“Temptress. I am not taking you into an active warzone to watch me torture a man.”
I pout.
“I want to watch. I want to see how you work. I want to learn from you.”
His hand clamps around my throat.
“And it’ll really turn me on,” I whisper.
“No. Stephanie. You do not want to see me like that.”
“Yes. Finn. I do. Take me with you. Please.”
He shakes his head.
“You have work.”
“You’re my boss. I’d like to request vacation for a few days,” I counter.
His grip tightens, lips brushing mine.
“It’s dangerous.”
“More dangerous than what you just did to me?” I spit back.
“Low blow,” he whispers.
“I can look after myself. You won’t have to babysit me. I just want to be there for you.”
He steps back, studying me with a predator’s patience.
“You can fight?”
A grin tugs at his lips.
“I—uh—may have taken some self-defense classes. You know, being a young stripper, I had to have some kind of protection.”
He nods once, then straightens, his gaze sharp.
“Punch me.”
“Pardon?”
“Did I stutter, love? Hit me. Show me you deserve to join me.”
He’s not joking. I slip off the desk, clenching my fist. As I step in front of him, I’m torn with a mixture of excitement and nerves. But I want to prove myself.
“In the time you’ve taken to contemplate the punch, I could have killed you already,” he mutters, completely unamused.
I pull back my fist, and it lands square on his jaw.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
Fuck.
“Finn.” My voice is cautious.
“Again. Harder,” he barks.