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  10

  Dominic

  Three weeks later, I know it’s not going to work. Half-in, half-out like this. The more time I spend with her, the more it’s just clear.

  I’m in the back of the limo on the way to the office. Lucy is still in bed back at my place. She’s spending more nights at my place now than her own apartment. But even though it’s great, I’m not getting much sleep. Not just because I can’t keep my hands off her longer than an hour. I don’t think she can tell, but when we aren’t tangled up, all I do is stare at the ceiling.

  Just after dawn on Saturday and I can’t stay in bed. Lucy’s head is tucked into my chest when I ease out from under her and pull on some clothes. I don’t want to wake her, so I scribble a note and duck out.

  Lucy got word that a new job will be hers the moment she wants it. The news didn’t bring the relief I was expecting. Having her as my assistant is distracting in the extreme, but the idea of not having her with me every day anymore just makes me hate life.

  She seems happy though. Which bugs me even more.

  All my doubts about Lucy are almost gone. No matter how much I thought I cared about Nicole, the truth is it never felt with her the way I feel with Lucy. If I’m honest, it hurt more to lose Jake as a friend than the slow death of that rocky relationship.

  But things with Lucy? Calm. Right. I want to take her places, try things with her. The boardrooms and the negotiations and all the work of Breson Company still make me happy, but there’s a part of me that knows I haven’t really lived in years. Everything I wanted to do, I’ve done. Everything I wanted to prove, put to rest. But Lucy had me pegged at dinner all those weeks ago: I play golf, I travel for work, I go to the gym every day. I haven’t done anything else—haven’t wanted to—until the day Lucy Warner spilled coffee all over my desk and then proceeded to turn the rest of my life upside down.

  And now she’s leaving.

  I’m so lost in thought when my cell phone rings, I don’t realize I’m squeezing the thing like I’m trying to break it. I answer without looking at the screen. It must be Lucy.

  “I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

  “People my age are always up early, Dominic,” the voice bellows into the phone.

  “Mrs. Talbot?”

  “Don’t you Mrs. Talbot me, young man.” She’s shouting over the sound of ocean surf in the background. “You have quite a bit of explaining to do.”

  My heart lifts to hear her voice, whatever the reason she’s calling.

  “Don’t you have better things to do in retirement than call to chastise me? What have I done this time?”

  “Not what. Who,” she says, archly. The line clears of all the background noise, and I hear what sounds like a sliding door closing. “Just how long did you think you’d get away with romancing my niece before I found out about it?”

  “Your… I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”

  “Lucy. My niece, Lucy! Don’t you pretend innocence with me. I told you to be nice to her, not to make her the talk of the office.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re Aunt Cece?”

  It takes an entire morning of phone calls–and another emergency chat with Roberta–before all the arrangements are made. I have the packages sent ahead, and then I call Lucy to ask her to be ready and waiting downstairs when I finally get back to my apartment.

  The car pulls up to my building, and then there she is, her cheeks pink and glowing in the chilly November air. She falls into my arms the moment she climbs in, nuzzling against me to warm up. Things get quite a few degrees hotter, before she pulls back and asks where we’re going for lunch.

  “It’s a surprise,” I say, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

  “Mmm, a fun surprise?” she asks, tugging at the front of my belt.

  “Yes. But you might not want it.”

  Her eyes glitter. “Not likely.” She tries to lean in and kiss me again, but this time I hold her off.

  “No, no, we have something to talk about first.”

  The car slips out of the city and onto the freeway. Lucy looks out the window, then back to me, the mystery finally getting to her. “OK. What are we talking about?”

  “Nepotism. I got a call from Aunt Cece today.”

  I’ll always be able to read Lucy Warner by her blushes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Lucy winces and pulls back. She looks embarrassed and guilty. “I don’t know. At first it didn’t occur to me that she didn’t tell you herself. Then, later, when I thought you didn’t like me and I was sure you were going to fire me, I didn’t want you to think I was using my aunt as a way to hang on.”

