Sleeping With the Boss Page 6

  He swirled the scotch and simply stared. She was perfect like this, wearing warm-up pants and a T-shirt. No bra, thank God. His body snapped back to attention as if he hadn’t had a several-minute reprieve. Hers did, too, if her nipples coming to sharp peaks under the thin material of her shirt were any indication.

  Her eyes traveled down his body, pausing at the bulge in his pants, which only made it more prominent.

  She cleared her throat and drew her eyes back to his, then moved to put the sofa between them. “Listen, Will, I’m sorry about…” She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “What happened.”

  What the hell was going on? “I’m not sorry. Not one little bit.”

  “Well, no, I mean, it was great. I just…” She twisted her hands together nervously.

  Shit.

  “I’ve never done anything like this.”

  He didn’t know much about her, but he knew that was total bullshit. The woman was no novice. She knew how to kiss. He lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of his scotch.

  “Well, I mean, I’ve done…you know…that. I just don’t usually…”

  Something in his chest tightened uncomfortably.

  She slumped down onto the sofa, staring straight ahead. He lowered himself beside her and placed the glass of scotch on the table in front of them. “Please don’t. It was amazing.”

  “I don’t really know you.”

  “Let’s fix that,” he whispered, gently touching his lips to hers.

  Claire pulled back, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t just jump men I hardly know.”

  He smiled. “Wait a minute! Did I miss something? Did you jump me?” Her eyes darted to his, then away, and he caught the faintest hint of a smile at his joke. Good. He needed to pull her out of this remorse or embarrassment, or whatever was making her uncomfortable. He wanted the passionate girl up against the door back. “Would you mind clarifying this, because that felt like a mutual experience to me. What exactly would jumping me entail?”

  Her eyes roamed over his body briefly before she smiled and stared down at her hands folded in her lap.

  Now he was getting somewhere. He leaned closer. Close enough for his breath to ruffle the fine hairs at her temple. “Would it involve kissing me again? Because that would be okay by me.”

  “Me, too, which is the problem. I’m not ordinarily like this.”

  Her muscles tensed when he placed his palm on her knee. “Like what?”

  Staring at her lap, she shrugged and remained silent, while a furious blush crawled up her neck and face. Such a genuine reaction—he loved it. As it had with him, their instant physical attraction had thrown her and he totally got that. He needed to put her mind at ease.

  Keeping his hand motionless on her knee, he leaned in. “So what is it you’re not usually like?” He nuzzled her ear. “Beautiful? Interesting?”

  She squirmed and smiled.

  Good. He was breaking through whatever doubts were nagging at her. He brushed his lips over her shoulder as he spoke. “Or hot, perhaps. Because Claire, you are very, very hot.” She shivered as he ran his lips up her neck to her ear. “Oh, I know what it is that’s troubling you. You’re not usually horny.”

  She gasped, then made a squeaking sound. Bingo.

  He chuckled. “That’s the biggest compliment you could give me.” He moved her still-wet hair aside and kissed her nape, and she shuddered. “If you think being horny is a bad thing, you’re dead wrong.”

  She trembled, but not from any residual doubt. She wanted him, too. “If it’s any consolation,” he continued, “I’m not like this either. I don’t usually kiss a woman on the first date.”

  She met his eyes. “Well, then you’re way off schedule. We haven’t even had a first date. That’s tomorrow.” She bumped his shoulder teasingly with hers. “Unless you’re seeing Sparkle Jeans instead.”

  “Sparkle Jeans?”

  “Leggy supermodel from the Italian restaurant today?”

  “Ah, her. Like I told you, it wasn’t a date. Old friend. Bad idea. Nothing happened, Claire. Nothing will.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He took her face in his hands. “Because I don’t want her. I want you.”

  Heat flared in her eyes, but she turned away. “Look, I’m not a dating candidate. I’m also not a”—she made a wild gesture to him and the front door and back to herself again—“a whatever that was candidate either.”

  Just like him, she was afraid. He was terrified of being burned again, but for some reason was unwilling to let this particular box of matches go. What was it she feared? “So, what makes you a bad dating candidate?”

  “I’m gone. I’m leaving the country in two weeks.”

  Alarm bells went off. But they were nothing compared to his utter disappointment. Still, he didn’t want a relationship, right? This should be great news. “Leaving for where?”

