Page 155 of Beyond the Cottage

“Alright!” she cried. “I’d give a shit! The thought of someone else touching you makes me want to fuckingpuke. Are you happy?”

His body froze around her. She lifted her chin and gave him her profile.

“I see,” he said. “Thank you for your honesty. In that spirit, I feel I should make my own confession.”

“I don’t want to hear the details. I should go.”

“Do you know what makes me want to puke? The thought of anyone touching me but you.”

Her face whipped to him.

Did that mean he hadn’t fucked anyone else? Or that it had been harder than he expected?

“Allow me to clarify,” he said. “The acquaintances I’ve made are members of the science society. Since you and I parted, the only thing that’s touched me is my own hand when I think aboutyou. I think about you so much, I’m not certain my median nerve will recover.”

Gretta had no idea what a median nerve was, but she caught his gist. “Really?”

“Yes, Miss Fairleaf, really.” He stepped back, shoulders rigid. “Now show me your tits.”

Chapter 53

Ansel let his coarse, highly unprofessional demand linger between them. He knew she wanted this, too. She may have chosen the repellent, but she was possessive of his body. When she’d admitted she didn’t want anyone else touching him, he’d barely resisted ripping her clothes off with his teeth.

But he couldn’t. Her job was at stake. So he’d keep his hands to himself and look his fucking fill.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“You heard me.”

She contemplated him, clearly weighing the risks. “But the rules.”

He moved closer until their knees almost touched. She spread her legs, avoiding contact.

“Miss Fairleaf,” he said darkly. “I’ve read my contract to the letter, and I’ve hired an excellent attorney. The senator is welcome to take me to court. Now show me your goddamn tits.”

She remained still for long seconds. Then her fingers drifted along her clavicles, skating to the top swell of her breast. “Is this the insubordination you talked about?”

“It is. And you had your chance to correct it.”

She toyed with her blouse’s top button. She flipped it open, then another, then another. When she reached the bottom, she parted the black fabric.

Ansel drank her in, rubbing his erection. Her exposed nipples went pebble hard.

Now what?

“Touch them,” he said.

Her fingertips skimmed the space between her breasts.

“More.”

She stopped. His chest vibrated with displeasure, and she firmly palmed one breast, thumb stroking the nipple. “Satisfied?”

Not even close.

He rounded the desk and grabbed his office chair. He dropped it in front of her and sat, legs splayed, casual as a night at the theater.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

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