  She’s right, of course. Aunt Cece, aside from being indignant this morning, said as much.

  I can feel Lucy’s eyes on me, imploring. “She really did look at dozens of candidates for you. She trusted me to step in when she left, to help you.”

  I take Lucy’s hand in mine. “She knew you were perfect for me.”

  Lucy rolls her eyes. “For the job, sure. I don’t think she was matchmaking.”

  “No, you’re wrong.” I reach into my coat pocket and pull out an envelope. Out the window, I can see signs for where we’re going, and Tom is changing lanes for the highway off-ramp.

  “Your Aunt Cece was all huffy about it when I pointed out she probably isn’t innocent of a little setup when it comes to us, but in this—as in most things—I think she had it right.” I hand the envelope over to Lucy.

  Before she can open it, I take her face in my hands. “You are perfect for me. Everything between us, everything you are and what we are together—all of it is perfect. For me. And now I just want it to be perfect for you, too.”

  I kiss her and then let go.

  Lucy presses her lips together and then looks down at the envelope. When she opens it, the airline ticket cards fall out in her lap. Lucy holds them up.

  “These are ticket to…” Lucy reads the destination, then her eyes fly wide. “…to Paris?”

  “For today, Lucy. For us.”

  Instead of happy, Lucy look distressed. “But, Dominic, your schedule. Work. And what about the job I just—“

  I pull her close, pressing my mouth to hers. I talk against her lips while I feel the car start to slow as we get closer to the airport.

  “Listen to me. Everything in my life for the last few years has been empty. It’s what I wanted, I’m not sorry. But I never intended to get sucked into my work so deep I don’t even know how to live anymore. But now I don’t have to. You know what Breson Company means to me. But you don’t know what you mean to me.”

  Lucy pulls back, tears in her eyes. “Dominic, you don’t have to do this for me. I don’t want you to think I—“

  “I don’t. But it’s not just about me. It’s you. You can’t work for me, but the job, all that other business, can wait. I can’t stand the idea I won’t see you every day. I want you in my life. I want to be in yours. Let me show you Paris, that place you’ve been dreaming about ever since you were a little girl. And then when we get back, I want you to move in with me.”

  Before she can answer, before she can think, I kiss her. Deeper, harder and with all the hope and fear that’s kept me up the last few nights.

  I let her pull back for air, but that’s it. My hands roam. I kiss her cheek, the sensitive crook of her neck. This is cheating—I know what happens to Lucy’s body when I touch her—but I can’t help but press every advantage.

  Lucy’s eyes are closed, a smile playing on her lips. “The tickets are for today?”

  “Today. Now.”

  “But…what about luggage?”

  I trail my lips down her neck to the swell of her cleavage. I tug at the fabric of her button blouse with my teeth. “Bags are waiting inside. I had Roberta put everything together and send it ahead. Anything else we need, we’ll get there.” I press her breasts together and rain kisses down. I can feel her hard, sensitive nipples through her clo
thes.

  I can also feel the car slowing as Tom pulls the limo to the departures curb.

  I bring my mouth back to hers and dip my tongue in once, twice. Lucy is pressed so close into me, every part of her responding, opening. I’m tempted to take her right here.

  But we have a plane to catch.

  The car pulls to a stop and we straighten up. The partition is closed, but I can see Tom step out of the driver’s seat and walk back to open the door for us. When he does, I step out and turn to Lucy, offering my hand.

  “What will it be, Miss Warner?”

  Lucy hesitates. It’s only for a second, but that moment, I look into her eyes and my heart feels like it might stop.

  And then Lucy smiles. That radiant, beautiful smile that lit up my life when I saw it the first time.

  And just as she takes my hand, she bites her lip.

  Epilogue

  Dominic

  “You said you wanted to see the Eiffel tower one more time. There it is.”

  “Bad joke. Terrible. Awful. Very bad joke.”

