Chapter 3
Hilary Winthrop
Fear prickles along my nape. The eerie calmness emanating from the man beside me chills my skin. Connor Pen focuses on Alex Koch as though he intends to rip him apart with his bare hands. In all the years I’ve worked for him, I’ve never seen my boss this terrifying.
When he shifts his gaze to Jocelyn Koch—Alex’s wife—a vast, frozen tundra stretches on in the depths of his green eyes. I fight against a wave of premonition.
Nothing good will come from these three people meeting.
Before I can steer Connor in a different direction, I lock eyes with Destiny from between her parent’s shoulders.
The flash of delight when she recognizes me softens my heart and fills me with determination, and I trash my attempt to run away.
Despite my apprehension, Connor—no, Mr. Pen, I correct myself—treats them no differently than he does all the other party goers.
He hides whatever fueled his reaction and introduces both himself and me to the couple, and after a few moments of polite small talk between the adults, I pretend as though I’ve never met Destiny before and ask about her.
The rigid, subdued version of the girl I spoke to only a little while ago sours my tongue and hurts my heart, but when her parents dismiss us and turn to begin a new conversation, she sneaks me a tiny wave.
I dart a wary glance at Mr. Pen and confirm he isn’t looking before smiling and returning the gesture.
By the time my boss finally decides to excuse us from the party, my face hurts from fake smiling, my ribs ache from the tight bodice, and my feet throb from my sandals.
Next time I wear these ridiculous flats, I’ll glue inserts to the soles for support.
The straps may pinch my toes with the extra padding, but at least I won’t feel as though I’ve walked barefoot for miles on hard, unforgiving marble.
Each step jars up through my joints, but even as we turn the corner into the hall and escape the dozens of eyes watching us, I don’t dare show weakness.
My senses sharpen as Mr. Pen leads me further away from the crowd. As horrible and exhausting as it is to pretend like I belong amidst the rich and famous, being alone with Connor Pen is more dangerous.
No matter how much my body craves him, I can’t let him cross the line again. I need this job. We must remain strictly professional. What happened earlier cannot happen again.
Without a word, he continues leading me through the halls with my hand trapped between his arm and torso, and the few people we pass ensure I don’t vie for escape, but when he stops in front of the suite and reaches into his jacket to retrieve his key card, I try to tug free.
Electricity jolts through me from his heated side-eye. My heart leaps into my throat and need throbs low in my belly as he opens the door and pulls me in after him.
“Mr. Pen, if there’s—”
“There is.”
I grit my teeth at his rudeness and prepare to fight if he drags me toward either of the bedrooms, but instead he leads me into the living room and pushes me down onto the couch. Shocked at the power in his hands, I sit with my heart pounding in my ears and my eyes locked on his clear green gaze.
In slow motion, daring me to balk, he lowers himself to a knee in front of me and wraps his long fingers around my ankle.
I forget how to breathe as he lifts my foot onto his thigh, ghosts his fingertips up my leg, and unties the ribbon. With mesmerizing control, he pulls the silk away from my skin and slips the sandal off my foot.
Need barrels through me when he cups my heel in one hand and my toes in the other. An embarrassing sound of pleasure escapes my chest when he flexes my foot. The stretch burns deep in my calf and releases the tension trapped in my toes.
His hungry, heavy-lidded eyes fuel the firestorm swirling inside me. When he shifts his grip I try to jerk away, but he lifts a brow and buries his thumbs into the ball of my foot.
I groan and melt into the couch even as I scold myself for giving in too easily. The wicked satisfaction in his smirk snaps me back into reality.
I yank my foot out of his hands. He takes my other leg captive and reaches for the ribbon.
I tug, huff when he doesn’t let go, and shift to stand. His crystal-clear green eyes flick up to mine and lock me in place with their intensity.
“Is there something wrong, Ms. Winthrop?” he asks as though he isn’t caressing my leg with every pass of the ribbon.
“Yes. This isn’t appropriate behavior between a boss and an employee.”
I hate how much the breathiness in my voice gives away, but need scorches my insides. My clit pulses. The fabric of my dress chafes my sensitive nipples. I want his long, unyielding fingers to ease the ache between my legs.
