J. Critch - A Sinful Little Christmas

“You are seriously skating on the line of a sexual harassment suit,” she warned him. “I don’t know how you ran things in London, but we have a professional place of business here. We keep our extracurricular activities separate from work, and we expect the same from our staff. So, if you expect to have a future here, I recommend you remember that.”

“I will. And I respect your policies.” That part was true, but that didn’t mean he was done prodding her. “You’re definitely not a woman who likes to be told what to do, are you?”

“You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head, and closed her eyes. He knew she was losing patience with him. And he loved it. “This interview isn’t going particularly well.”

He grinned, still desperate to break through her walls and see the passion he knew was underneath. “Depends on who you ask, I guess. But I’ve already got the job, remember? Tell me how you like to be in charge.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

Michael pushed himself up from the couch, and took the step to stand in front of her desk. Flattening his palms on the desktop, he leaned over it and watched her. Her eyes were widened with surprise, her pupils dilated as they locked on his. Her shoulders heaved with her deep breaths. Every one of her actions, the micromovements of her face exhibited desire. He knew she wanted him.

“I think it has quite a bit to do with us.”

She blinked. “Us?” Her laugh was more of a coughing sound, and she looked away from him briefly, as if she were trying to hang on to the control that he was pulling from her grasp. But she looked up, confident, and he could see that she was still holding her own. Alana Carter was a formidable opponent. A coldness came over her eyes. “Let’s get this straight, Michael. I might run an erotic club, which my partners may have hired you for, but my own sexual proclivities are none of your business. As for us , I’m your boss. You’re my employee. And I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, or what it is you’re trying to prove coming in here and swinging your big old dick around,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But there is no us .

“And as for you thinking you’re going to come in here and fluster me, throw me off guard, dominate me ,” she ground out, “whatever your goal is here, it isn’t going to work. Every single day, men come in here and think they’re going to have their way with me—in the boardroom, the job site, the bedroom—but every time I make sure to let them know just how wrong, how small , they are.” She drew her pink tongue over her top teeth. “And they never try again.”

“You sure about that?”

Alana’s laugh was humorless, and held an edge of malice. Although she was at least a foot shorter than him, she faced him. “Look at the set of balls on you,” she said, her voice a dangerous whisper. “You think you can stroll on in here and presume to run my club. I know a man who looks like you, carries himself like you is used to having women fall at your feet, ready to do whatever you want. But listen to me, buddy, I’m not like those women. I will break you down, piece by piece, and completely dismember you.” She jutted her chin in his direction. “And I’ll keep those big balls of yours in a jar in my Birkin bag.”

A slight shiver crawled up Michael’s spine. Impressed and a little frightened of the woman in front of him, he stepped back from her. “You’re good.”

“I know,” she said, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her face as she crossed her arms. “So, don’t think you’re going to beat me, or that I’ll give up control of my club that easily.” Her smile turned full, revealing straight white teeth behind ruby red lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And you want some advice before you go?” she asked. “I promise, it’ll make your day a little easier.”

“And what’s that?”

She leaned close so that their lips were only inches apart. He could taste her sweet breath. “The dry cleaning place closes at six,” she whispered. “You’d better leave now if you hope to make it.”

Michael looked at her, then at the tags he’d put on the desk. He wasn’t her errand boy, and that wasn’t how their business relationship was going to work. But when he saw the defiant set of her jaw, he knew it wasn’t a fight that he was going to win that day. He snatched up the tags in his fist. “Fine. Anything else?”

“No. See Cameron outside, he’ll call you a car.”

“I have a car.” Michael glared, and turned on his heel. Walking out, he looked over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he promised. It would be a new day to do battle with the woman in front of him. Even though she had the power to destroy him—so help him, God—he was looking forward to it. He’d never been a masochist, but when it came to Alana, he was certain that she could convince him. If he didn’t lower her resistance first, that is.

“Tomorrow. Bright and early,” she told him, an all-too-sweet smile adorning her cynical lips.

Michael vowed to revisit the conversation. Another time. Right now, he had some dry cleaning to pick up for the boss lady. If she thought she’d won the battle, however, she was sorely mistaken. He left her office, slamming the door behind him.

Alana may have won that round. But the war wasn’t over.

Alana stared at the closed door for a while before she was able to breathe again. And when she did, the air escaped her lungs in a quick rush. “Oh, fuck me,” she said aloud to her empty office. The words shot out, unabated, as they’d been on the tip of her tongue, and were the same words she’d almost found herself saying to Michael Paul, her newest employee. The man was arrogant, imposing, annoying, condescending, thought he could take her down, and he’d even had the nerve to try to manipulate her with sex. But what surprised Alana the most was that she also found him to be completely irresistible.

The heat returned to her cheeks, and it had nothing to do with her supposed medical issue, but with a pure, carnal desire for a man she knew could make her life extremely difficult. Save his cocky attitude— which was due for a serious adjustment —Michael would have been just her type. And when he’d grilled her on her sex life, which was completely inappropriate in a workplace setting, he’d absolutely nailed her, and what she liked.

Control. Power. They were the things that she carried with her throughout her life, and not solely in the bedroom. Alana held on to her business with a tight grip, and she wasn’t quite prepared to pass it over to some man she didn’t even know. Who thought he could stroll in and turn her life completely upside down.

But God. Just his presence had had an effect on her. Clenching her thighs together to alleviate the pressure that had built there, she took deep breaths until she was able to think about anything but him again. What had happened to her? One moment, she was sitting behind her desk, ready to send Michael Paul packing back to London. The next, the tall, dark Adonis had made her melt into a puddle on her chair.

Inhaling, she could still smell him—his spicy cologne, his essence. Even though he’d gone, he was still in her office. Like he’d invaded the place, and refused to leave. She had to find a way to get him out of her building, and the hell away from her, before she found herself underneath him.

ALANA RUBBED HER temples and rolled her neck. Another tension headache had taken up residence in the back of her brain, neck and shoulders. Her head pounded and she closed her eyes, trying to make the pain dissipate. She’d taken her pill—as prescribed—and a couple over-the-counter painkillers, but no amount of medication would make her feel better. When she felt like this, when the stress and tightness wouldn’t let up, she knew there was only one way to relax—sex.