  “First to Egypt, then, I don’t know. Anywhere but here. I’m going to travel for a month and see the world I’ve missed my whole life. After that, I have an internship in Cairo lined up that I hope turns into a permanent gig.”

  “Okay, so that puts you out of the long-term dating column for sure, but what makes you think you aren’t a candidate for…” He mimicked her gesture of pointing to himself, the door, and back to her. “Because I’d really like to do a little…” And he made the same triangle gesture again.

  She laughed at his silly pantomime, which made him grin. This girl was so open. No way was she double-crossing his company. Nobody was that good an actress.

  He laid his hand over hers. “Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding at the restaurant.”

  “Already forgotten,” she said. “I’d have gotten over it anyway. I’m not the jealous type.”

  “You weren’t jealous of Sparkle Jeans?” He thought her name for Suzanne was hilarious.

  Her brow furrowed and she cocked her head. “No. I was disappointed. It seems to me, a person can only be jealous if they have a claim on someone. I don’t date, so I have no claim on anyone—no jealousy.”

  Totally surprised by this news, he lifted his hand from hers. “You don’t date?”

  She grabbed a pillow from the corner of the sofa and hugged it to her. “Well, I have—I did—but it’s been almost a year. It was great at first, but when my grandma got really sick, we mainly hung out between classes. Eric and I got pretty close, but my obligation as a caretaker got in the way… That along with the fact that he was an asshole.”

  The hackles on his neck bristled at the knowledge someone had hurt her. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I’m glad he’s gone.” She pitched the pillow back into the corner of the sofa. “When I got my master’s degree last May, I stopped going anywhere at all. I just sat here in Sissy’s house as a full-time caregiver.”

  “Sissy?”

  “Clarisse, my grandmother.”

  Relief flooded through him in a warm wave. That explained not only her unfamiliarity with the bar, but why she lived at this prestigious address.

  His eyes roved her body from her shiny blond hair to her chipped pink toenail polish. He wanted this woman. Wanted her so badly it hurt, and he was certain she felt the same way, but tonight wasn’t the night. It was too soon. He stood. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Maddox?”

  “It’s a date, Mr. Anderson.”

  “I’d say I’m sorry I dropped in on you unexpectedly, but I’m not.” He walked to her door and patted it. “Nice door.”

  As the elevator closed, he could still hear her laughter, and it made him feel like he was full of helium. Like he did in the old days before his life fell to shit.

  Chapter Seven

  Claire had changed into casual clothes—a simple skirt and a ruffled floral wraparound blouse—and had stowed her business clothes in a bag at her feet. She was worried that it was almost five o’clock, and she hadn’t seen Will at the office all day. She’d expected him to at least pop into the file room at lunch.
Maybe he’d had second thoughts about taking her out tonight.

  Nah. She didn’t get that vibe off him. He seemed for real.

  Her phone vibrated from inside the desk drawer. She slid the drawer open and pulled it out. Five text messages. Three from Heather fishing for gossip; one from her grandmother’s insurance agent, Mr. Sinclair, saying the life insurance money transfer to her brokerage account should take place before close of business today, but wouldn’t be accessible for several days; and one from a phone number she didn’t recognize, obviously Will. It was a calendar alert that read, “Reminder: Dinner with Claire—5:15 p.m.”

  So, Will hadn’t gotten cold feet—which made her whole body flush hot. She giggled and repressed the urge to break out some wicked dance moves right there in her office. She shot a response to Mr. Sinclair and shut down her computer. Then she called Heather.

  She dreaded this phone call. She loved Heather, but she was the biggest snoop and matchmaker ever. It had never bothered Claire before because it had never affected her. Her life as nurse for the dying had been less than interesting. Now, evidently, she was top of Heather’s vicarious living list based on the number of phone calls she received from her—at least one an hour.

  She spun her chair to face the window and rolled her eyes as the phone rang for the third time.

  “Well?” Heather answered. Not even a hello.

  Staring longingly at the scrap of blue sky visible over the building across the street, Claire pulled a pencil out of the cup on the table under the window. “Hey, Heather.”

  “What happened today?”

  “Well, I got to the office about eight.” She rolled the pencil from one hand to the other across the slick table surface, knowing that wasn’t what Heather was fishing for.

  “And?”

