Page 8 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 1

“I shouldn’t have said it. I was trying to stand out, to make myself noticed.” Is he getting off on this?

“Well you succeeded. Which then begs the question, why would you apologize? You’re not one of those girls who’s always apologizing, are you?”

I grit my teeth at him describing me as a girl, like I’m some high school cheerleader who stumbled into his office, giggling and lost.

“No, I’m not a woman who apologizes,” I reply, proud of myself for my little act of linguistic rebellion.

He doesn’t take a bit of notice. “Good. Because lesson number one is to never apologize. Make bold moves, and own them.”

It sounds like a challenge, and the Boss Bitch inside me rises right to meet it. He wants a fighter? He wants someone who wants it? That I can do. I fought my way to one of the top colleges in the country. I fought my way through four years there to graduate at the top of my class. And I fought my way through thousands of applicants to score this fucking internship. And so I decide to make another attempt at surprising him. This one a little more me.

“You don’t have time for apologies, but you have time for frivolous get-to-know-you games meant to make everyone uncomfortable while you remain impervious and aloof? That seems like a bit of a contradiction.” And my voice doesn’t even shake. Not a bit.

Now Nixon Blake’s eyebrows are both rising. That he did not expect.

“What’s your point?” His eyes are narrowed, his voice sharp as a knife.

“It means that now you know about my sex life, but I don’t know anything about you,” I say, my eyebrow arching, my tongue lingering purposefully on the words sex life. Take that, Nixon Blake. “I notice you didn’t tell us anything about yourself.” Now it’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest, a hip jutting out just slightly. A challenge right back at him.

He shifts slightly in his chair, and for the first time since I walked in, he breaks his gaze. Holy crap, did I really just challenge Nixon Blake and win?

He rises from his chair and strides across the floor. His feet fall heavy on the concrete floor, and I’m surprised the room doesn’t shake with the force of his gait. Everything about him says he knows how big and powerful he is, and he doesn’t like that for a moment, I’ve made him feel anything less than that. And I think he’s about to show me just how wrong I am.

He stops right in front of me, so close that I have to look up slightly to keep eye contact. This man knows how to work his height to his advantage.

“You want to know something about me that would surprise you?” His voice is low, forcing me to be completely still. I can barely breathe, and so instead of a response, I just nod.

There’s the tiniest spark of fire behind his icy eyes. “I’ve spent nearly every second since your little declaration,” he says, his tongue rolling over the word, “thinking about all the different ways I could make you come.”

The breath rushes out of me in one fast whoosh, and I nearly let the world holy shit follow it. But instead, I whisper the words I’ve spent years trying hard not think, much less say.

“I don’t think anyone can.”

And there it is. My greatest fear. Since I’m saying all kinds of things today that I’d rather have kept to myself, why not let this one out, as well? Because what if the truth isn’t that Damon was terrible in bed? What if the truth is that it’s impossible for me to have an orgasm, ever, with anyone? Saying it out loud makes me feel terrified and vulnerable, but I keep all that hidden behind a mask of defiance.

Nixon pauses, studying me, waiting to see if I’m going to step away, tell him to stop. But I don’t want him to stop. Because as soon as I said the words out loud, I realized that something inside my body is responding to him, churning up feelings and sensations I’ve never experienced before. And I want more.

Nixon lets out a little huff of breath — a little laugh, his lips curled up into a devious smile. “You want me to try, though,” he growls, sending a chill down my spine, “don’t you?”

I try to say yes, but no sound comes out, just a slight tremor of my lips. And so I look him in his eyes and nod. Yes, I really really do. If anyone can make me come, Nixon Blake can. I’m sure of it.

“I could fuck you right now, you know. Lay you out across my desk. You’d come again, and again,” he says, before leaning so close his lips nearly brush against my ear, “and again.”

All I can do is suck in a ragged breath.

And then he steps back. The space between us widens, the heat disappearing with the growing gap. My mouth drops open slightly. I feel the absences of his body like a missing limb.

“Unfortunately, Delaney, you work for me.” Nixon turns and strides back to his desk. “That would be inappropriate.” His lips curl around the word, like he’s laughing at the notion.

Inappropriate. All I’ve been today is inappropriate. Telling my boss I’ve never had an orgasm. Following him into his office. Challenging him. Standing so close I could practically feel his heart — assuming he has one — beating against my chest. What’s a little bit more? The tension may be dissipating, but I know how to ratchet it up again. I know how to get Nixon Blake going.

So I square my shoulders, chin raised, a devilish grin playing at the corners of my lips. Two can play this game.

“Or maybe it’s that you’re afraid you can’t do it?”

His gaze snaps to mine, and then he smirks.

“I think you know that’s not true,” he replies. He looks amused by me, like a tiger watching a kitten try to join the hunt. He seems to pause, turning an idea over in his mind. He leans back until he’s sitting on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over the expanse of his muscular chest.

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