Page 12 of One Wicked Night with the Boss

Jonathan

Ididn’t know what kind of reaction I expected from Riley after I told her we were trapped in the elevator. I knew how the women I’d dated would have reacted. Tears. Anger, maybe. Definitely melodrama.

So I was unprepared when she looked at the ceiling and said, “I’ve thought of something.”

I should have expected that kind of response. She already proved she was anything but typical.

Suddenly, my anger over the photos seemed unreasonable.

Of course, maybe that was my dick doing the talking.

Because Riley O’Sullivan standing in the moonlight was a sight to behold. With my face in shadow, I was free to watch how the silvery light played over her arched neck as she tipped her head back. She really did have exquisite skin—the kind of peaches and cream makeup companies airbrushed onto their models in ads. Except hers was the real deal. She was a luminous study in contrasts. Dark, dark hair and pale skin. White shirt and clinging black skirt. Long legs braced apart as she studied the ceiling. Two steps and I could slide a hand up her thigh and find out if her panties matched her bra—if she had a little pink bow there, too.

“Jonathan?”

I looked up, my brain hazy with lust. My voice was all gravel as I said, “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

She stared, giving me a bit of a deer-in-headlights look. Then her lips parted, letting me know she felt the tension tugging us toward each other.

So what was she going to do about it? I stayed leaning against the grate, letting her decide. Because it had to be her decision. We were in a six foot by six foot box with no exit. No matter how much I might want to, I couldn’t put my hands on her first.

She cleared her throat. “There’s an electrical panel in the ceiling.”

“What of it?” I managed to sound mildly interested, none of my disappointment leaking into my voice.

“My dad was a top electrician in Boston before he retired. He took me on every job.”

My brain made an instant connection. “Seamus O’Sullivan?”

“Yes,” she said, an air of excitement around her. “Do you know him?”

“I know of him.” I couldn’t control my grin. “Mostly from construction managers bitching in my ear about what a stickler he was for perfection.”

She laughed. “That’s Dad.”

“He took you on jobs with him?”

“Constantly. At first, it was to get me out of my mother’s hair. Then I got interested in his work.” Warmth filled her tone as she spoke of her father. “It’s how I fell in love with old buildings. He used to turn me loose and let me explore. While other girls played with Barbies, I played in old attics and slid down banisters.”

So that’s where she got the adventurous streak that let her march into my office and handle whatever I threw at her. I pictured her as a dark-haired little girl with big blue eyes and scraped knees watching her electrician father work a job site. Seamus O’Sullivan was old school New England Irish—the kind of blue collar worker who knew more about construction than most architects and wasn’t afraid to tell them. No wonder she didn’t take shit off anyone.

My cock tightened. I always did find confident women sexy. Ones who gave as good as they got.

I had a feeling Riley had plenty to give, and I wanted every last bit of it.

She looked at the ceiling. “Do you think you can boost me up there?”

Ah, so we were still talking about the electrical panel. I followed her gaze. “You’ll have to sit on my shoulders.” There was no other way. As much as I longed to display my masculine strength in all its glory, I couldn’t lift her over my head long enough for her to fiddle around with the elevator’s wiring.

She was quiet as she moved her gaze between the panel and me. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re sure?” I stayed where I was. Last chance, Miss O’Sullivan. She wasn’t just playing with fire. She was asking me to put the flame in her bare hands.

Her chin went up a notch. “Yes.”

I pushed away from the grate and went to her—something that took all of two seconds but was no less significant for its brevity. As she stood still and silent before me, I dropped my gaze to her feet. “Take off your shoes. And you should probably pull your skirt up a little.”

Her throat moved up and down as she swallowed. Then she stepped out of her heels and nudged them aside with toes painted candy apple red.

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