Robyn Donald - Unbuttoned by the Boss

‘Why not?’ She didn’t seem to realise the extent to which she was giving herself away.

His body tightened, the animal part of him so keen to take up her unguarded offer. To topple her here and now and be done with it. But he couldn’t. She needed some breathing space to be sure. He needed her to be sure. The lust was hot enough to make them both brainless. Do something she yet might regret. Lorenzo couldn’t bear those regrets—not his, not hers either.

Stupid. Since when did he care? Since when did he let any kind of second thoughts stop him from having a good time?

Because she’d told him—she didn’t usually do this. He’d known that already but having her actually say it made it worse. She needed to be certain. He didn’t want any uncomfortable ramifications. ‘Are you sure you can handle it?’

She turned away. He saw the chill descend, the stiffening in her shoulders. ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot. Of course I can. We’re only talking one night, Lorenzo.’

He ruffled his hair, needing to get his conflicting emotions under control. Hell, it was one p.m. and he was this close to having her in a quickie session at the back of the warehouse. He wanted more than a quickie. He wanted a bed. He wanted the whole night.

One night—her suggestion.

His body chafed—eager to take the offer up now. But no way was he taking her upstairs to his apartment. Inviting her in there might lead to mixed messages. He’d have to take her out. Damn, a date meant more too—or might to her. He shook his head, could she really keep it uncomplicated? But he wanted it too much to say no. The burning need forced him to take the risk. ‘I’ll take you out tonight.’

‘That’s not necessary.’

Oh, she was cool, wasn’t she? His edgy feeling sharpened. Had he underestimated her entirely? ‘You don’t want to go out?’

She looked evasive. ‘You could come over to my place.’

It was probably a good idea. He didn’t like that it had come from her, but she was right. Better not for them to go out together—looking like lovers, feeling like lovers. But ironically nor did he want some sordid assignation. Just for him to knock on the door and her let him in—literally. The warring feelings frustrated him. ‘For dinner?’

‘If you like,’ she answered carelessly, giving him an address, a time.

He stared at her as she spoke, tried to figure out what the hell she was thinking. Failed. But she’d come to him. She was asking him. If she wanted to go through with it, who was he to say no? He’d never been one to turn down an opportunity. ‘Okay.’

She smiled, and walked back inside.

He glanced up to the window and waited. Soon saw her swinging into her role as the perfect administrator again. It should please him, not annoy him—given she was on the payroll and all. But for some reason he found it incredibly irritating. She could go back and concentrate on boring work just like that?

Man, he wanted to see her out of control. He wanted the perfect clothes crushed and the never-out-of-place hair messy. He wanted her eyes wide and wild and her mouth parted as she panted. He wanted her both laughing and crying with pleasure so intense that she was no longer in charge of anything. He wanted her to writhe for him.

And he wanted it now.

LORENZO had been fantasising about this for too long. That was why he was so edgy. Had Sophy known the XXX rating of his dreams, she’d never have offered him this kind of access. The things he wanted to do…

He took a deep breath. Her home was as he’d expected. A cute little villa in the heart of poshville. Just the place for a young Auckland socialite. He walked up the path with the fatalistic feeling growing inside him. He hadn’t brought flowers, not even a bottle of wine. Just himself. His body was what she wanted—and it was all she was getting. He shook off the clanging bell of doom—stupid. This was just going to be some hot sex—nothing more.

She answered the door swiftly. Delicate colour sat high in her cheeks. She’d changed her clothes. Wearing a different blouse, a casual skirt that flared out, emphasising her little waist. Sandals on her feet. Pink polish gleaming on her toenails. Her hair was styled in that nineteen-fifties Hollywood-starlet style.

‘I didn’t cook. Sorry. Been busy.’

Getting ready for him? He liked that idea a little too much.

She turned and led him down the polished wooden hallway.

‘It’s okay.’ He wasn’t that hungry anyway. Not for food.

‘I cheated and picked up some stuff from the deli.’ She led him to the dining area. ‘Thought we could snack.’

‘Sure.’ He looked at the table. She’d unloaded the deli pots into pretty little dishes. Floral. Heaven help him. Fragile fine bone china. That was her all over.

She was watching him, a knowing look in her eyes that unsettled him more. ‘You’re not having regrets already?’

‘I don’t do regrets. Why, do you?’

She shook her head. ‘New Year’s resolution not to.’

Yeah, right. ‘You’ve never done anything to regret, have you?’ He couldn’t hold back the bitter note of accusation.

‘You think?’ She stepped up to him. ‘I’m no angel, Lorenzo.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘And I’m no virgin. You’re not going to hurt me.’

He swallowed. For someone who’d said she’d never done this before, she was holding her own. So the snacking could wait a while. There was something far more pressing to be done. He lifted a hand and stroked her hair, gathered a lock and ran his finger and thumb along the length of it. He tugged gently, straightening the curl at the bottom. When he let it go it bounced right back. ‘So you’re sure.’

A look of irritation crossed her face. ‘You know I am. You’re here, I’m here. End of conversation.’

He laughed inwardly. It seemed he wasn’t the only one to have been dreaming of this for too long. He watched her, waited and soon saw the slight nervousness steal into her eyes, despite her words. She’d taken a smidge of her lower lip between her teeth, he could see her biting hard on it. And she was staying very, very still—waiting.

He leaned forward and so slowly, so gently caught that lower lip between his own teeth. She gasped, freeing it so it was his. He sucked on it, let his tongue run over the swell of soft flesh. She opened for him completely—and they hurtled straight back into the red-hot kiss of earlier. Her hands lifted to his shoulders; he liked the feel of them, he liked the feel of her hips digging into him too. It was as if everywhere they touched the power surged, pulsing between them.

He broke free, determined to slow it down. ‘You don’t want to eat first?’

‘Can’t you just shut up and get on with it?’ She thrust against him again. ‘Anyone would think you’re stalling.’

He looked at the gleam in her eyes. The nerves had gone. She was enjoying being provocative now. And she wanted it fast. Too bad. She’d told him the truth earlier. She wasn’t a one-night-only girl. Not before now.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Why do you want it to be over so quick?’ Did she want it done and then him leave inside the hour? Like some naughty fantasy that she could tell herself wasn’t really real?

Not happening. If she wanted it, then she was getting it—one whole night. And one night didn’t mean once only. And it certainly didn’t mean quick.

She didn’t answer, had fallen silent, breathless as she leaned her lower belly against him. He understood—even just that simple closeness turned him on too. He traced her collarbones with the tips of his fingers. Watched for the reaction. Yeah, there it was. The widening of her pupils and the increase in her breathing. Her response so quick, so gorgeous. Impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.