“This is nothing compared to what I want to do to you,” he growls.
My core clenches at the hunger in his voice even as I balk. He stops my argument by slipping my sandal off and stretching my foot.
“As your employer, I apologize for not taking better care of you in the past. Expect this and more in the future,” he says.
I blink through the delicious haze, urging my brain to process his words, but he steals my indignation by massaging the sore ball of my foot.
I gasp when he hits a sensitive spot. He gentles his touch and grins.
I growl and press my other foot to his shoulder. He pierces my soul with a wicked smirk. I shove.
He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t react at all.
Liquid desire floods my panties. I shake from the force of my need.
“Let go,” I manage through gritted teeth.
He gives my heel a final squeeze before closing his fist around my ankle. I fight the growing urgency in my blood as he caresses my calf and teases the back of my knee.
“Is that really what you want, Ms. Winthrop?” he murmurs.
Hunger floods my mouth and twists my tongue.
Unexpected tears swell behind my eyes and thicken my throat.
“This,” he gives my captured leg a gentle squeeze, “isn’t any different from all the times you cared for me throughout the years. You’ve been so good to me for so long. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
I almost fall for his trap. I want what he offers so badly I consider giving in and joining him on the dark side, but his gold earrings reflect the bright overhead light and remind me not to fall for his villainous ways.
I jerk my leg out of his grasp and place both feet on the floor on the far side of his knee.
“This is not the same as me adjusting your tie or fixing your hair before a meeting. We can’t—”
He leans forward and props his palms on the couch, bracketing my hips and forcing me to sit back to avoid his touch.
“We can. We will.”
Fury rips through me. I shove his face away with both hands, knee his side, and lunge to my feet.
The dress pinches my skin and constricts my movements, but I manage a few steps before my adrenaline fades enough for me to feel it.
With my fists at my sides and my entire body throbbing like one big exposed nerve, I force my lungs to expand and meet his eyes over my shoulder.
“No, we won’t. You are my boss. I am your personal assistant. Do not cross the line again,” I demand.
I turn and stomp toward the hall, but before my toes cross over the rug and touch the hardwood floor, arms made of iron sweep my legs out from under me and lift me into the air.
I squeak and clutch at Connor Pen’s shoulders, terror and shock vaulting me into panic.
No one has ever dared to pick me up—I can’t even remember a time as a child when an adult held me in their arms—so the foreign sensation short-circuits my brain. Words spill from my lips.
“Put me down. I’m too heavy. You’re going to—”
He ignores me and strides down the hall toward the master suite with me cradled against his chest as though I weigh nothing. Emotions war within me as he settles me onto the edge of the bed and steps back.
Alarm spears through me when he unbuttons his suit coat and shrugs it off his shoulders.
“What are you—”
He drapes the fabric over his shoulder as he turns and stalks to the door.
I hold my breath, both hoping for and dreading the moment he shuts the door and locks us inside the bedroom together.
To be alone with this terrifyingly handsome man, to have his full attention on me, to writhe and gasp as he commands every inch of my body, is everything I want but the last thing I need.
He steps out into the hall and smirks in delight when my reaction escapes my control.
“You broke our agreement, Ms. Winthrop.” He shifts his grip on the door handle. Masculine pride gleams from his expression as I peel my gaze away from his hand. My clit throbs with want.
“We can take this at your pace, but you’re mine now, Hilary. There’s no escape for you.”
As he closes the door between us, his eager, demonic smirk embeds itself into the darkest, dirtiest recesses of my mind.
Several ragged breaths later, his words pierce through the fog of my lust.
Frustration boils deep in my chest. I grab a pillow and rear back to throw it at the shut door, think better of it, and bury my face in the softness instead.
A short, forceful scream later, and I snatch my control back by sheer force of will.
With faux calm on my features and exaggerated care in my movements, I fluff the pillow into its original place, rise, and lock myself in the bathroom.
I remain stoic and unaffected as I shower and change into the set of casual work clothes I included with the suits and dresses.
Too tired to handle another altercation so soon, I move the few personal items from the clutch to my large designer work bag—because Connor Pen cannot let others see his personal assistant with anything second rate—and slip away before he emerges from the second bedroom.