Page 17 of The Carver

I stared out the open door and listened to his voice. He’d never shown up at the office before. I hadn’t thought that was unusual, but since he owned the place, I guess it was. An email remained open on my screen but ignored because I continued to look out the door into the hallway.

Heavy boots against the hardwood were audible, growing louder as he approached my doorway, and then he rounded the corner and appeared, in a black bomber jacket with a black shirt underneath, dark jeans and boots, the black ink of his tattoo visible up his neck. He was the hardest man I’d ever seen, but god, he was so pretty.

He sauntered into the small office and stopped before my desk, his head cocked slightly as he watched me stare at him.

My ass remained glued to the chair because I was paralyzed by how fine he looked. Light came in from the window behind me and brightened his face with a gentle glow. It made the hardness of his jawline more prevalent, his cheekbones more distinct, like they’d been contoured by a makeup artist.

“I’m your man, right?”

I stilled at the venom in his voice.

“Then get your ass up and show it.”

I snapped out of my reverie. “Sorry…you’re just so hot, I lose my mind a little bit.”

The signs of anger left his face, and that handsome smile melted over his mouth like butter. “That’s fair.”

I left the chair and came around the desk, wearing the black pumps that I’d kicked off under my desk because they hurt like a bitch. I moved into him, sliding my arms over his as they encircled me. I caught his lips with mine and kissed him, really kissed him, not afraid of being caught because the only man who could fire me was the one gripping my ass.

His smell made me lean into him, the scent of rain and body soap, the scent in his sheets, the scent that absorbed into myskin and made me smell like him. The second he was in my presence, my life felt calm, like a slow river outside a cabin in the mountains of Norway, simply tranquil. “I missed you.”

He yanked my skirt up over my ass so he could grip one of my cheeks with his bare hand. His massive size blocked the doorway, so if someone walked by, they wouldn’t be able to see my bare ass in my black thong. “That’s better.”

“That’s not clingy? I just saw you this morning.”

“No. And you better step it up a notch because I’m still mad as hell.” He dug his fingers into my ass, and he seemed just a step away from spanking me hard on the ass. “And I’ll be mad for a long time.”

“Then how about I make you dinner tonight?”

He looked into my eyes so intensely, it was as if he hadn’t heard what I said. “I don’t want you to cook dinner. I want you on your back and coming around my dick.”

A flush erupted through me and seared my flesh like a steak on the skillet. No other man could pull off a statement like that so effortlessly.

“I’ll pick you up for dinner at eight. Whatever dress you wear tonight, there better be nothing underneath it.” He finally released my ass and pulled the skirt back down over my thong before he gave me a playful spank.

I swallowed, my exhaustion gone when he lit a fire that burned me alive.

He started to move away, like his visit was over.

“What brings you by?”

“Business.”

“Why do you have an investment company?”

“A lot of reasons, too many to discuss now.” He leaned in and gave me another kiss. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Alright.”

He gave me another hard look before he stepped into the hallway and disappeared.

I wore a little black dress, two narrow straps over my shoulders, and black heels, with a coat to keep warm from the cold night air. My nipples were visible through the thin, tight material. Even when my nipples weren’t hard, you could still see them, but I suspected when Bastien said he wanted me to wear nothing, he meant literally nothing. It was common for French women not to wear bras, but I always did for the support and the warmth. I did not wear panties either—and I was very aware of that fact.

I approached the curb at the road, my coat buttoned to keep the warmth against my body. The SUV pulled onto the street and came to a stop where I stood. The back door opened, and the behemoth of a man emerged in a buttoned-up shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.

It was the first time I’d seen him in anything but a t-shirt—except for the tuxedo he wore to the gala.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He squeezed me to him with a single arm and kissed me. “Get in.” He stepped aside and offered his hand to help me inside.

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