Page 38 of The Boss's Forbidden Assistant

Her eyes skimmed the bar and, though he was staring at her, he was aware on his periphery of the way heads turned towards her. The same magnetic beauty he was appreciating was noticed by others in the bar. He stood, unfolding his body with slow intent, the action catching her eyes so their gazes locked.

Neither smiled. Electricity arced through the air. He felt it singe his fingertips, his toes, his chest. She lifted a hand to her ear, tucking an imaginary piece of hair back—was she nervous?—then began to walk towards him. The silk caressed her body like a second skin, falling like a waterfall over her hips and shimmering with each step she took so he had to hold back a groan. How the hell was he going to get through this night?

The dress had seemed like such a great idea at the time. Now he realised he’d bought himself several hours of torture.

‘I borrowed your dress,’ she said with an impish smile as she approached the table, and he laughed, because it was an excellent ice-breaker. The tension that had been making his head pulse dissipated. He put a hand on one of her hips and leaned forward, kissing her cheek, wondering at the strange throb in the middle of his chest.

‘It looks better on you than it did on me. Keep it.’

She grinned in return.

‘Would you like a drink?’

She looked around the bar, her lips twitching downwards as she considered that. He realised it wasn’t a frown but just how she looked when she was in contemplation. ‘It’s crowded. Besides, we’ve seen this bar. I’d rather explore somewhere new.’ She turned back to face him. ‘Is that okay?’

The last little question did something strange to him. He couldn’t explain the rush of emotions he felt—vulnerability for her, to ask him that, and annoyance that she thought she had to. Was it because he was her boss? Or because she was so unsure of herself with men?

‘Of course it’s okay,’ he responded, not sure if he did a great job of keeping the irritation from his voice.

‘We can stay, if you want,’ she said, brows slightly furrowed. ‘I know you probably want to suss out the hotel a bit more.’

He shook his head, pulling her closer to him, knowing that there was one way he could get things back on an even keel and restore that beautiful confidence he’d seen when she’d first walked in. ‘I want what you want,’ he said simply. ‘So just say the word.’

Her eyes ran over his face, as if she wasn’t sure she could believe him, but then she smiled, so he smiled, because it was impossible not to.

‘Then let’s get out of here.’

His car was waiting—a limousine with a glass panel between the front and the back. It was plush and lovely, but Harper was nervous again. It wasn’t being with Salvador; it was being with Salvador likethis, on a date. And it didn’t matter that they weren’t in a relationship and that there was a very definite expiration date on this—tonight was still a date, with all the trimmings, and she really had no idea how to behave.

She didn’t realise she was fidgeting with her fingers in her lap until he reached over and put a hand over them. The smile he offered was clearly meant to be reassuring but it only made her feel...something else. Unsettled. Uncertain.

She was overthinking this. And it was going to ruin the experience. She needed to get back in the moment, simply enjoy this one night. Relish being Cinderella, knowing that there would be no ‘happily ever after’ with her Prince Charming but that it could still be happy right now, happy tonight.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked as his hand pulled away from hers back to his own lap.

‘A rooftop bar, for a drink,’ he said. ‘Then dinner.’

Her heart stammered and she settled back in the seat. She bit down on her lip, biting back a smile. ‘That sounds perfect.’

The bar was exquisite—small, intimate and obviously exclusive. Salvador da Rocha naturally had no problem opening doors and, within a minute of arriving, they were welcomed inside and shown to a low-set table pressed against a window with views of the old city that were second to none. The bridge that had fascinated Harper, and so many millions of tourists ever year, was just across the city, so she could enjoy the vista of people promenading over it, the warm, golden lights making it seem so ancient and magical.

‘Have you been to this bar before?’

He shook his head.

‘How did you know it would be so nice?’

‘A friend of mine owns the building. He recommended it.’

That sparked a thousand questions inside Harper. What were his friends like? Had they supported Salvador in the last year? She knew he was reclusive, sticking mainly to the island, but had his friends come to visit? And had Salvador told whichever friend had recommended this bar about her? If so, what had he said?

She was glad when a waiter appeared with their drinks—a glass of champagne for her and a beer for Salvador. She was thirsty, her mouth dry, her body all tingly. She took a sip, the bubbles icy and enthusiastic.

‘And the restaurant we’re going to next?’

‘Same friend.’

‘He’s from Prague?’

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