Yvonne Lindsay - Bedded By The Boss - The Boss's Demand / Something about the Boss... / Beguiling the Boss

“I’ll take them.” Sara, lifted the heavy basket by its handles. She looked at Elan for instructions.

“On the desk.”

She lowered the basket and put it right on top of the scattered papers as he’d indicated. He picked up one of the vials.

“Thank you, Dora.” Elan dismissed her with a nod. She exited with a slight smirk on her face that made Sara’s insides twist with affront. Could Dora see into her mind? Know she was tempted down the same path to self-destruction that had tripped up so many women before her?

“Do you know what this is?” He swirled it and the dark liquid clung to the sides of the glass, viscous, slightly metallic.

“Oil?”

“Yes. The reason we’re all here.” He watched the liquid settle back down into the bottom of the vial. “Black gold.”

He removed the lid and lifted the vial to his nostrils. He held it under his nose for a moment, then let out a little grunt of satisfaction. “I never grow tired of this smell.” He rose and moved around the desk toward her. “Have you ever handled crude oil?”

“Can’t say I have,” said Sara. Awareness of his physical presence made her palms tingle.

Elan dipped one of his long fingers into the neck of the jar, plunged it into the thin, black liquid and withdrew it. “Here.” He extended his finger under her nose, invited her to sample its bouquet. She wrinkled her nose and suppressed a sudden urge to laugh. The strong crude-oil smell assaulted her senses, a little intoxicating.

Elan lifted his finger to his own nose. On errant impulse, she reached up and pushed his finger gently, so the oil smudged on his upper lip. She’d touched him! She drew her hand back, horrified, her finger quivering. He looked at her in astonishment.

A roiling mass of emotions bubbled up into laughter. “You look like Charlie Chaplin.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, and her stomach tightened.

“Perhaps I’m his famous character, the Great Dictator?”

A glint of humor sparked in his eyes and his mouth threatened to curve into a smile. The idea of Elan smiling caused a strange sensation deep in her belly, and she groped mentally for a quick comeback.

“You’re a benevolent dictator.” She gave him a mocking salute and, slowly, a grin lit his face like the sun bursting out above the horizon.

“I consider that a compliment.” The sensual curve of his lips revealed rows of perfectly straight white teeth. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he studied her. The warmth of his smile and the intensity of his gaze combined to seriously undermine her sanity.

“Let me get a tissue for you.”

She retrieved one from the box on his desk and raised it to wipe the black smudge from his upper lip. Her fingertips brushed against the skin of his cheek—not rough, yet not soft, either—as she pressed the tissue to his mouth. For a moment she thought she might close her eyes in shameful bliss at finally fulfilling her fantasies of touching Elan.

She bit her lip hard, tried to distract herself from the unsettling physical sensations coursing through her body.

He watched her curiously as she wiped the oil from his lip. It didn’t come off particularly easily and she managed to accidentally smudge more of it on his cheek with the dirty tissue.

“Hold on, let me get another.” Her heart pounded as she got to touch him again, cleaning the last trace from the crease of his smile.

Deliberate throat-clearing drew their attention as Dora reentered with a second tray of samples. Her face twisted into an expression of amusement concealed with considerable effort. Sara realized it might well look as if she was wiping her own lipstick from the lips and cheek of her boss.

What a thought .

She shoved the oily tissue into her pocket and snatched the second tray of samples. She half expected Elan to make it brusquely clear that nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. But he stood, languid in the center of the room, challenging his employee to make what she would of the scene.

Sara made a fuss of rearranging the papers on the desk to make room for the second basket. “Thank you, Dora.” The woman nodded and turned for the door, lips primly pressed together.

The door closed behind Dora. Sara turned to Elan and saw a smile glittering in his eyes.

“She believes we were kissing,” he said. The throaty rumble of his voice, and the suggestion in his words, made her body tremble slightly. She was perilously close to the edge of the cliff.

“No danger of that,” she replied quickly. “Would you like a tissue to clean your finger?”

“Thanks.”

She retrieved the tissue, but as she went to hand it to him he merely extended his finger. His gaze met hers and she read a challenge in it.

She wrapped the tissue around his finger, then took hold of his wrist in her other hand to hold it steady. Currents of dangerous energy snaked up her arm from where her fingers circled around his pulse point.

She wiped until his finger was clean, but she was reluctant to let go. Touching Elan was a sweet thrill she wanted to prolong. She dabbed at his skin again as the fingers of her other hand curved under his to support the firm flesh of his palm.

Stop it, Sara! You’re playing with fire. Flammable liquids and flammable emotions are not a good combination .

She pulled her hands away and threw the tissues into the wastebasket. Elan remained silent and she sneaked a glance at him. He watched her with an odd expression in his dark eyes.

“I’ll read your speech at my desk,” she said, gathering the scattered papers. He nodded. She hurried out of the room and closed the door softly behind her, her heart hammering and her mind whirling.

Wanting Elan was taboo. Touching him forbidden. He was unavailable, off-limits. They had a contract, clearly stated. So why was it so easy to imagine his warm breath on her throat, the pressure of his palms on the curve of her waist?

She had a career to build and she wanted to take on more responsibilities. She wanted more influence in the company, and she knew it was hers for the taking.

And she wanted Elan.

The two impulses were opposing, one canceled out the other. To act on her feelings for her boss would be to end her career at this company. That had been made perfectly plain to her on her first day at the job.

She was still on trial.

One week down, three to go.

“What on earth is this?” Elan looked at her, one eyebrow raised in astonishment as he surveyed the expensive new black leather bump on his chair.

“A lumbar support cushion. It helps to keep your back in a comfortable position. I notice you stretch your spine a lot and I thought this might help prevent it getting kinked up in the first place.”

Because frankly, I can’t watch you stretch and flex like that even one more time and keep the last shreds of my tattered sanity .

He reached out and prodded it with his long, powerful fingers as if it might have a life of its own. “Hmph.”

“It’s on trial. It goes back if you don’t like it. I didn’t file the expense report yet.” She turned and took the watering can to the row of shiny, dark green plants she’d bought to soften the austere atmosphere of his office.

She hadn’t expected him to be thrilled. Surprise and confusion were the emotions she seemed to conjure in Elan with her little extracurricular gestures, though he did a fair job of hiding it.

Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d spent half her Saturday at the gadget store looking at products designed to ease executive stress. She had other ideas for things he might like, but she didn’t want to overdo it.

She heard him settle into the leather chair and couldn’t resist turning around to catch his reaction. She was annoyed to find herself pathetically hoping to see him smile. He approached the day with grim determination that only tickled her irrational instinct to say or do something totally inappropriate—so she could watch his stony facade crack and catch a glimpse of what lay beneath.