Page 3 of His Own Heaven

“I really hate you right now.”

Toby grinned. “No you don’t.” Then he flicked his gaze towards Lucy again and said, “Mine.”

He didn’t even have to wonder at the unmistakable desire he felt as he sought her out in the crowd. It was the same emotion he’d felt when she’d strode into his office Monday afternoon to interview for the office manager position at Bennett’s Gardens and Landscaping. The same emotion he’d been fighting all week.

The one to which he longed to surrender.

In the name of due diligence, he’d done a quick internet search on Sunday afternoon and found nothing outwardly concerning about Miss Barton. No criminal record, no nude selfies, and oddly, only a very small social media footprint, certainly nothing with photos. According to her résumé, she was forty years old, same as him, and her hobbies included reading, rock climbing, pancake art—whatever the fuck that was—and volunteering at her local animal shelter.

He’d liked her before she’d even set foot in his office.

The fact Lucy had also worked as the office manager for a private security firm for the better part of a decade was just the icing on the cake. She had more experience than the other five candidates combined and was a shoo-in for the job. Interviewing her was more of a formality than anything else.

But when she’d entered his office and shot out her hand to shake his like she was executing a military manoeuvre, he’d almost swallowed his tongue. Then he’d almost hired the second most qualified candidate because…holy fuck!

Toby had never met a woman more in need of a good spanking than Lucy Barton. Never met one he’d wanted to spank so desperately full stop. And not because she deserved to be punished, though if push came to shove, he was certain he could find something to punish her for—there had to be at least one spelling error on her résumé—but because he’d never met a woman so tightly wound and in need of release.

Her whole demeanour had called to him and his hands had itched to pull her into his lap and bend her over his knee, to feel the softness of her arse against the callused skin of his palm.

To mark her flesh and make her his.

Dressed in a dark blue suit and high-necked blouse, her hair pulled up in a tight knot on the back of her head, the woman had given off a prim schoolmarm vibe, completely at odds with the quiet, quirky yet kinda cool woman he’d envisioned when he’d read her résumé. Adding to her overall air of stick-up-her-arse-edness was the fact she’d sat ramrod straight in the chair opposite him with her hands folded neatly in her lap and a challenging expression on her face.

His carefully controlled Dominant side had come to life at that challenge, sliding through him like liquid heat, making his cock jerk to life. He’d had to swallow down a moan at the thought of forgoing the job interview in favour of bending her over his desk, hiking her skirt up her gloriously long legs, and fucking her senseless.

Her direct stare, the stubborn jut of her chin, and the way she’d tilted her face towards him, prominently displaying the wealth of scars covering the right side of her face and neck…. She’d practically dared him to insult her, as though she was used to people making a fuss about them, used to people judging her based on something as arbitrary as her looks, and she was feeling him out. Testing him.

He’d smiled at that. At her… not courage exactly, but ballsy-ness. It had felt like she was saying “This is me. Take it or leave it”, and dear God, had he wanted to take it.

She was chaotically beautiful.

And Toby had thanked his inappropriately timed erection, certain it was the only thing stopping him from vaulting over his desk, fisting his hand in Lucy’s hair, and shoving his tongue down her throat.

To distract them both, he’d said, “So, tell me about pancake art. What’s that all about?”

For a second her eyes had widened, but then her whole body had relaxed and an almost-smile had danced at the corners of her very kissable mouth, never lifting her lips too far, never giving him what he’d quickly come to believe would be a prize of uncalculatable value. Never giving him a true smile, but definitely showing signs of the woman he’d believed her to be before she’d entered the room.

By the time she’d walked out of his office—giving him a delicious view of the nicely rounded arse she’d generously poured into her pencil skirt—he’d made up his mind to win that smile.

And as much as he’d fantasised about all the wicked ways he’d like to make her smile, in reality he’d envisioned leaving her a surprise welcome gift on her desk on Monday morning—a dwarf cactus in a pretty pot, or a flowering bonsai, perhaps.

He hadn’t figured on running into her at the Redland Bay pub on speed dating night less than a week after meeting her.

But when he remembered his body’s visceral reaction to her presence—both in the office and the pub—he realised Charlie was right. Besides his very own stick-up-his-arse-edness, there really was no reason why he couldn’t fuck Lucy Bartonandgive her miniature plants.

Challenge accepted.

Charlie grinned at him. “So much for enduring an evening of torture, eh?” he said, pulling Toby from his wandering thoughts.

“Shut up, Charlie.” He craned his neck, trying to see the woman from a different angle, making sure it was actually Lucy he was perving on, but her hair fell down around her in waves that hid her identity from him. He blew out a frustrated breath.

Please be her.

“And you never answered my question,” his brother whispered as they listened to the woman in charge give another rundown of the rules. “Is she cute?”

Toby sighed, knowing his brother wouldn’t let it go until he got an answer. “Remember what Dad always says about beauty?”

“The most beautiful things in life are often the most useless?”

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