Maisey Yates - Mistresses - After Hours With The Boss - Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation

Yes, that put a woman off dating for a while.

As a result, she wasn’t great at handling men. Unless they were more like buddies. And Dante didn’t feel like a buddy. Not even a little.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“As for the parent interview …” He neatly sidestepped the moment.

“What about it?”

“I don’t see how it will be a problem.”

“You may have to grow a personality between now and then.”

“And you may want to tone yours down.”

“Why because a fun-loving, smiley person might not make a good parent? Do I need to be a bit more dour?”

“Are you calling me … dour?” he asked.

“If the scowl fits.”

“You’re going to have to keep yourself from taking shots at me in the presence of the social worker. Actually, you should probably keep yourself from taking shots at me because I’m your boss.”

She bit her lower lip. “Yeah. Okay, that could be …”

“And don’t bite your lip like that.” He leaned forward and extended his hand, putting his thumb on her chin, just beneath her mouth.

She slowly released her hold on her lip, her heart pounding heavily, butterflies taking flight in her stomach and crashing around, making her insides feel jittery.

She could only stare at him, at his incredibly handsome face, his dark, compelling eyes.

“I’ll try not to,” she said, not sure why she agreed with him. She should be annoyed that he was being so dictatorial, and yet she found she wasn’t. But that could be because he was touching her, and men didn’t make a habit of touching her.

It didn’t mean she didn’t want them to. It just hadn’t really happened for her for many and varied reasons. A huge reason being she was too afraid to let a moment like that happen. Because she was afraid to acknowledge she wanted it, for fear of it all being a joke again.

“Good. You’re also going to have to work on not blushing like a schoolgirl every time I get near you.”

“I don’t blush.” She could feel the heat creeping into her face, calling her bluff.

“You blush more than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m very pale. It’s hard to hide when you have no pigment to disguise it.”

“I imagine,” he said. “Even so, if we were truly engaged we would be well past the point where I could make you blush with just the casual brush of my hands. Unless…” he said, rounding the desk, coming to stand near her. “Unless you were thinking of all the things my hands have done for you.”

His voice changed, became rougher, more ragged. Something in his expression changed, too. Hardened. Never, ever, ever had a man looked at her like that before. Not even close.

She wanted to say something to defuse the tension. Something funny, or random, something to break the spell. But she couldn’t. A part of her didn’t want to. She wanted to stand there, and have Dante Romani look at her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. She wanted to get closer to him, see if he was as hot as he looked. To see if the fire smoldering in his eyes would burn her.

“I … suppose that could be a possibility.” She looked down, trying to catch her breath. But her eyes connected with his hands, and that did not help her regulate her breathing. “Subtext, right? Like when you’re acting? You make sure that even your thoughts match those of your character. And … stuff.”

“Something like that,” he said.

Of course to really have good subtext she would have to know exactly what he could do with his hands, and frankly, some of that information was a little hazy for her. And she was in no position to change it. Not now, not with him. And, given that she was going to be single mother of a small child for quite a few years, maybe not anytime soon.

That had never really been her plan. But she’d been too afraid to put herself out there after the way she’d been treated. Too afraid of rejection.

Dante picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Trevor, I need you to hire some movers. Send them to Paige’s apartment. The address is on file. Personal items only, no furniture, all of the baby supplies. It needs to be done by the end of the day.” He hit the end button on the phone and put it back in the holder on his desk.

“Did you just … evict me?”

“You’ll keep the apartment, for later. I assume that’s the place you’ll go back to.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll need my home. But what’s going to happen with it in the meantime?”

“There’s no reason to do anything with the apartment. I can handle the rent for you for the duration of your stay at my home.”

“I pay the rent. I’m not having trouble with the rent—there’s no reason for you to pay it for me!”

He shrugged. “But I can, so I don’t see why it’s an issue.”

“Because I can,” she said.

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“Me? You’re telling me not to be stubborn? That is funny, Dante, real funny.”

“This ruse really ought to be easy. In fact, they may assume we’ve been married for twenty years given the way you argue with me.”

“I argue with you? Hmph.”

“Yes, you do. Just like that.”

“Well, I’m annoyed with you.”

“Then you had better get un-annoyed, cara . Remember, this whole thing is of your making. I never would have sought you out.” His words made her flinch internally. “I will take advantage of the situation, yes, but I would not have sought you out. You’re completely unsuitable, obviously, and if I had felt the need for a wife pressing I would have one already.”

Stupidly, a little pang of hurt hit her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her, making her eyes sting. “I’m … unsuitable? Wh-why?”

She shouldn’t have asked why. Not when she really didn’t want to hear it all.

“Am I suitable to you?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“No,” she said. “No, you’re rude. And obnoxious. And you don’t know how to laugh.”

He took a step toward her, his dark eyes intent on hers. “And you are disorganized and scattered.”

“I must not be too bad since you keep me on here. Clearly I know how to do my job.”

“As do hundreds of my employees, but that does not mean they would make a good spouse for me.”

She took a step toward him, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “I’m sure they feel the same way about you.”

He reached out his hand and took a lock of her hair, her pink hair, between his thumb and forefinger. “I would clearly never become involved with a woman who has pink hair.”

She leaned in, up on her tiptoes, trying to make herself eye level with him. “And I would never become involved with a man who’s more starched than his shirt collar.”

He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her up against his hard body. She squeaked as her breasts came up against the muscular wall of his chest. “You think I’m too serious, is that it?” She nodded mutely, no words coming to her. “That I don’t know how to have fun.” His fingers flexed against her back, sending little pops of sensation from the point of contact all throughout her body.

“Yes,” she managed, heat flooding her.

He dipped his head so that his lips were nearly touching her cheek, his breath hot on her skin. “I think I might surprise you.”

She was trembling, actually trembling, and in danger of having a knee-buckling experience. No man had ever held her like this before. With such purpose, with such strength. No man had ever made her feel so wanted. No man had ever made her want to arch against him, press her breasts harder into his body.