Page 12 of Grumpy Alien Boss

I smooth my skirt, hyper aware of how it clings to my hips. The same skirt that rode up when I bent over. On purpose. God, what must he think of me?

"Something on your mind, Miss McGee?"

"Just hungry," I lie. Well, half-lie. I am hungry - just not necessarily for food.

My career goals flash through my mind like warning signs. I didn't move to New York and fight my way into this position just to become another office romance statistic. But the way he fills out that suit...

The elevator continues its descent, each floor bringing us closer to whatever this lunch actually is. A date? A meeting? A chance for him to fire me for being unprofessional?

His cologne teases my senses. I fidget with my hair again, catching another shared smile in our reflection. My stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with hunger.

The elevator finally reaches the lobby. Thank god - any longer in that enclosed space with him and I might have spontaneously combusted.

His hand lands on the small of my back as we exit the building. The touch sends electricity shooting up my spine. Such a gentleman, guiding me to the waiting limo, but there's something possessive in the gesture that makes my knees weak.

The leather seat creaks as I slide in, hyper aware of Darwin settling next to me. Close. Too close. His thigh brushes mine and my brain short-circuits.

"There's this fantastic place I've invested in - fusion cuisine, Italian-Mexican. Chef Garcia trained in Florence before bringing his unique vision to New York."

I try to focus on his words, but his proximity scrambles my thoughts. His hand is still radiating heat through my blouse where he touched me.

"That is, if such cuisine is of interest to you, we don't have to dine there."

"I'll do whatever you want."

Oh god. Did I actually just say that? Out loud? To my boss? Kill me now.

His eyebrow arches upward, but he doesn't comment. Thank heaven for small mercies. I fight the urge to fan myself as the limo pulls away from the curb. The air feels thick with unspoken implications.

The limo glides to a stop, and Darwin's hand finds mine as we exit. His touch sends sparks racing up my arm. The restaurant's entrance looms before us, all gleaming glass and polished brass, but I barely notice it. All I can focus on is the warmth of his palm against mine.

The maître d' leads us to a secluded corner booth. The menu swims before my eyes - a blur of Italian and Spanish words that might as well be ancient Greek. My hands shake as I try to make sense of it.

"Allow me?" Darwin's voice cuts through my fog. "The chef's specialties are quite remarkable."

I nod, grateful for the rescue. There's something thrilling about letting him take control, about trusting him to choose for me.

"You know, Olivia, we spend countless hours together, yet I feel I barely know you."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you."

"Me?" His laugh rumbles deep in his chest. "I'm hardly a mystery. Google my name - you'll find everything from my first business venture to my last breakup splashed across the internet."

I lean forward, the movement bringing our faces closer together. "That's just the surface stuff - the starlets, the business deals, the charity galas. I'm talking about the real you."

"The real me?"

"Yes. The man behind the empire. The one who notices when his assistant's heel breaks, or remembers how she takes her coffee."

His eyes lock onto mine, something dark and hungry flickering in their depths. The air between us crackles with tension.

"The real me," Rook says carefully, as if choosing his words with the utmost precision, "is the one that wants to ravish you."

A rush of heat washes over me in a molten wave. I quickly drop my gaze, blushing deep red, and take a sip of my lemonade to give myself time to think.

"I..." My tongue feels like lead as I lick my lips. "You—you sure don't beat around the bush when you want something, do you?"

"Nor when I want someone." His voice is smooth as silk. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. I lift my gaze to meet his, and it's almost too much. I squeeze my thighs together as my body betrays just how much I want him to make good on his threat. Or is it an offer?

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