. Temptation made from sin. The place between my legs throbs and it’s all I can do not to roll over and show him my soft underbelly, whispering ‘take me’ like a prayer.

The woman moves from behind the desk to stand next to us, cracking my bubble with the soft whisper of clothing and the smell of Chanel Number 5.

“Mr Chandler? May I do anything?” she asks.

Mr Chandler. David Chandler. The owner, CEO and sex-god of Blue Sky. The air rushes out of my lungs as a cord made of barbed wire wraps around my stomach and twists around my organs.

David Chandler. The man my father is blackmailing me to target.

Chapter 2

David

Exquisite. Delicate.

Young.

Adjectives stream through my mind about the woman I’m clutching. I should let her go, but I can’t. Her skin is cold beneath the thin over-sized blouse, as though she’s playing dress up but without the fun. Mere bones are beneath a wafer of muscle.

She’s trembling.

She’s looking up at me with eyes too large for her face, concave cheekbones and a heaviness that has nothing to do with her age. Startling blue and clear, I see all the way into her soul.

She might be young, but she’s not innocent.

Not in the way of the body, but in the way of the mind. For whatever reason, life has already taken its chunk from someone too young to fully grasp the nature of it.

Her lips move. Plump and pink. The perfect cupid’s bow. I want to nip those lips. Capture the bottom one between mine and suck. I glimpse neat white teeth. Her mouth stays parted. Her tongue darts out to swipe her bottom lip. I lean towards her, reeled in by a magnetic force that thrums throughout my body, as though all that exists is this woman and nothing else. As though my orbit has irrevocably changed.

Her eyes widen, her shoulders hunch, and from the corner of my eye, Andrea’s lips pinch, disapproving. I realize I’ve been holding her too tightly and too long to be an acceptable amount of time between strangers. I also realize she’s spoken. They’re both looking at me for a response and I don’t have a clue what she said.

I force my hands from her arms and clear my throat, nervous. That’s new. I’m too old to be nervous. I’m at least double her age to notice anything other than to offer a polite apology for running into her because I was too preoccupied in my own head when I stepped from the elevator.

“Mr Chandler?” Andrea asks, her voice brisk.

She disapproves of the woman, but I don’t see how. She’s practically caving in on herself, looking around as though she’s afraid to be here. “Can I help you with anything, Miss…”

“I, uh…” the woman starts and freezes when Andrea sets her gaze on her.

Andrea fends off my professional life like she was born to do it, but I’ve never taken offense to it before. Not until now. “It’s all right, Andrea. Let’s see how we can help Miss…” I prompt for her name a second time and ignore Andrea’s frown.

She swallows. Her eyes flit from Andrea to me. Her ten-tone gaze sticks in me. She lifts her chin. Her face clears. I see the mask drop into place, but I don’t understand what that means.

“Adeline. Adeline Rayner. From Employ Breeze. I’m your new secondary PA,” she says. Her voice is firm and clear. Her mask isn’t skin deep. She’s hardened all the way through, and all I want to do is rip it off her and delve into her soft center.

In all ways I can.

I mentally shake myself. I shouldn’t have these thoughts at all.

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