Page 10 of My Forbidden Boss

Fuck.

I toss back my whiskey and signal a waiter for another. The word inappropriate doesn’t begin to describe what’s going on in my mind. I want to wreck that mouth, bury myself between those thighs and forget why everything I want to do to her is a bad idea.

I snatch a tumbler off the tray and notice Adeline eyeing the selection of drinks when the waiter turns to her. She’s hesitant.

“Would you like a drink, Miss Rayner?” I prompt. I want to make sure she’s comfortable. That she has everything she needs.

Blue eyes flash to mine, large and uncertain. “I, ah… I really shouldn’t…” she mumbles, turning burning cheeks from me. Her hand flies to her handbag, squeezes the leather subconsciously. She wants a drink because her eyes haven’t left the tray.

Then it hits me. She’s nervous. Young. Never been to an event like this before if her wide-eyed wonder is anything to go by, while I’ve been to so many they blur.

Now that I’m close enough to feel her body warmth, I see the signs of wear on her dress. The scuff on her bag. Nothing she wears is new.

I’m unprepared for the hit of jealousy when I think where else she would have worn this dress and the attention she garnered. I clear my throat, uncomfortable with my thoughts and the direction they landed. “They’re part of the event. Dinner and drinks are included.”

Whenever she’s with me, she won’t pay for a damned thing.

But there won’t be a ‘whenever’, because she’s not with me. Then she looks up giving me an unadulterated view of her face. Her blue eyes shine vibrant purple in this light, her sleek brows jerk up. “They are?”

My gut kicks when it was obvious she was worried about a drink charge. “Oh, well…maybe an orange juice?” she says. It’s a question. She’s unsure.

I motion to the waiter. He turns the tray so she can take the lone juice amongst the sparkling. Not many people would pass up the free alcohol, especially at an event like this. No expense has been spared and that includes the vintage. The exorbitant cover charge took care of that.

I watch her plump lips as she sips her juice. Fucking hell, I’d forgotten. Events like these look down on underage drinking, although she can’t be far off twenty one.

I suck back my whiskey and order a double, sending the waiter to the bar. Her glass is already empty. I take it, deposit it on a table and turn back to see her rubbing goosebumps off her arms.

“Did you forget your coat again?” The words come out so forcefully they’re an attack.

She jumps, wide eyes staring up at me. Her fingers dimple the skin on her arm. “No I…I don’t…”

It clicks. The damp blouse this morning. Her bare shoulders in nothing but a strip of red satin. No one dresses like this in January in New York.

“Do you have a coat?” She jumps at the tone of my voice.

She doesn’t own a coat.

Who doesn’t own a coat? It’s zero degrees outside. It’s due to snow tonight.

I shouldn’t care if she wants to parade around in a bikini in the Arctic. But I do. I want to give her a coat. I want to keep her warm. Fed. Looked after. Shower her with everything she needs.

In bed. Naked. Arms lifted, smile on her face, thighs parted.

Fuuuuuccckkkk.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, as though she can read the chaos in my mind. I hate that she doesn’t have a coat. Hate that she might work out where most of my thoughts drift when it comes to her.

The CEO of Blue Sky is a dirty old pervert. Who knew.

I ram my fist into my pants pocket, hoping to hide my swelling dick. Turn so my jacket obscures my inappropriate reaction.

“We have a stay at home policy with illness. If you’re sick, you stay home. I don’t want my office infected with the flu because a member of my staff dresses inappropriately,” I say and mentally wince. That sounded harsh. A step over the employer/employee line at the least. I think of Andrea and can’t come up with a time I’ve noticed what she wore in the ten years she’s worked for me.

“I won’t get sick.” There’s that cute tick of her chin again. She’s defiant. As though she can ward off pneumonia with attitude.

“All New Yorkers are aware of the risk,” I say.

“I don’t come from New York,” she says and I’m drawn to the fire in her eyes. Maybe it burns so bright that she doesn’t need a coat.

---