He was too masculine to be called beautiful but it was a word that came to mind. His full lips twisted into a slight sneer as he motioned with one hand for me to enter, his eyes trailing intently across my face and my body as I stood before him.
“Ms. Carmichael.” His voice was deep, tinged with bass notes that sounded almost like a purr. “Please, come in.”
I experienced a violent rush of contradicting urges. Deep-rooted instincts piqued with genuine warning, which I found unsettling. Was he dangerous? Even more disconcertingly, these warnings were overridden by a potent wave of undiluted longing, which stunned me with its ferocity. I don’t care if he’s dangerous, I thought. I could not tear my gaze away from his huge, broad shoulders and his strong arms, where the muscles were defined even under the layers of his clothing as he clutched the edge of the door with gripping, brutal fingers, opening it further. Isolated and alone as we were, I couldn’t help feeling I was walking into Mr. Wolfe’s lair. No one will hear you if you call for help. Oddly, despite this flicker of fear, I didn’t hesitate.
I walked into the room and felt a thrill of anxious excitement as he closed the door firmly behind me, clicking the lock into place. “You’re very punctual, Ms. Carmichael. I like that in an employee.”
A good start, I thought. “Please,” I said. “Call me Lila.”
“Lila.” My name, spoken in that molasses-rich voice, sounded strangely erotic, like the subtle vibrations of his speech poured lazily into my body, charging me with a new, sensuous hum. I wanted to hear him say it again, to groan it, to growl it in deep, pleading tones. What was wrong with me? This was not like me at all. I was a clean-cut girl, a scholar, punctual, reliable, conscienscious to a fault. And embarrassingly inexperienced. I’d had boyfriends, but this was the first time I’d ever felt such an instantaneous and desperate pull of white-hot lust. That his mouth caressed my name in that way seemed almost indecent, as though he’d tasted a part of me. At that thought, my nipples tightened as I watched his mouth. His full, pouting lips. What would that mouth feel like on my body? Licking. Biting. Everywhere.
I silently cursed Eva for encouraging me to go commando. I felt like my clothes were entirely sheer, like he was somehow penetrating them with his predatory appraisal. My aroused nipples would be easily visible, and I could feel the warm, wet heat between my legs; I hoped desperately that it wouldn’t be detectable somehow through the thin wool of my short skirt. I willed my body to control its responses, but it was no use: I felt needy and wanting and entirely lacking in self-discipline. I want to step closer, to touch him. I could barely restrain myself from doing this. I’d gone mad, that was all there was to it.
Flustered, I forced myself to unlock my eyes from his sinfully perfect mouth. I distracted myself by taking in the surroundings. His office was large, and circular. Half of the oval wa s lined with pale wood shelving, concealed cupboards and the subtle framed outline of two doors; the other half was floor-to-ceiling curved glass windows. A large, modern desk sat in the middle of the room.
He half-sat against his desk and folded his arms across his chest, causing his suit jacket to tighten against his arms. He’s inhumanely strong. He could so easily overpower me. These thoughts only served to arouse me further, until my nipples were painfully beaded. Copying his motion, I folded my own arms in an attempt to conceal myself, but he noticed my body’s response to him and his mouth quirked in a laconic half-smile. He moved to take off his jacket then, which he tossed onto a chair. Amused or not, I couldn’t help but notice – through a quick, tentative peripheral glance - a swell in the area I didn’t dare stare
“Ms. Carmichael.” His voice was deep, tinged with bass notes that sounded almost like a purr. “Please, come in.”
I experienced a violent rush of contradicting urges. Deep-rooted instincts piqued with genuine warning, which I found unsettling. Was he dangerous? Even more disconcertingly, these warnings were overridden by a potent wave of undiluted longing, which stunned me with its ferocity. I don’t care if he’s dangerous, I thought. I could not tear my gaze away from his huge, broad shoulders and his strong arms, where the muscles were defined even under the layers of his clothing as he clutched the edge of the door with gripping, brutal fingers, opening it further. Isolated and alone as we were, I couldn’t help feeling I was walking into Mr. Wolfe’s lair. No one will hear you if you call for help. Oddly, despite this flicker of fear, I didn’t hesitate.
I walked into the room and felt a thrill of anxious excitement as he closed the door firmly behind me, clicking the lock into place. “You’re very punctual, Ms. Carmichael. I like that in an employee.”
A good start, I thought. “Please,” I said. “Call me Lila.”
“Lila.” My name, spoken in that molasses-rich voice, sounded strangely erotic, like the subtle vibrations of his speech poured lazily into my body, charging me with a new, sensuous hum. I wanted to hear him say it again, to groan it, to growl it in deep, pleading tones. What was wrong with me? This was not like me at all. I was a clean-cut girl, a scholar, punctual, reliable, conscienscious to a fault. And embarrassingly inexperienced. I’d had boyfriends, but this was the first time I’d ever felt such an instantaneous and desperate pull of white-hot lust. That his mouth caressed my name in that way seemed almost indecent, as though he’d tasted a part of me. At that thought, my nipples tightened as I watched his mouth. His full, pouting lips. What would that mouth feel like on my body? Licking. Biting. Everywhere.
I silently cursed Eva for encouraging me to go commando. I felt like my clothes were entirely sheer, like he was somehow penetrating them with his predatory appraisal. My aroused nipples would be easily visible, and I could feel the warm, wet heat between my legs; I hoped desperately that it wouldn’t be detectable somehow through the thin wool of my short skirt. I willed my body to control its responses, but it was no use: I felt needy and wanting and entirely lacking in self-discipline. I want to step closer, to touch him. I could barely restrain myself from doing this. I’d gone mad, that was all there was to it.
Flustered, I forced myself to unlock my eyes from his sinfully perfect mouth. I distracted myself by taking in the surroundings. His office was large, and circular. Half of the oval wa s lined with pale wood shelving, concealed cupboards and the subtle framed outline of two doors; the other half was floor-to-ceiling curved glass windows. A large, modern desk sat in the middle of the room.
He half-sat against his desk and folded his arms across his chest, causing his suit jacket to tighten against his arms. He’s inhumanely strong. He could so easily overpower me. These thoughts only served to arouse me further, until my nipples were painfully beaded. Copying his motion, I folded my own arms in an attempt to conceal myself, but he noticed my body’s response to him and his mouth quirked in a laconic half-smile. He moved to take off his jacket then, which he tossed onto a chair. Amused or not, I couldn’t help but notice – through a quick, tentative peripheral glance - a swell in the area I didn’t dare stare
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