  Lucy’s on her back in our hotel suite. And I’m in Lucy. She chastises me, another disapproving word each time I pump into her. But the way her eyes are closed, her head thrown back, her nails clawing into me, I don’t think she means it. Not really.

  When I feel that sweet core of her grow warm and slick as honey, I know what it means. That and the flush of her cheeks and high, keening moans. In a flash, I drag her up with me as I rest back on my knees, and she rides it out to the finish. Every time she comes, her cries are loud and sharp just before she buries her face in my chest, all of her shuddering and shaking in my arms.

  My turn. Letting her fall back into the mountain of hotel pillows, I drag one of her knees up until her leg is propped high on my hip and I can sink even deeper and harder into her, the strokes deep and fast each time.

  And then I’m coming inside her and it’s like art. A thing of beauty all on its own.

  We’ve spent days this way, in and out of bed. Wandering the streets of Paris, drunk on food, wine and each other. She enjoys the museums, but it’s the outdoor squares and cafés she loves best. Lucy is a military history buff, of all things, and she knows more about the Revolution and Napoleonic history than even our guides. We spend hours talking and people watching.

  Our mid-days and twilight evenings belong to Paris. Mornings and late nights are mine. I’ve had her in this bed for hours, true, but there are more than a handful of doorways, carriages, hidden alleys and even one dark museum corner, where I’ve helped myself to her mouth or body, and she to mine.

  And it’s still not enough. After the sweat cools and my heartbeat returns to a resting pace, I still can’t keep my hands from wandering. Still on top of her, I try to push to the side to keep from crushing her, but even my legs are weak. I know I’m heavy, but she seems to love it, her fingers pushing lazily into my hair.

  “Are we really moving in together? You’re not sick of me yet?”

  I snort and flop onto my back. “You can’t work for me. So you can live with me. Done deal.”

  Our legs twist in the sheets as we switch places, and Lucy rests her head on my chest. A spot we have both come to understand is all hers.

  I’m at the edge of sleep, when I hear the tiniest, softest whisper.

  “I love you.”

  I think I might have imagined it, when I feel her duck her face against me. I don’t have to see it to know my girl is all red.

  Pulling her up high in my arms, I press my mouth to hers. Our ritual. The way we talk.

  “Say it again,” I command gently, the words against her mouth.

  She closes her eyes and smiles, though I can feel her shake. “For a guy who’s not my boss anymore, you sure are bossy.”

  I kiss her nose, her cheek, the happy spot on her forehead. Her beautiful lips.

  “Say it again, Lucy.”

  “I love you. Dominic. I love you.”

  Without hesitating, I hook her leg up onto my hip and press into her, feeling her open every part of herself to me, and me to her.

  “I love you, too.”

  The end.

  If you want to read what happens 6 months later, sign up to my newsletter for bonus pages.

  Hungry Boss

  Copyright © 2017 by Luke Steel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  1

  Nate

  Wind from an approaching storm whips through my hair and tugs at my tie. City lights reflect off the underbelly of the rolling gray clouds. The driver I’ve hired fishes my leather duffel and laptop bag from the trunk of the gleaming Benz.

  “Is there anything else you need tonight, sir?”

  “8:15 tomorrow morning. I need to be at East Pike Street, just past the interstate, by 8:45.” I slide him a twenty and dismiss him with a nod.

  “Yes sir. That’s much less than a thirty minute drive.”

  “Not what I asked. 8:15, thank you.”

  “See you at 8:15 sharp. Welcome to Seattle.”

  Instead of answering, I text my assistant, Marge. I need her to make apologies for missing tonight’s dinner by sending a foodie gift basket to the break room at SocialTech.

  I’m pissed. Fussy investors made a morning meeting run long, so my private jet got in the air late. Then we circled over Seattle for an hour waiting for the go ahead to land. An hour, for a two-hour flight. Another half hour in traffic that moved like sludge.

