FIVE #3
But when I opened my eyes and took in Paula still standing there with that faint glimmer of amusement, I knew simplicity wouldn’t last long.
‘That desk’s temporary,’ I muttered, jerking my chin towards the scuffed slab in the corner. She didn’t make a face. No sigh, no glance of judgment. Just slipped the strap off her shoulder, pulled out her own laptop from the bag, and got to work like she’s always been here.
Efficient.
Unbothered.
Fucking sexy.
I’m weird.
Paula wasn’t soft. And I needed to remember that.
I kept my tone brisk, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
The way she moved made something stir in the back of my mind, something I shoved down before it could rise. Her posture was straight as she powered up the laptop. Her fingers danced over the keys, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap filling the room.
Then I noticed her nails – long, curved, and gleaming faintly. They looked sharp enough to leave marks across a chest—fuck! I stopped that thought dead in its track. My fingers curled against the underside of the desk, nails digging into wood. Count.
One.
Two.
Three.
I had trained women to kneel with less effort than it took to keep my eyes off her.
I was slipping.
‘I’ve sent you an invitation to the workspace platform,’ I said, my voice gruff. ‘I used the email from your CV. Let me know when you log in so we can talk about what kind of system we should have.’
She nodded once, her focus entirely on the screen in front of her.
Her long lashes cast soft shadows over her cheeks as she typed, lending her a kind of quiet, unintentional allure.
The air between us felt charged, and I couldn’t decide if it was because of her or because I was letting my mind wander where it shouldn’t.
‘Cain.’ Vinnie’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned towards him, grateful for the distraction. He frowned down at his phone, his blond brows furrowing. ‘I’m registering for the Spice Me Up book convention this Friday at club Trionfo. Last year was pretty good. You game?’
‘Sure,’ I replied, reclining in my chair. ‘Paula?’ Her name rolled off my tongue too easily, and I realised too late how much I liked the taste of it.
She looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘Already registered, thanks. I go every year.’
I nodded, an unfamiliar warmth spreading in my sternum as her smile softened her otherwise stoic demeanour. My gaze shot back to Vinnie, who was grinning like the idiot that he was, probably reading too much into the moment. He resumed scrolling, eyes glued to his phone – grin intact.
‘Our merchandise sale is up this month,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking of adding to the collection. I wanted to brainstorm with you about it.’
He raised a brow at my finger, tapping agitatedly against the edge of the desk, then shot me a questioning look.
I stopped, cosying further into my chair. ‘We’ve got bookmarks, book holders, book lights, keyrings… not sure what else we could add.’
Vinnie flattened his back, his gaze darting towards the corner. ‘What do you think, Paula?’
She shifted in her chair, her back pressing against the wall – feminine in a way she likely didn’t even realise.
The movement highlighted the curve of her chest beneath that form-fitting shirt, and I bit down the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reacting.
My pulse jerked into a gallop anyway. I felt like a fucking teenager caught staring.
Her eyes darted between us, a playful glint sparking in them as she crossed one leg over the other.
She paused then, as if testing the line between boldness and appropriateness.
Then, casually: ‘How about handcuffs?’ she said, with a tone too light to make the room feel smaller, but doing exactly that.
The words hit like a hammer, and for a second, the air seemed to freeze.
‘Handcuffs?’ Vinnie reiterated, his voice rising in disbelief, though the smirk on his stupid fucking face was unmistakable.
He didn’t notice that her words didn’t match her tone. But I did. Too casual. Too smooth. As if she hadn’t just tossed a grenade on the table and waited to see if one of us would catch it.
I coached myself into blinking. Her eyes met mine.
She wasn’t playing. Not really. That kind of suggestion wouldn’t come from nowhere.
I clenched the armrest.
Paula’s gaze stayed steady, but not smug. There was no teasing edge, no flirting. She was being her fucking self. That was what made it worse.
‘Why not?’ she added, her voice even, almost deflective. ‘They fit the theme. Dark romance. Restraint. It’s what your readers are here for. I’d buy them.’
Did she mean it?
My teeth locked with the effort of holding back. I was bracing. Bracing against the film roll she had unfurled between us.
And I wasn’t entirely sure she’d realised what kind of heat she’d just poured into our bloodstreams. My mind was already feeding me the scenes she hadn’t written – scenes where those cuffs were real, and so was the surrender.
I had to fucking look away before I said something I couldn’t take back.
Vinnie laughed, breaking the tension like a rock thrown through glass. ‘You’ve got guts, Paula. I’ll tell you that.’
Her eyes darted to mine briefly, and I saw something there – amusement, curiosity, or maybe something darker.
‘I just call it as I see it,’ she said, turning back to her laptop, the conversation dismissed as easily as she’d started it.
But for me, the moment lingered, the words handcuffs and restraint looping through my mind long after the silence settled over the room again.
Vinnie, still chuckling, stood and stretched, his smile wide as he made his way to the door.
‘Handcuffs it is, then. I’ll run it past the merch team and see what they can mock up,’ he said, winking at Paula. ‘You’re already proving to be a valuable addition, DeLuca.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ she replied smoothly.
‘Hey—’ He paused at the door. ‘Maybe you’d like to tag along and pick the material yourself?’
My jaw slackened. He didn’t look at me. Which meant he hadn’t said it to tease me. He’d meant it.
‘Trust me. I’m not the forge-and-furnace kind of girl.’ She winked at him and glanced back at her monitor.
With a half challenge, half tease in my direction, Vinnie slipped out of the room.
Arsehole. Always playing.
Finally alone with her, I was suddenly aware of the air still humming with her boldness. I adjusted in my chair, forcing myself to focus.
The silence that followed rang louder in the wake of her suggestion. My pulse ticked once – twice – and I fought to remember this was still a place of business.
‘I’ve signed into the workspace,’ she said, pulling me right back into her web.
Her eyes met mine as she gestured towards her screen.
‘Good,’ I said, leaning forward slightly and opening my own laptop to pull up the shared platform. ‘Let me walk you through it.’
I clicked a folder labelled ‘Active Manuscripts’ and turned the screen slightly so she could see. ‘Drafts are here. Edits tracked here. Nothing’s ever lost.’
Her focus was entirely on the screen, her eyes sharp as she absorbed the information.
I tried to keep my overview clear and concise, but every time she shifted slightly in her chair, the faint, citrusy scent of her perfume wafted to me.
It was subtle – orange blossoms, maybe, mixed with something warmer.
Gritting my teeth, I willed myself to ignore it, but my senses check-mated me with every breath. I couldn’t believe how quickly this woman was able to turn me into a teenage boy as my thoughts spiralled straight into the unprofessional – headfirst and unrepentant.
Vinnie was right. If I didn’t get laid properly soon, I’d end up writing her into the next book. Handcuffs and all.
‘Understood,’ she said finally, her voice professional, oblivious to the chaos she was stirring in my mind.
‘Start with chapters one through fifteen. We’ll go from there.’
She nodded.
I settled back into my chair, puffing the air out of my lungs with difficulty as I tore my gaze away from her.
This was going to be a hell of a lot harder than having an assistant should be.