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

And most especially, no man had made her want to kiss him while she was angry at him.

But here she was, quivering with the need to touch Dante, even while thinking murderous thoughts about him and his autocratic behavior.

Dante released her suddenly and she stumbled back, trying hard to catch her breath. She looked at him, searched his face for some sign of what he was thinking. To try to figure out if he was as affected, as shaken, as she was.

But he wasn’t. He was just standing there, his hair smooth, his suit crisp, as though he had never taken her into his arms. As though he hadn’t just held her so close she could feel his heart beating, hard and heavy against her chest.

“You had better figure out a way to forgive me,” he said. And that was when she realized that he was affected. Because he might look as smooth as ever, but his voice was rough, his shredded control evident in each word he spoke. “Because at the end of the day, you’re coming home with me.”

DANTE’S home was his most prized possession. The lawn was immaculate, cut perfectly and kept in top condition by his team of groundskeepers.

The house itself was a triumph of architecture. Clean lines, an open design, windows that made the most of the ocean view. The interior was white, the carpets, the walls, the furniture. Evidence of how orderly it was.

Evidence of the control he now held over his life.

And as Paige, with her glittery high heels, walked over the threshold, carrying a bright-eyed baby girl with drool running down her chin, he felt a pang of absolute dread hit him in the gut.

There was nothing orderly about either of them, and he could feel the hard-won control of his surroundings slipping away from him.

“This is …” Paige looked around, her mouth open, her blue eyes round. “This is incredible. Gorgeous. I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I had it built five years ago, shortly after the control of Colson’s passed to me.”

“I’m thinking the social worker will like this place better than she liked mine.”

“Probably,” he said, thinking of her cluttered little apartment. “I apologize for my lack of boxed wine. I suppose something from the cellar with have to do.”

“Now, now, nobody likes a show-off.”

“That depends on what they’re being shown.”

“Heh. No, it depends on how much money and power the show-off possesses, and then the person will pretend to be suitably impressed based on how much they figure ingratiating themselves will help them out.”

“So you think my admirers are merely out to use me for my wealth and fame?”

She shrugged. “Not so far-fetched, is it?”

“You’re not very good for my ego, Paige, as you seem to think no one would suffer my company without heavy compensation.”

“That’s not what I meant. Oh … pfft. I like your house—that’s the important thing right now.”

“I assume the location of your bedrooms are important, as well?”

“Bedrooms?”

“Ana will have a nursery. I called my housekeeper earlier and ensured that all of her things have been put in there.”

“A nursery?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Did you think I would cram you both in the basement to keep you out of the way?”

“Well, I didn’t know. I didn’t … We really need to discuss this more.”

“I agree, which is why we’re having dinner together later.”

“Oh.”

“Here, so you don’t need to worry about a babysitter. Now come with me.” He started up the stairs and down the hall. He could hear Paige’s footsteps behind him, slow and methodical. He turned and saw that she was practically getting whiplash. “What is it?”

“Your art!” she said.

“What about it?”

“It’s so beautiful. And it really stands out in the white space. You have fabulous taste.”

“Fabulous? Rarely am I accused of being fabulous.”

“Well, in this instance, you are. I’m going to have to take the time to study it all later.”

“So, you like art?”

She smiled and her entire face brightened, her blue eyes glittering. “Love it. I’m not just into dressing windows. I paint, too. Well, I started with painting. And some sculpture. It was about the only thing that held my attention in school. Unfortunately, one cannot graduate with art credits alone.”

“I would guess not.” The enthusiasm she felt for the subject, for the paintings—paintings he hardly looked at anymore—was fascinating. She was so different than most of the people he knew. She was open. She wore her passion all over her, for anyone to read. Not just her passion, her anger, her happiness. Everything was just laid bare with her.

And she evoked something in him. Emotions, things he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember. As a result, he’d made a mistake in his office earlier, and he didn’t make mistakes.

But she’d been standing there, all challenge and fire, angry as hell. And she’d made him angry. More than that, she’d tempted him. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from walking forward, from wrapping his arm around her and drawing her body against his.

She challenged him. No one challenged him. But she did. And she picked at his control, pushing and pushing until he’d been unable to do anything but push back.

He didn’t like it. Emotion was destructive. Painful. But he wouldn’t give in to it. What he hadn’t lost the day his mother died had been drained from him over the course of eight years in foster care.

Now, he doubted there was even enough in him to cause problems, even if he wanted it to. No, what had come over him in his office was lust. Pure and simple. Normally, that wasn’t a problem for him, but he was only a man, so it wasn’t too surprising.

Paige had the added benefit of being forbidden fruit, another thing that had never appealed to him before, but he could certainly understand why it might.

“Ana’s room is here,” he said, redirecting his thoughts, indicating a door on the left. As he pushed it open, a strange flash of anxiety ran through him. It was unfamiliar. Completely different than it had been that morning when he’d left for work. It gave him a strange sense of being back in his childhood. Opening the door to a new bedroom for the first time, seeing what was there.

Whether it would be spare, or crowded. Clean or dirty. Nothing that belonged to him.

The space that had been organized for Ana was immaculate.

Plain white walls and a double bed had been replaced with an ornate, dark wood crib with pink bedding and a mobile hanging over it. There was a rocking chair, a matching dresser and a closet filled with pink clothes.

“Oh.” Behind him Paige made a little noise. Then she brushed past him and into the room. “Ana, look. It’s your very own room.”

His chest seized up tight, his breath locking in his lungs. The light in Paige’s eyes as she presented Ana with a space that belonged to her was … he had never seen anything like it. All of Paige’s unruly enthusiasm was, in this moment, focused on her daughter.

How anyone could doubt that she would be a good mother was beyond him. It was hard for him to remember his birth mother, hard because thinking about her always dredged up other memories that he wanted to keep firmly locked behind a closed door in his mind.

Mary Colson, his adoptive mother, had been a firm and constant presence. Both she and Don had invested in him, into his education, into guiding him, putting him on a path that would lead to success. He was grateful to them, and their distant, tough sort of parenting had been ideal for him.

But for a moment, he wondered if anyone had ever looked at him the way Paige was looking at Ana.