Forbidden Boss (Nikki and Rome's Story) (Manhattan Billionaires)

20. Nikki

I’d never beento the Hamptons, so I didn’t know what to expect. When the helicopter landed on a lawn at the back of a five-acre estate, it took me a minute to realize that the mansion and both other small guest houses were all part of the same property. A tennis court took up the entire backyard of one of the guest houses, lined with perfectly trimmed bushes and trees that had lost most of their leaves. The main mansion was right on the white sand beach, with the water and sky the same color of overcast gray.

This place would be spectacular in the summer and early fall.

As it was, there were tons of staff milling around to greet us, lots of guests already lounging on a covered porch with heat lamps, and more people inside the home. One of the lawns next to the mansion was set up with tables and fairy lights, and I guessed we’d be out there for a cocktail hour tonight.

“Raphael Garcia has exploded in the last few years. He just showed his fourth haute couture collection and is expanding into cosmetics.”

I nodded at Rome’s quiet words. “Hence the importance of the perfume launch.”

“We need to salvage the relationship this weekend. His feathers are ruffled, and by Monday I want him to feel confident we can deliver.”

“Roger,” I said, nodding.

A staff member led us to the grand entrance at the end of the drive, then swept open the front door just as Raphael Garcia came floating down the wide hallway toward us. He was a bald man with a perfectly trimmed beard and round glasses.

“Blakely!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms, gaze shifting to me. “And guest!”

I painted a smile on my lips, even though I felt a twinge in my chest. It was a good reminder of where exactly I stood, though. I was the placeholder, the plus-one. I was, “and guest.” Rome might ask me personal questions, and he might even kiss me in a dark room at the back of an event, but I didn’t belong here. I wasn’t one of these people, even in my vintage Balmain dress.

“Raph, this is Nikita,” Rome said, his hand sliding down my spine. Despite my mental reminder, the touch sent warmth spiraling through my core.

Raphael studied me. He was a tall man with sharp blue eyes that watched me from behind his round glasses. He wore a perfectly tailored button-down with a subtle embroidered pattern which was half-tucked at the front of his relaxed slacks. The look could have been sloppy but for the clear luxury of the fabrics and their perfect cut. He looked easy and relaxed and rich.

I felt like an impostor. Which wasn’t a great surprise since that’s exactly what I was. “Thank you for having us,” I said, widening my smile. “Your property is gorgeous.”

“Oh, this old place?” he said lightly, then he frowned at me. Well, more specifically, he frowned at my dress. I gulped and tried not to fidget. Had I misjudged? Should I have gone for easy and breezy? I went through the mental catalog of the clothing I’d brought and began frantically planning my outfits for the weekend.

Then Raphael rubbed his chin. “You,” he said, “have a point of view.”

His eyes rose to meet mine. I blinked. “Don’t we all?”

His expression turned wry. “Darling. Don’t be ridiculous.” Whirling, he called out, “Come! Let me give you a tour. Marcia! Where are the welcome drinks!”

Rome let out a slight breath, shooting me a quick glance. I thought I read approval there—or maybe it was relief. A lady appeared from a side room bearing a silver tray with three flutes of champagne. Raphael plucked two of them from her tray to give to us, then thanked her as he took the third.

“The cocktail hour will be at five o’clock tonight through that door,” he said, flicking his hand at a huge carved timber door to the left. “The library. The small salon. Dining room is through there. We’re doing casual breakfasts between seven and nine. Come down and serve yourself. Through there to the beach. Water’s a bit too rough to take the kayaks out, but it’s still nice to take in the fresh air once in a while. Sunroom. Billiards room. Upstairs!” He swept his arms out and guided us toward the dramatic staircase covered in rich red carpet.

The decor was a mix of mid-century modern pieces and a few timeless classics. It felt like they’d been here for ages, but the few modern art pieces told me that this place had been curated. I loved it. It was edgy and cool without verging into stiff and uncomfortable.

Compared to the overdone event spaces we’d seen and the stuffy estate owned by the Blakelys, this place was homey and wonderful. I found myself enjoying the glimpses I got, and I readjusted my opinion of Raphael Garcia from penis-perfume-bottle designer to someone who actually had great taste.

“Here we are,” he proclaimed, throwing open a set of double doors. “Your room.”

The three of us stepped into the space, and my stomach dropped. Raphael turned with a smile, sweeping his arm dramatically. I did my best to curl my lips and hide the dismay creeping through my chest.

It was a gorgeous room with high ceilings and ornate crown molding. Even from across the room, I could tell the view from the big bay window would be fantastic. I could see a slice of beach and the expanse of the ocean beyond. The furniture was timber and solid-looking, probably antique. The door to an attached bathroom gave me a view of the corner of a claw-foot tub and cute mint-green tiles.

That was all fantastic.

But there was a problem.

A big, fluffy, king-sized problem.

“I’ll leave you to it!” Raphael announced. “I think I just heard someone else arrive.”

He walked out again, and a member of staff nodded to us as she closed the doors. Our bags had already been carried up and unpacked in the walk-in closet, which I noticed in the quick glance I sent that way. Then my eyes returned to the main piece of furniture which was causing me significant distress.

