Page 51 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 4

Jennifer

Ihad to admit. It was a good first day at work. Conquest Broadcasting was a great company. I just wasn’t sure about working for its porn channel, SIN-TV. Is this where I really belonged? Developing this cock-driven programming? Working with my arrogant, know-it-all boss who kept checking in on me all day? Could I make a difference? After spending all afternoon in my office poring over the ratings to the point of getting bleary-eyed, I’d begun to think maybe I could.

At six o’clock, I gathered up the ratings files I needed to finish reviewing and stuffed them into my briefcase along with my laptop. The Coach leather briefcase had been a graduation gift from my parents, and I treasured it. My next stop was dinner. I was meeting Bradley at a restaurant close to his office. Much of me wanted to cancel our dinner date as I was eager to get home and continue studying the ratings package and even watch some more of SIN-TV to get a better handle on the programming. But I couldn’t disappoint Bradley. He had made a reservation and said he had a surprise for me.

With my briefcase in hand and my shoulder bag slung over my shoulder, I stepped out of my office. During orientation, I was told to be sure to lock my door every night; the company had recently experienced a barrage of break-ins, with the thieves stealing anything from computers and televisions to office furnishings and personal possessions.

As I curled my fingers around the handle and began to close the door, a familiar voice called out to me.

“Good night, Ms. McCoy. Looks like you have your work cut out for you.”

It was my boss. Blake Burns. Flustered, I turned my head at the sound of his sultry voice, and my mouth dropped open. A loud gasp of pain escaped my throat. Stars swarmed my head, and a sudden rush of nausea rose to my chest. It took me a sickening moment to realize what I’d just done. I’d accidentally slammed the heavy door on my middle finger. The throbbing was so intense I couldn’t think straight or get my mouth to close.

“Are you okay?” The words whirled around in my head. I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my mouth to respond. As the nausea intensified, a black fog descended on me, and my legs turned to jelly. “Geez” was the last word I heard as I felt myself going down. Before I hit bottom, two strapping arms wrapped around me and then everything faded to black.

When I fluttered my eyes open, there was Blake, looming above me, his dreamy blue eyes moving slowly over my face. The throbbing in my finger brought me back to reality. Fuck. I must have fainted, and now I was stretched out on the leather couch in my new boss’s office. He had propped a pillow under my head. How embarrassing was this? What a dumb thing to do on my first day of work.

“Are you okay?” he asked before I could utter a word.

I nodded.

“Are you sure? You blacked out.”

I nodded again. “The door to my office slammed on my finger.”

“Let me see it.”

I lifted my hand. My finger was swollen and quivering, the cuticle torn. He gently took my hand in his. I felt chilled and still sick to my stomach from the excruciating pain. His touch warmed and comforted me.

He examined my finger. “Jesus. You really did a number, tiger.”

He called me tiger? I twitched a little smile as my stomach twisted. A new throbbing sensation—between my legs—gripped me.

“Do you want me to kiss the boo-boo?”

Oh, God! Why was the word “yes” on the tip of my tongue? I slowly sat up.

“I don’t think so,” I murmured.

His lips curled into a devilish smile. Holy shit. It was the cutest, sexiest smile I’d ever seen on a man, his adorable dimples bracketing his lush lips like two little hearts.

My chill gave way to a feverish sensation. I felt my body heat and my face flush. Why was he affecting me this way? “I’ve got to go. I have a dinner date with my fiancé.”

At the word “fiancé,” his dense, dark brows furrowed. Subtly but enough for me to notice. I pulled my hand away from his and rose to my feet. A wave of dizziness swept over me. I didn’t know if it was from the intense pain emanating from my finger or the feverish effect this man was having on me, or a combination of both. My body swayed, and blackness clouded my vision. Shit. I was about to pass out again. As the world spun around me, he caught me in his arms and lowered me back onto his couch. He brushed away a wisp of my hair that had fallen onto my forehead. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“Ms. McCoy, you’re in no condition to go anywhere. Stay put. I’ll be right back with some ice for your finger.”

“Okay,” I squeaked. Boss’s orders.

My eyes stayed fixed on him as he jogged out of his office in his charcoal gray suit. The color of the suit perfectly complemented his almost ebony hair, and its tapered shape was tailor-made for him. I soaked in his broad shoulders, tight ass, and long muscular legs Wow! What a body, I thought as I glanced down at my throbbing finger. I grimaced. The torn cuticle had begun to bleed.

He was back in no time, with what looked to be a cotton napkin filled up with ice.

“How’s my patient doing?” he asked, lowering himself next to me onto the couch. His hard thighs brushed against mine. The closeness of him disseminated warmth through my system, and his manly scent—a blend of sweetness and spice—assaulted my senses. I felt delirious.

“Fine,” I muttered as he took hold of my hand again and gently pressed the ice pack on my finger. I noticed he’d wrapped up the ice cubes in his personal, monogrammed hankie. BB. Blake Burns. Just saying his name silently to myself sent a barrage of sparks to my core.

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