Page 63 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

She huffed a laugh. “That’s what I’m saying. Maybe it’s better to enjoy this—whatever this is—because it’s as good as it gets.”

I pulled away to meet her gaze. I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, and I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of it. Nikki was beautiful and funny and smart and perceptive. Of course she’d find someone to make her happy. She wasn’t like me. She didn’t thrive on her own the way I did. She hadn’t been put through a crucible as a young kid, abandoned, and tossed away because it was supposed to be what was best for her. That’s what happened to me, and that’s why I would always be alone.

But she’d find her Wilbur. How could she not, being all that she was?

Still…the thought of another man having her made me want to shatter the glass wall beside me. So I held her close and decided she was right. We could have each other right now, and that would be enough. It would have to be.

Then Nikki got a wicked light in her eyes, and she lowered herself to her knees in front of me—and for the next little while, the only thing I thought about was her mouth.

TWENTY-FOUR

NIKKI

Breakfast was delicious and relaxed.I ended up sitting next to Raphael’s partner, Matt, discussing how Raphael had started his brand. We found a mutual connection in Marcus, Penny’s husband, which was delightful. Penny had actually gotten a tour of Raphael’s studio in the Garment District a few years ago, which proved that Marcus did, indeed, have at least one romantic bone in his body.

Rome stayed beside me, his arm around my shoulders, his gaze occasionally drifting to meet mine. It felt like we had an illicit secret, even though to everyone else, our sleeping together would be expected. But now, as I performed my job duties and socialized for all I was worth, I felt a little thrill every time his thumb stroked the side of my neck, or whenever his knee touched mine.

Lawn games took up most of the morning, and then guests were served a light lunch. After that, reports of the weather turning began to come in, so it was decided that the weekend would be cut short. Rome’s helicopter was the fourth to leave, and I watched Garcia’s estate shrink in the distance as we flew west toward the city.

Rome slid his hand over my knee. I turned to meet his gaze, arching my brows.

“Come home with me.”

My heart thundered. “Is that wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“We haven’t exactly defined what’s going on here.”

“What’s going on is that I want you in my bed.”

My lips twitched. “Do you have some of that delicious Belgian chocolate at your place?”

His fingers made slow strokes on the inside of my knee. “Of course.”

“What about chocolate chip cookies?”

“Those can be arranged.”

I turned to look out the window. “I’ll think about it.”

I sucked in a breath as his hand moved up my thigh to press the space where I needed it most. My head fell back against the seat as my gaze flew to the pilot, who could glance over his shoulder and see us at any minute.

“Think harder,” Rome said, his eyes full of wickedness as his fingers stroked through my clothes.

I panted, then dipped my chin. Rome gave me one last stroke, then took his hand away. For the rest of the ride, my body felt keyed up and a little too hot. And despite my fears about the future, I knew there was nowhere I’d rather be tonight than in Rome’s bed.

The helicopter flew over Manhattan and didn’t deposit us on the Blakely office building. We landed on a tall tower studded with balconies, where Rome threaded his fingers through mine to lead me across the roof and into the building. We descended a set of stairs and emerged into a glorious penthouse apartment that was bigger than anything I’d ever seen. The top floor of it was dominated by windows surrounding a living space, with a dramatic balcony taking up three sides. The decor was modern, if a little impersonal.

Rome crossed to a bar and pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses. I watched him, then drifted around the room to admire the modular couches, the unique, sculptural side tables, and the huge art canvasses on the walls. It was a little bare for my taste; I preferred a maximalist approach to design. Rich fabrics, a riot of color, too many pillows. This looked like it belonged in the pages of a magazine. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t for me.

“Nice place,” I said.

He poured the wine and took a seat on the couch, watching me inspect his space. “Thank you.”

“Must take ages to clean,” I mused, looking at all the hard surfaces that needed to be dusted and polished.

“I wouldn’t know.”

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