Kate Carlisle - How to Seduce a Billionaire

He blamed it on Kelly.

The fact was, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not in a sexual way, he hastened to tell himself, despite the vivid memory of her warm mouth and sweet tongue and an explicit picture of exactly what he’d like to do with. but he wasn’t going to go there. No way. Not with Kelly. Not in this lifetime.

In the first place, she worked for him. How big a fool would he be if he jeopardized his working relationship with the best assistant he’d ever had? And even if he was willing to overlook that little fact, Kelly just wasn’t his type. She wasn’t sophisticated and worldly like the women he usually dated. She wasn’t the kind of woman Brandon would ever think of calling on the spur of the moment for a night on the town, followed by a rousing round of sex, followed by no commitment to call again.

No, Kelly was more like the girl next door, the one who was meant to find a nice guy and get married. As far as Brandon was concerned, she might as well have worn a banner that said Hands Off. And he would be wise to heed that invisible warning.

He’d had some pretty awful role models early in his childhood, before Sally Duke adopted him. He’d seen all the ways people could hurt each other in the name of love and marriage, so he wasn’t about to go that route. With that in mind, he had decided not to touch Kelly again.

But she’d looked so pensive and uncertain when he’d left the office earlier this evening. He’d never seen Kelly less than one hundred percent confident in herself and her abilities, so this change in attitude worried him.

And then there was that kiss. Which he wasn’t going to think about again, damn it.

So why was he standing here at her door, holding a bottle of wine? Oh, yeah.

“We need to talk,” he repeated. He’d used the same stupid line in the office much earlier today. It sounded somehow lamer now, even if it was the truth. When she stepped aside, he strolled into her mini-suite. “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”

“No, I’m finished,” she said, and rushed to dispose of the remnants.

He held out the bottle of wine, a Duke Vineyards pinot noir. “Will you have a glass of this if I open it?”

She stared at the bottle, then up at him. “Sure. I’ll find an opener.”

He could tell she was nervous as she rattled around in one of the kitchen drawers. And why shouldn’t she be? It wasn’t every day a woman kissed her employer. And it wasn’t every night that said employer showed up at her hotel room carrying a bottle of wine. He just hoped she wouldn’t get the wrong idea. All he wanted to do was clear the air so their working relationship could go back to being as exceptional as it had been before the kiss. It was a simple problem and it wouldn’t take him long to explain his feelings, but he had to admit that a quick glass of wine would probably help them both relax.

“Here you go,” she said, and handed him a corkscrew.

“Glasses?”

“Oh.” She swallowed anxiously. “Right.”

As he worked to remove the cork, he took a moment to study his longtime assistant—and wondered how he’d ever thought he’d be able to relax in her hotel room.

She wore cutoff shorts and a T-shirt, an outfit that a jury of his peers would consider thoroughly appropriate for spending a balmy night alone in her room. But as she reached for the wineglasses on the second shelf of the cupboard, he watched her T-shirt inch up to reveal the leanness of her stomach. On her tiptoes now, her shorts stretched just enough to show the soft, pale skin above her tan line where the curve of her bottom met her perfectly toned thighs.

“Here you go,” she said, placing two glasses on the counter.

Brandon let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thanks.” He took his time pouring wine into the glasses and handed her one. “Kelly, I—”

“Look, Brandon—”

“Sorry. What were you going to say?”

She blinked, then said in a rush, “No, you go first.”

“Fine. I just think—”

“Okay, I’ll go first.” She glanced briefly toward the ceiling as if she were looking for guidance from above. Brandon watched her chest move up and down as she inhaled, then exhaled. She was clearly edgy. She picked up her wineglass and took a gulp, paced a few steps back and forth across the small kitchen, then stopped and met his gaze, her face a mask of regret.

“I want to apologize for the way I behaved today,” she said. “I don’t know what got into me. I’ve been going crazy ever since I learned that Roger would be coming here and I guess I… I lost my head. I’m mortified about what happened. I just hope you’ll accept my apology and trust that it’ll never happen again.”

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