Chapter Seventeen
Stratos stalked through the complex. He’d almost kissed her again!
What the flek is wrong with me? You couldn’t control who you were attracted to, but you could control whether you acted on it—and he’d almost acted on it. He was stronger than that. More disciplined than that.
The desire in her eyes revealed she felt the attraction, too, but he held himself responsible. He’d instigated the kiss. The situation was awkward enough; he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get if they slept together.
Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?
As her boss, how could he evaluate her job performance if lust clouded his judgment?
How would that be fair to other employees?
And if he critiqued and corrected her job performance, would she react as an employee or as his lover?
She did everything so efficiently, it was hard to imagine she would screw up in a big way, but there was always a chance.
Sex is out of the question.
Isn’t it?
Maybe he should kiss her again and see what happened, let nature take its course.
Maybe taking her to bed would put the distractions to rest and he could focus again.
Passion burned out; no woman held his attention for long.
Savannah was reasonable, logical; she might be glad to get the lust out of her system so she could focus on her work.
He imagined her under him, her legs wrapped around his hips. Did she like it slow and tender or hard and fast? His markings and cock throbbed.
Am I insane? I can’t flek my assistant.
It would be problematic, insane, unethical.
Wouldn’t it?
Not if she didn’t work for me. I could get her transferred to another department and then…
No, that wouldn’t work. First of all, he couldn’t lose the best assistant he’d ever had. Since she’d begun working for him, removing the irritating administrative tasks from his shoulders, he’d been able to design again.
Second, once Savannah was outside of his protection, his venal sister would have her fired. Corona disliked her even more than his mother did and wouldn’t hesitate to capitalize on the opportunity to oust her.
What if they started an affair and his desire waned but hers didn’t? What if she is one of those females who confuses sex with love? What if she took the inevitable breakup badly and quit? She was too levelheaded for that to seem likely, but it was still possible.
What if my feelings get involved?
Several people in the passageway turned to look at him when he laughed aloud.
He fell in lust, not love. He’d never been in love, never would. Blame his mother, blame the gods, blame his focus on work; he lacked the capacity for the emotion. Lukewarm affection was about as emotional as he got.
Of course, he liked Savannah. How could he not?
Seeing her face every morning brightened his day in a way nothing ever had, except for design.
He respected her competence, valued her input and opinion, depended on her administrative talents, enjoyed their conversations, and got a charge out of their banter.
Nor was she hard on the eyes. She got more attractive every day.
She challenged him, inspired him, amused him, surprised him, and sometimes even made him wish to be a more congenial person.
It would be stupid to muck up a great working relationship with a casual fling.
Case closed. Sex with Savannah would not occur.
He just had to stay strong and wait for the lust to cool. Or get another female to cool it for him.
* * * *
Displaying her sexual assets to their best advantage in a skin-tight unitard, the female sashayed by the table where he and Kep nursed a couple of vekkels.
Her sultry gaze slid over him before lifting to pose a question.
He shook his head. She made a moue of disappointment and slipped into an empty seat at the bar.
A male scooted over instantly. He smiled, she nodded, and a deal was struck.
“You stupid bastard,” Kep said. “That could have been you. I would have gone for it.”
“Be my guest. Maybe it’s not too late.”
“Women are not interchangeable.”
Don’t I know it. He’d dropped by the Moonshot Tavern twice this past week—once without Kep—but the women failed to arouse his interest.
“Think of getting laid as preventive medicine,” Kep persisted.
“What are you talking about?”
“Stress is bad for your health. Sex reduces stress.”
“Who says I’m stressed?”
“You’re as tight as a planet in orbit around a neutron star. I thought you’d be happy, given the new contracts OberTech acquired in the Northwest Province.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I keep up with the financial news.”
“I’m happy.”
“A preponderance of the evidence would indicate otherwise.”
“Objectively, I’m happy.”
“Objectively?” Kep eyed him.
“The board of directors is thrilled. Since I secured many of the contracts, it makes me look good—and it pissed off Corona.” He grinned.
“That’s more like it.” Kep took a drink of his vekkel. “The new assistant still working out?”
The smile fell off his face. “Yes.”
“Now, you look—”
“Stop. You’re not my therapist.”
“You’re seeing a therapist?”
“Figure of speech.”
“You’re grouchy.”
He couldn’t deny it.
“You need to get laid.”
Yes, he did. But only one woman would do.