Namely, the bed.

The one bed. That I’d have to share. With my boss. Whom I’d kissed just yesterday.

Rome cleared his throat. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

I blinked and glanced at him. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

He gave me a flat stare. “Judging by the look on your face, yes, it is.”

I reared back. “What look on my face?”

“The horror and dread.”

“Horror and dread!”

His lips twitched as he said, “It’s right there.”

“I’ll have you know I feel no horror or dread.”

“Do you not?” He turned to face me, and I made the mistake of retreating. Rome advanced, and then he was crowding me against the wall.

My breath quickened. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever this is.”

He paused, then stepped back and shook his head like he needed to clear it. “You’re right.”

“Maybe we should talk about last night.”

“What is there to talk about?”

I moved to peek into the closet, noting the plush seat and big vanity. It was an honest-to-goodness dressing room. This place was a dream. “We got carried away,” I said, running my fingers over the velvet hangers where my clothing already hung. Garcia’s staff moved fast. “We can pretend it didn’t happen and go back to being Rome Blakely and guest.”

He hummed. “Or…maybe we shouldn’t fight it.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Rome leaning against the dressing room doorjamb, watching me. I arched a brow. “We shouldn’t fight it?”

“We obviously have chemistry. Maybe this is something we should indulge.”

“Rome, you’re my boss. We have a contract. I’m here to make you look good. Adding sex to the equation is a terrible idea.”

Even though it was tempting. As he dangled the forbidden fruit before me, I considered it. Ever since we’d kissed, I’d felt off-kilter. I couldn’t think straight. I’d dreamed of him last night, looking at me with those dark-blue eyes while my fingers curled into his shoulders.

But it was a terrible idea.

He tilted his head in agreement. “Probably.”

I turned my back to him to explore the space. On top of the big, tufted ottoman in the center of the space was a tray with two bottles of water and some fancy snacks. When I glanced up, I met Rome’s eyes in the vanity mirror.

He hadn’t moved, but I felt his presence everywhere. My resolve was being chipped away, and the man was doing nothing but watching me.

As if he could read my mind, Rome pushed off the wall and approached. I stood in front of the vanity, watching him come nearer as my heart took off at a gallop.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said in a low voice.

“Uh-oh,” I replied. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Giving me a flat look, he came to stand directly behind me. His palms landed on the vanity on either side of me, the heat of him a bonfire at my back. “I’ve been thinking about what happened at the gala yesterday.”

His lips moved close to my neck, and it took all my self-control not to lean into him, to feel the press of his chest against my back. “What about the gala yesterday?”

“It’s been a long time since I felt that kind of spark with someone.”

My heart tripped over itself.

“Do you disagree?” His eyes met mine in the mirror.

My face gave me away. The wanting that coursed through my veins right now was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. One look caused my blood to heat. Now his nearness made it hard to focus on logic and reason.

But I clung to it anyway and said, “Just because we have a spark doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to get involved.”

His hands moved from the vanity to my hips, right above the flare of the peplum. “What if it’s a great idea? We’re supposed to be convincing everyone we’re together anyway.” His smile was wicked.

“I think you’re horny,” I said, slightly breathless at his closeness, “and that has made your brain malfunction.”

“Give me one good reason we shouldn’t fuck.” His hands moved up to my stomach, tracing the two rows of buttons on the front of my dress.

My pulse pounded, and I stopped resisting his pull. Leaning against him, I let my head fall against his shoulder. “We work together. Our contract explicitly states that no physical contact will occur between us.”

“Our contract states that no physical contact is required for you to complete your job duties.” His hands moved higher, tracing the undersides of my breasts. “It doesn’t say we can’t touch each other.”

My nipples tightened, but Rome kept his touch just beneath my breasts. I could feel his hardness against my ass, could read the desire in his gaze in the mirror. “You’re my boss,” I protested weakly.

“Last night,” Rome replied, his lips near my ear, “last night I was so hard I couldn’t think straight. The moment I got home I had my hand around my cock because of you.”

I closed my eyes. It was hard to think about anything except the feel of his broad hands on my body and the image of him losing control because of me.

I was nearly losing control myself. His hands stroked upward, over my breasts, and a shudder went through my body.

“You want me,” he cajoled. “Let me have you.”

Angling my face against his neck, I inhaled the scent of him. My whole body trembled. I’d never been seduced like this. It should have been a turn-off, but there was something addictive about being wanted by someone so badly he was ready to break all the rules for me.

In some far-off corner of my mind, I knew it was a very bad idea. He could fire me at any minute, and I’d be left with nothing but a few nice clothes and my banged-up pride. This wasn’t true love or even affection. This was convenience. I’d been hired as a placeholder, and he was treating me exactly like one.

I turned my head away, and the movement of his hands on my body stilled.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

His palms slid down my sides to my hips. “Okay,” he said softly, then took his hands away. I was left in that beautiful dressing room surrounded by fantastic clothes and expensive furniture, breathing heavily, wondering how the hell I’d gotten myself in this position.