Page 3 of Boss With Benefits

That was an excellent question. Liquid dopamine? Dynamite? ‘Martini.’

‘How do you like it?’

‘The dirtier the better.’

A faint smile curved his gorgeous mouth and detonated tiny bombs of excitement inside her. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

‘I’m not after anyone’s heart,’ she countered with an imperceptible shudder. Never had been, never would be. Even the thought of giving up her hard-won independence broughther out in a cold sweat. Compromise? Sacrifice? No, thank you very much. She’d had to climb countless ladders to get out of the impoverished, fetid and perilous trailer park in which she’d grown up and make something of herself. Conquering the world of auditing was her number one priority and she needed no distractions.

But the pure unadulterated lust currently ravaging her system? That she could indulge.

‘Neither am I,’ he said with equal intensity.

‘Single?’

‘Always.’

‘You could not be more perfect,’ she breathed on a sigh.

‘Nor could you.’

For one long hot moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them humming with energy, her drink forgotten. His hand found her bare knee, and her skin first shivered then sizzled when it inched up her thigh. She leaned in as if magnetised and touched her fingers to those of his other hand, which rested on the bar. The buzzing electricity that flowed through the circuit they formed was so powerful she wouldn’t be surprised if the effects could be felt in Brooklyn.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and her heart thundered. The desire radiating off him was almost palpable. She’d never experienced such instant and blistering chemistry or felt so...carnal.

The sensible, rational voice in her head—to which she usually paid avid attention—insisted that this was no simple flirtation, that she was way out of her depth, that she really should not do what it suspected she was going to do. She must not lose focus, it demanded. Rebuilding her career had been her primary goal for the last twelve months and she had to stick to that.

But it didn’t stand a chance.

Nothing mattered except satisfying the primal urge to act on the need rampaging through her. Like a train thundering along the tracks, she was heading in one direction only, her destination flashing at her like a beacon from the moment their gazes had collided. It wasn’t as if she’d be there for long, she assured herself. She’d be back to reality soon enough.

‘Would you like to take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?’ she said, so desperate to assuage the throbbing ache between her legs that she was incapable of thinking about anything else.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even blink. ‘Yes,’ he said, sounding as though he’d swallowed gravel. ‘I very much would.’

What the hell he thought was doing as he closed the bathroom door behind him and flipped the lock, Adam Courtney had no idea. He didn’t pick women up in bars, no matter how powerfully sexy and beautiful they were. He’d given up that sort of selfish, reckless behaviour fourteen years ago at the age of eighteen, when his mother had died because he’d been too busy screwing around to save her, and Charley, his then eight-year-old sister, had been left rudderless.

At no point since had he relapsed. These days, his ultra-brief relationships were infrequent and discreet. He would not turn into his callous, philandering father, he’d reminded himself over the years on the rare occasion his control threatened to slip. His reputation for steadiness and integrity was inextricably linked to that of the Courtney Collection, the luxury goods empire that had been in his family for over a century and which he now headed up, and he would do nothing to jeopardise it.

Yet he hadn’t hesitated for even a moment when Ella had suggested he give her a couple of minutes and then join her inhere. His reputation hadn’t crossed his mind. For the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking with his brain. From the moment he’d looked into her gorgeous brown eyes, he’d been driven entirely by the clamouring needs of his body, and he was far too battered by recent events to resist the power of the desire that had surged through him.

He’d noticed her the minute he’d reached the bar at which he’d intended to rid himself of the tension that had been dogging him for weeks by consuming large quantities of single malt. It had been impossible not to. Her hair flowed down her back in long golden waves that gleamed in the low lighting and looked as though they would feel like silk. Her sleeveless dress, the colour of buttermilk, clung to generous curves and revealed toned tanned arms. A brief glance to his left as he’d taken possession of the stool to her right had told him that her profile was exquisite, her complexion flawless. And judging by the looks she’d attracted, he wasn’t the only one to think so.

But although his interest had been piqued, he hadn’t planned on speaking to her. She’d appeared preoccupied and he’d had plenty else to dwell on. Such as Helberg Holdings, the global conglomerate that had been in his sights for over a decade, which was in serious financial trouble and therefore ripe for a takeover.

The minute he’d heard seven months ago that the cantankerous owner had died, he’d started buying up the dirt-cheap shares, and victory, he’d thought with grim satisfaction as his stake steadily grew, would soon be his. Once in his possession, he’d sell off everything except Montague’s, the jewellery business that had been beloved of his mother and used to belong to the Courtney Collection until his father had sold it to Reed Helberg for a dollar out of spite. That, he’d welcome back into the fold and restore to its former glory, and then,perhaps, the crushing guilt that had weighed on him so heavily and for so long might lift a little.

Lately, however, the availability of the stock had plummeted, and the share price was rocketing to a level that was beginning to challenge even his exceedingly deep pockets. He faced the very real possibility that the company could slip through his fingers, and that simply could not happen. Whatever the threat—rivals, internal machinations,anything—he needed to neutralise it.

Adam had been contemplating hiring a private investigator to dig into what was going on when the idiotic Pete had made his move and then the coolly magnificent Ella had made hers. He hadn’t been able to resist checking she was all right under the guise of expressing his admiration at her handling of the situation, but never in a million years could he have anticipated feeling as though he’d been struck by lightning when their eyes had met.

Yet that was precisely what had happened.

In the space of a millisecond, his pulse rate had shot through the roof and his head had emptied of everything but the need to get her naked. Every drop of his blood had rushed to his groin and the erection he’d sprung had been so hard it had ached.

They’d talked—about what he could hardly recall—and all he’d been able to focus on was her mouth. He’d wanted it on his, on his skin, taking him in as deeply as she could. She’d stared at him hungrily, obliterating years of ironclad control and stripping away millennia of civility, and if she hadn’t suggested this, he had no doubt that he would have.

Now she was standing at the black marble-and-gilt vanity unit with her back to him, feet apart, her hands gripping the edges. Her warm brown eyes connected with his in the Art Deco mirror, glittering with excitement and invitation. Any lingeringdoubt he might have had about the wisdom of what he was about to do was swept away by a thundering tsunami of desire.

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