Page 281 of The Christmas Wife

"And you know me, Sir Alan, I’ll only ever do what is in the interests of the Party."

"Good." He raps on my table. "I’ll take my weary bones out of here and let you two thrash out the rest of your agreement."

He brushes past Zara, and the door snicks shut. For a few seconds, we look at each other. The silence stretches. Then she places her bag on the chair closest to her, reaches for a book on my table and hefts it in her hand. "So, you had no idea this was coming, did you?"

I glance at the book, then at her. "You mean about Lord Alan asking you to join as Communications Manager for my campaign? Of course, not."

"Liar." She raises her arm and pitches the book at me.

37

Zara

He ducks, and the book flies past him. Anger churns my guts. "You think I’m going to believe you when you say you didn’t know Lord Alan was going to ask me to become your PR manager?" I shoot out my arm and grab the paperweight. Who keeps a paperweight on a desk anymore? This stuck up, privileged prick does, and isn’t that helpful? I pitch the paperweight at him. He moves so fast, he’s almost a blur. The paperweight misses him and crashes to the wooden floor and rolls away.

"Zara!" he growls.

"Don’t even start." I reach out blindly. My fingers encounter a ceramic mug which he must have drunk coffee from earlier. "You knew he’d ask me, and that I wouldn’t be able to refuse. You told him to keep your name out of it so I wouldn’t know it was you he was talking about; not until I walked into this office and saw you." I launch the cup at him. This time, he swoops out his hand, catches it, and places it on the table.

The slow burn of anger erupts into flames of rage. The blood pounds at my temples, and my heart catapults into my throat. I grab a book from the table and chuck it at him. Then snatch up a pencil, a pen, a stapler, and throw them at him, one after the other. He easily evades them and slaps his hands on the table. "Zara, stop that. You’re acting unreasonable."

"You think this is unreasonable? You haven’t seen anything yet." I reach for his phone, and he rushes around the table. I raise my hand, but he reaches up and circles my wrist with his fingers.

"Let me go."

"You need to calm down first."

"Don’t tell me to calm down, you twatworm!" I burst out.

He chuckles. "Where do you pick up your gutter language, baby?" He grabs my other arm, then twists both of my hands behind my back.

"Don’t you dare ‘baby’ me, you conniving piece of shit." I try to pull free, but his hold on me tightens. He squeezes my wrist just enough that I loosen my fingers. The phone slips from my hand. He releases my wrist and catches the phone before he places it on the table. At the same time, he draws me flush against him so I can feel all of him from chest to groin to thighs.

"Hunter, don’t you dare."

"You know I can’t stop myself from rising to a challenge." He thrusts forward, and the unmistakable bulge in his crotch stabs into my arse.

"Fuck you," I spit out.

"I will, but only if you ask me nicely." He leans his weight into me so I’m pushed up against his desk. Then he circles my wrists with the fingers of his one hand; the other, he plants in between my shoulder blades. He applies pressure, and I find myself folded over his table, my arse jutting out and flush against the column in his pants. He’s even more aroused than a few secondsago, if that were possible. Heat spurts in my lower belly. A shudder of need ladders up my spine. He must notice, for he pulls the hair back from my face and drapes it over one shoulder. Then he bends and nips on my exposed earlobe.

I shiver. "Hunter, stop."

"Do you remember your safe word?"

I swallow.

"Do you, Fire?"

I nod.

"Unless you use it I’m going to keep going."

I draw in a ragged breath. My heart is beating so fast, I can feel the pulse between my legs, behind my knees, at my ankles, my temples, even behind my eyelids.

"Do you want to use your safe word?" he growls.

I hesitate.

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