  I flick a glance up the mirrored glass of the luxury hotel as I walk inside to check in. The marble and brushed steel lobby is deserted except for a bedraggled pair of middle-aged tourists. The elevator shoots me up to the top floor, where I change into jeans and a T-shirt and pull out my laptop. My phone pings with another batch of documents from Marge that need review and approval. I swear, she would wade through floodwaters to reach me with a pen and signature page.

  Me: Go home, Marge.

  Mags: Sure thing, boss.

  I need a damn drink. A helpful note points me to the bouquet of tiny bottles, and I empty a splash of bourbon into a tumbler. I look out the window at the Space Needle as I savor the smoky burn. Then I open my laptop and read Marge’s email. She’s also included revised projections for tomorrow’s negotiations. This is vital, and I need everyone present to have copies. It’s too late to send and be sure they’ll see it. She shipped everything else I’ll need tomorrow here to the hotel, but I’ll need to replace this page. The hotel allows for remote printing, but I’ll have to retrieve it and assemble the packets. Fuck me. Forget traveling light. Next time I present a buyout offer, I’m bringing a fleet of assistants.

  After poking around in my computer’s settings until I’m ready to throw the laptop against the wall, I find the right network to send my documents to the first floor business center. When everything looks good, I upend another tiny bottle of Maker’s Mark into my mouth, grab my wallet and key card, and let the door slam behind me.

  The night clerk sweeps a slow glance over me as I pass through the lobby. I don’t acknowledge her, but I like knowing she’d be up for it if I made a play. That thrill of control helps shift my world back toward balance after a shitty day. The business center is nestled in a corner behind frosted glass walls. When I open the door, a hint of perfume teases me. It’s earthy and sweet, and my balls tighten. Damn, I need to get laid.

  Yellow lights spill over a bank of computers against the far wall. An
other room opens off the left, populated with plush chairs and an unwieldy wooden conference table. And a fine-looking ass in a gray business skirt is leaning over a table by the printer. The woman straightens and turns at the sound of the door. Her breasts strain against her crisp white blouse. Wavy brown hair brushes her shoulders. She’s freaking gorgeous, and she barely glances my way. Without a word, she turns back to her work, which apparently involves monopolizing the printer.

  Just to see how she’ll react, I step too close and lean in. I’m worse off than I thought, because I want this woman and I’ve barely seen her. Maybe I don’t need to see more than that ass to know what’s good for me.

  “Do you think you’ll be done soon?”

  “I’ve got one more document in the queue.” She edges aside but doesn’t look. “Yours should print then.”

  She shuffles some piles of documents around, occasionally pausing to tuck her hair behind an ear. I lean back against another table and appreciate the curve of her waist. Her hips where the sensible skirt bunches, begging to be pushed up. A pair of beige heels is tucked under the table, and even her feet are sexy. The shiny red polish on her toes hints at passion. She’s all business except those toes. They were made for sucking.

  Only because I’m staring, I see her spine straighten. I bet she feels me watching. Sure enough, she faces me.

  There. When our eyes meet, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, and then lower.

  He face is all strong lines and a hint of stubbornness in the jaw. Heat flares in her warm brown eyes. She checks me out, and her gaze lingers on the front of my jeans. My cock swells in response. The hint of red under her collar says she likes what she sees. She sucks her plump bottom lip in, and then lets it pop back out. I imagine it between my teeth.

  “You have nothing better to do than stare at my ass?” Her voice is smoky and rough, but I can hear a hint of laughter behind it.

  I shrug. “You’re welcome to move aside and let my documents print first. Or I can stay here and enjoy the view.”

  “Take your time,” she says. “It’s a nice view.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  Her tailored blouse is open at the throat, showing a hint of soft, golden skin. I like a woman who knows what she’s worth. My pulse quickens in the silence that falls. She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up enticingly. Her stare is so direct it almost unnerves me. The challenge in her eyes makes me even harder.