Page 12 of Boss of Me
I stare at my phone, then at the man whose talented fingers just gave me the best orgasm of my life. The guilty look on his face sends a cold shock through me.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
“Marlowe—”
I scramble off his lap and frantically scoot away from him, my mind reeling with fear and confusion.
His expression softens at my panicked reaction. “Hey,” he says gently, as if talking to a frightened animal. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt?—”
“Who are you?” I choke out, staring at him in horror.
He stares back at me, regret stamped across his gorgeous face. “My name is Gunner.”
Sheer mortification washes over me, scalding my cheeks. I yank my dress down, sling my purse strap over my shoulder and shoot to my feet so suddenly that I wobble on my heels.
When Gunner rises to steady me, I swat his hand away and bolt for the door.
“Shit. Wait.” He comes after me. “I’m sorry for lying to you?—”
“Get away from me!” I scream.
“I never do things like this, but you’re so fucking beautiful. So sweet and incredible. You hit me like lightning the moment I saw you, and I just?—”
“Leave me alone!” I run out of the room and race down the hall. My heart is pounding chaotically, and for a moment I can’t breathe through the shock of what just happened.
Hearing the creep’s footsteps behind me, I hurry down the stairs and race past two bouncers. Their faces are a blur, their voices startled.
“Miss, are you?—”
I keep going, running toward the rear exit as I hear Gunner tersely instruct someone to bring the car around.
Bursting from the club, I pull out my phone to call an Uber. As I storm toward the curb, Gunner catches my upper arm and turns me around.
“Marlowe—”
“Fuck you!” I shout, trembling with humiliation and fury. “How could you do that to me? Do you know how scared I was when I realized you weren’t my real date? I thought you might be a rapist or a serial killer! I thought I was about to die!”
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice is ragged with contrition. “I don’t know what the hell came over me.”
“What kind of psychoareyou?” I shriek.
He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “In my defense, I did try to stop?—”
I slap his face hard enough to snap his head sideways.
In the ensuing silence, my blood roars in my ears and my heart hammers violently against my ribs.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he murmurs.
“Damn right you did!” I jab a finger in his face. “You’re a creepy psycho. A sick fuck.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“The car is ready for your guest, sir,” an attendant interrupts.
Gunner nods curtly.
“Oh, my God.” I stare at him in disbelief. “You don’t just know the club’s owner. Youarethe owner!”
