Page 3 of Secret Bump

“That won’t do,” I say gravely. “I need to hold it in my hands.”

I need to holdherin my hands, but she’s off-limits, so a black and white printout of her life’s story will have to suffice.

But my demand has an unintended consequence—more panic, and not the delicious kind that might make her squirm against me. She looks like she’s about to bolt.

“Use my computer to print it,” I suggest. I gesture to the leather chair behind my oversized wooden desk. “What do you need, a browser window?”

After a beat of hesitation, she nods, and then we both circle the desk at the same time, putting her right in front of me, blinking up at me…

She smells like her name, bright and hopeful. Like a burst of sunshine warming rain-drenched wildflowers.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say gruffly. “I’m making this weird, aren’t I?”

She startles. “What?” And then she tries to sayno, you aren’t… I can see the denial trying to form out of desperation,but I suspect what she told me in the elevator is true: she can’t lie. The struggle that riots across her face is adorable. Instead of answering, she huffs and presses her lips together.

I laugh, startling us both. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Humiliation stains her cheeks red, and I reach out before I can stop myself, needing to soothe her. It’s a mistake, because heat arcs between us, electric and wild, as I brush my thumb gently against her face.

“Mr. Emerson,” she breathes.

“Don’t ever feel like being honest is wrong,” I manage to say around my lust-thickened tongue.

I want to kiss this girl so much, more than I could imagine, and it hurts to hold back.

She sways toward me, her pupils dilated and her lips softening before my eyes.

But unlike her, I am a very capable liar. “Your resume,” I say coldly, suddenly stepping back. “I need to see it.”

She blinks in confusion, then squares her shoulders even as rejected hurt shimmers in her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

I’m a bastard.

After I get a browser window open for her, I step back and cross my arms over my chest, giving myself a chance to think of all the ways that being a callous ass is really protecting her.

I don’t take it, because as she settles in my chair, I’m also given a chance to observe her from behind, and that’s irresistible.

Straight little spine. A silky blouse that floats over her torso. Cheap fabric I wouldn’t feel badly about ripping, but she wears it with pride, so I wouldn’t dare. The skirt choice is interesting. It doesn’t match the blouse at all, and the wool looks worn in places.

And the way it rides up her thigh, revealing soft, creamy skin, puts the worst sort of innocent girl fantasies in my head.

I’m too fucking old to be getting hard over a kilt riding up a leg.

As if she can feel my gaze, Isabelle reaches down and tugs at the hem. The sight of her fingertips grazing her thigh makes my throat tight.

You can be her boss or her mentor. You cannot be anything else to her.

Fuck.

Because I want to be her everything, without limits.

“Hmm,” she murmurs. The soft, thinking sound goes straight to my cock. “This is a different interface…Oh, I get it.”

God, her voice is lovely.

Sure, you could mentor her for all of ten seconds before she notices your hard-on, you prat.

---