Foreplay with the Boss: Billionaires of Boston

8. Kat

Asuccubus has invaded my body. It’s the only explanation because I certainly don’t say things about wearing lingerie to the office, not even as a joke. For one, it wouldn’t be funny. It’d be the stuff of embarrassing nightmares, and I hadn’t bought new lingerie in a while, and now I was thinking I should buy some, even though the only person who would ever see it was me.

Butifthere was achancethatJamesonwouldseeit…

No.Bad,brain.Guidelineswerejustmadeforthisveryreason.He’smyboss.Yes,he’shotasthefierydepthsofhell,andI’msurethesexwouldbejustasscorching,butwesocan’tgothere.

We as in me and the sex-starved succubus who’d possessed my body, of course.

I was also sex-starved, though. The fact of the matter was, I couldn’t even tell my boyfriend of nine months that I wanted to experiment with rougher, more exciting sex back when I’d been trying to save our relationship. So while flirting with Jameson came more naturally than it ever had with anyone, I didn’t delude myself that my inner sex goddess—or demon, as it were—would be able to tell him exactly what I wanted.

WithJameson,Iprobablywouldn’thaveto. I thought of the tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his suitcoat, the broad shoulders, the powerful thighs, and the bulge I’d noticed this morning.

“Hey, did you get the email I sent?”

I jerked myself out of my naughty fantasies featuring the one guy I definitely couldn’t go there with and peered into the face of a guy so his opposite that it nearly gave my hormones whiplash. Rob made sure to flaunt his air of impatience, which made me pull up my inbox at the same speed nail polish dried. “Just got it.”

“I sent it last night.”

I almost let that go, but I was learning to be assertive, and this guy clearly didn’t respect me. Without a little respect and fear, he’d be just like the douchebag who was next in line for my dad’s position if I failed here, pompous and impossible to work with. “Well, I’ve been focusing on a different marketing plan this morning, so this is the first time I checked my email, which means Ijustgotit.” I added a syrupy smile. “I’ll look over it and let you know if I need anything else.”

He took a step away, and when I glanced down to see the email wasn’t a mockup but a report, I frowned. I hesitated again because surely he knew the deadline was looming, but then I pushed myself to make sure he did. And that he knew I did. I certainly didn’t want to explain to Jame—Stone why it wasn’t done yet, especially since it was the first thing he’d assigned to me. “Looks like that ‘anything else’ is sooner than expected. Thanks for the report, but how’s the redesign going? Are you on target to get me a mockup by this afternoon?”

Rob’s face twisted up in a scowl. “I know the deadline.”

I wasn’t going to let him off the hook with that non-answer, so I arched an eyebrow. “I’m going to need a better status report than that.”

His gaze drifted over my shoulder and then I felt Stone’s presence acutely, my neck prickling, heat pooling low in my stomach. I glanced back at him and the oxygen sucked out of the room.

Did he have to be so sexy, whether smiling or stern or looking at me with what I swore was a hint of pride?

Maybehe’llrewardmeforbeingsuchagoodpupil. I crossed my legs, trying to curb the ache blooming between my thighs.

“I’ll get you a mockup by three,” Rob said.

“Looks like Katrina’s got this covered. Don’t bother CC’ing me. Katrina can give me highlights until you’ve sent her something she approves.”

Rob didn’t dare argue with him. Just a simple “Yes, sir” and he was gone.

Stone came over and sat on the edge of my desk. “That was better. You’re learning to speak your mind and be firmer with the employees—maybe I’m not as special as I thought.”

Working to keep a calm, unaffected front, I said, “Well, I might’ve been listening to constructive criticism someone kind of special gave me yesterday after our meeting, even though I was also semi-annoyed by it.”

He leaned closer, and I crossed my legs tighter. “Kind of special?”

“Wouldn’t want you to get a big head.”

“Too late.” He tapped my desk. “You’re coming to lunch with me today, by the way.

That’s why I originally stepped out of my office—that and I’m in need of coffee.”

I tensed, offense winding through me and replacing the momentary skip of my heart over the thought of having lunch with him. There was learning, but being his glorified secretary with my degree and my experience ate at me, even as I told myself that I shouldn’t be above fetching coffee.

I might not be above “accidentally” dumping it on his lap, though.

“Relax, I’m not asking you to get me coffee,” he said, way too much amusement in the curve of his mouth. “I was only informing you of our lunch plans on my way to get it myself. If I don’t move around a little at work, I’ll end up with a trucker gut.”

My gaze dipped to his taught abdomen, the peek of his crisp white shirt making it clear he didn’t have a gut. “If you get that body from long walks to get coffee, I’m going to have to try it out. I’ve been attempting to jog a couple of miles every night, and all it’s doing is making me crave more dessert, which I then eat, because dessert is delicious, so that pretty much sabotages the losing weight part.”

When I realized I was still staring—and possibly drooling—over his far-too-covered abs, I glanced up. His eyebrows were drawn low.

“What?”

“I…” He closed his mouth.

“Who’s starting sentences without finishing them now?” I teased.

He straightened and shook his head, and I wondered if I’d managed to upset him again.

“Sorry, was that disrespectful?” I whispered, glancing around, but I didn’t see anyone within hearing range, which I thought meant joking was okay. “I know we have guidelines. Which might also mean that lunch isn’t a good idea.”

“The joke was fine. It’s what I want to say about your body that’d be crossing lines.” He smoothed a hand down his black silk tie. “As for the lunch, it’s a business meeting with a prospective client, and I think it would be beneficial for you to be there.”

In other words, he thought I needed to learn about how to conduct meetings with prospective clients. I might not be the best at being a stern, authoritarian boss, but landing clients was like shooting fish in a barrel.

What’sthatsayingallabout?Itseemslikeitwouldbekindofhardshootingfishinabarrel.Ordoesitmeanthatthey’reallsquirmingaroundandsquishedinthere,soyouhitalotofthem?

“Katrina?”

Oops. Important barrel-fish-thoughts needed to wait for later. “Lunch. Of course. What time?”

“The reservation is at one, so we’ll need to leave at ten till.” He glanced down at my super-tall footwear—I’d worn strappy purple heels today. “Better make it twenty till. Unless you need me to call for a car?”

“I can walk,” I said, hoping it was true since he hadn’t told me how far away the restaurant was. “I’ll be ready then.”

He gave a nod and then he walked toward the break room, where the coffee pot would be. And I tried not to wonder what he’d wanted to say about my body.

And failed.

Maybehewasgoingtogivemesomeworkouttips.OrtellmethatIshouldskipdessertnowandthen…

My stomach dropped and my lungs felt too tight.

With my thoughts on all my body’s flaws, that lingerie idea was definitely out, so it was a good thing that it was just a joke. One he’d seemed to find as hot as it was funny, but I was probably deluding myself again.

There was a big difference between being okay with fucking a girl and loving every inch of her body. A couple of my boyfriends had proved that much. It was another reason I almost felt guilty for asking for what I wanted—I knew I wasn’t a ten on the scale, but they weren’t, either.

Part of me thought if I got more in shape and worked on fixing myself up, then it’d be easier to find someone who’d be willing to experiment with me. Easier to say that I’d like to do stuff that was more acrobatic and less lying there.

That’sit.I’mhavingasaladforlunch,andwhenIgethome,nomatterhowlateitis,orhowtiredIam,I’mgoingtojogforatleastthreemiles.