before him, my hand on his face. His hand is on mine, holding me to him. He’s my boss yet this feels right. I’m meant to be here, to be touching him.
Brick’s gaze lifts and locks with mine. His brown eyes darken with emotion. “There’s something I should tell you.”
“Yes?” I lean toward him. He’ll tell me now that he wants me, that he can’t live without me. Brick will kiss me and touch me and make me his. My thighs graze his parted knees and I tremble, feeling that contact in my soul.
Brick leans forward also. Our lips are a whisper apart. That connection I always feel between us intensifies, pulling us together, linking us in a way that is more than physical, more than intellectual.
His breath wafts against my cheeks. My heart pounds.
Should I kiss him? Should I?
Yes, I’m going to risk—
“Fuck. I can’t do this.” He sighs and releases me.
Damn it. I waited too long and the moment is gone.
“I can’t bring you into my crazy life.” His words are edged with resignation.
I continue to cup his cheek, doggedly maintaining this slender contact with him, hoping the passion or whatever it was we were just experiencing will return. “I’m your assistant. I’m already part of your crazy life.”
“This had nothing to do with work, Miss Henderson.” My boss avoids my gaze. “This is a private situation that got out of control.” Pink creeps up his neck.
“A private situation,” I repeat. “Oh.” I realize what that means and the last of my arousal dissipates. “I see.” I drop my hand, feeling like a fool for thinking Brick Armitage wanted, needed me. “The scratches were part of kinky times with Gretchen, huh?”
My humor is forced.
I’m so damn jealous; I could spit.
Gretchen is his woman of the week: a tall, gorgeous, blonde actress sporting surgically enhanced breasts bigger than my head. They’re perfect, a thing of beauty, defying gravity and all other laws of science. I can’t help but stare at them every time she visits.
Gretchen doesn’t mind the gawking. Brick’s latest woman is, unfortunately, a drama whore, appearing in the tabloids at least once a week. I suspect that is the reason she’s considered for as many parts as she is. The studios know she’ll bring attention to any movie release she’s attached to.
Although Brick acts like he shuns the spotlight, he’s always drawn to this type of woman. And they’re drawn to him because he’s handsome, young, and a billionaire, the combination ensuring constant media buzz.
This is the first time I’ve heard of him indulging in sex games, though. The idea of my usually dominant boss being the submissive in a relationship, however short-lived, disturbs me. I thought I knew him. “I didn’t realize you were into that.”
“I’m not.” His lips twist. “I won’t be seeing Gretchen again.”
Yes, I inwardly cheer, keeping my expression as blank as I can manage. “Too bad. It would have been eight days today. She could have tied Trinity for the record.”
“Ha.” He doesn’t see the humor in this that I do. “What did you bring us for breakfast?”
“Scones.” I return to my side of the desk, take one out of the bag. “They’re blueberry.” The hope is that addition will make them more edible. I find a paper napkin, place the baked good on it, slide it toward him.
Brick’s permafrown deepens. He opens his mouth.
“Eat it,” I cut off his protests. “The Queen has scones every day.”
“She’s British. It’s expected.”
“You speak English. That’s almost British.” I ignore his eye-rolling. “Here is your coffee—black.” I push the disposable cup toward him.
He reaches for it, curling his long fingers around the cup. I want those fingers on me but that won’t ever happen, will it? I glower at the tray.
“Are you continuing the self-torture today, Miss Henderson?” Brick misinterprets the source of my unhappiness.
“If you’re asking if I ordered tea, I did,” I
Brick’s gaze lifts and locks with mine. His brown eyes darken with emotion. “There’s something I should tell you.”
“Yes?” I lean toward him. He’ll tell me now that he wants me, that he can’t live without me. Brick will kiss me and touch me and make me his. My thighs graze his parted knees and I tremble, feeling that contact in my soul.
Brick leans forward also. Our lips are a whisper apart. That connection I always feel between us intensifies, pulling us together, linking us in a way that is more than physical, more than intellectual.
His breath wafts against my cheeks. My heart pounds.
Should I kiss him? Should I?
Yes, I’m going to risk—
“Fuck. I can’t do this.” He sighs and releases me.
Damn it. I waited too long and the moment is gone.
“I can’t bring you into my crazy life.” His words are edged with resignation.
I continue to cup his cheek, doggedly maintaining this slender contact with him, hoping the passion or whatever it was we were just experiencing will return. “I’m your assistant. I’m already part of your crazy life.”
“This had nothing to do with work, Miss Henderson.” My boss avoids my gaze. “This is a private situation that got out of control.” Pink creeps up his neck.
“A private situation,” I repeat. “Oh.” I realize what that means and the last of my arousal dissipates. “I see.” I drop my hand, feeling like a fool for thinking Brick Armitage wanted, needed me. “The scratches were part of kinky times with Gretchen, huh?”
My humor is forced.
I’m so damn jealous; I could spit.
Gretchen is his woman of the week: a tall, gorgeous, blonde actress sporting surgically enhanced breasts bigger than my head. They’re perfect, a thing of beauty, defying gravity and all other laws of science. I can’t help but stare at them every time she visits.
Gretchen doesn’t mind the gawking. Brick’s latest woman is, unfortunately, a drama whore, appearing in the tabloids at least once a week. I suspect that is the reason she’s considered for as many parts as she is. The studios know she’ll bring attention to any movie release she’s attached to.
Although Brick acts like he shuns the spotlight, he’s always drawn to this type of woman. And they’re drawn to him because he’s handsome, young, and a billionaire, the combination ensuring constant media buzz.
This is the first time I’ve heard of him indulging in sex games, though. The idea of my usually dominant boss being the submissive in a relationship, however short-lived, disturbs me. I thought I knew him. “I didn’t realize you were into that.”
“I’m not.” His lips twist. “I won’t be seeing Gretchen again.”
Yes, I inwardly cheer, keeping my expression as blank as I can manage. “Too bad. It would have been eight days today. She could have tied Trinity for the record.”
“Ha.” He doesn’t see the humor in this that I do. “What did you bring us for breakfast?”
“Scones.” I return to my side of the desk, take one out of the bag. “They’re blueberry.” The hope is that addition will make them more edible. I find a paper napkin, place the baked good on it, slide it toward him.
Brick’s permafrown deepens. He opens his mouth.
“Eat it,” I cut off his protests. “The Queen has scones every day.”
“She’s British. It’s expected.”
“You speak English. That’s almost British.” I ignore his eye-rolling. “Here is your coffee—black.” I push the disposable cup toward him.
He reaches for it, curling his long fingers around the cup. I want those fingers on me but that won’t ever happen, will it? I glower at the tray.
“Are you continuing the self-torture today, Miss Henderson?” Brick misinterprets the source of my unhappiness.
“If you’re asking if I ordered tea, I did,” I