  In her mind, she could picture Heather pacing her office like she did when she was excited. “And I edited the remainder of the estate jewelry auction brochure. Then, I had lunch.”

  “Did he”—she cleared her throat—“talk to you?”

  She stopped the pencil mid-roll. “Not today.” But last night he’d done amazing things she wouldn’t tell Heather about over the phone—like the mind-bending make-out session up against her door. “He’s not even here.”

  “Oh…” Heather didn’t even try to mask the disappointment in her voice.

  She flicked the pencil, setting it back into motion again, catching it right before it rolled off the end of the desk, then pushing it back the other direction. “I did hear from Mr. Sinclair, though. The money should be in my account any second now and will be available in a few days.”

  “Cool! You’ll be rich,” Heather said.

  The thought of having that much money made Claire’s head spin when she really thought about it. It was a bit terrifying, actually. “Yes. I’ll be rich. And free to get the hell out of New York.”

  “Woo! You’re out of here—which, by the way, makes me as sad as it does happy for you. I wish you weren’t dead-set on that internship with Dr. Jolly.”

  Claire didn’t even bother correcting her. She’d called Dr. Jahi that since they took his class together years ago.

  “Can’t you get an internship closer to home—to me? I’m gonna miss you, girl.” There was a moment of silence from Heather, which wasn’t typical. “Well, okay.” Her voice cracked a bit. “So, I bet you’re ready to party! Let’s do it.”

  “I’ll be ready to party once the money hits my bank account. Until then, I’ll keep working here until my passport comes in, and start boxing up my things at home.”

  “There are companies for that, you know. You don’t have to always do everything yourself.”

  Claire dropped the pencil back into the cup. “Yeah, but I don’t like people snooping.” A sound came from behind her. She spun in her chair to discover Will in her doorway and her heart sped up at the sight of him. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Is he there?” Heather asked.

  Heck, yeah, he was there; all hot man in blue jeans and a button-down shirt leaning against her doorframe like something out of a really great dream. “Bye, Heather.”

  “Oh my God. He’s there. Is he in your office?”

  She hit “end” and dropped the phone in her purse as she met Will’s eyes. “Hey.”

  He looked as if he were studying her, rather than greeting her. His slightly narrowed eyes focused on her with such intensity, she held her breath. “Hey, yourself,” he finally answered.

  Well, this was awkward. It was as if he were waiting for her to say or do something. “Um, so, we’re still on?”

  “Is there a reason we shouldn’t be?”

  Something was wrong. He was probably having second thoughts now that he was here.

  “None that I can think of.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back. Crap.

  …

  Will hadn’t sneaked up on Claire intentionally, but holy shit, what he’d heard was shocking. In the brief moments of her phone call he’d overheard, he discovered that someone named Mr. Sinclair was wiring enough money to her account to make her rich. This, right before she planned to leave the country. Surely it was coincidental.

  His stomach sank and his heart pounded in his ears. A full-blown skirmish was going on in his head and heart. What would he do if she turned out to be the spy? He let out the breath he’d been holding way too long and relaxed his balled-up fists. Hell, who was he kidding? He couldn’t walk away now if she were holding a live grenade. Their connection was so intense he couldn’t end this even if he had to. And he didn’t want to. His instincts were right. He knew they were.

  Claire gripped the edge of her desk. Her deep, quick breaths caused her breasts to swell above the low neckline of her blouse. Just the sight of her made his entire body go hard, especially a certain part. He couldn’t believe he’d only known her a couple of days; she seemed to have invaded every waking part of his life…his dreams, too. Only in his dreams, her hair was not bound in a knot on the back of her head, like it was now, and they weren’t just staring at each other awkwardly. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah. Give me a second to shut my computer down and get my things.”

  He nodded and stepped into the lobby, shooting Jim a quick text to check out the transaction between Claire’s bank and Sinclair, whoever the hell he was. The sooner this was cleared up, the better. Then tomorrow, he’d really focus on the case and bury this once and for all. As for tonight, he planned to focus only on Claire Maddox, who had just emerged from her office looking like a waking fantasy. With a shirt that tied at her waist with a bow, she looked like a present waiting to be unwrapped. Damn. She had taken her hair down, and it softened her features. His fingers twitched as he imagined running them through the soft gold waves that fell well past her shoulder blades.

  “You look fantastic,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the elevator. Not that she needed guiding, but he sure needed to touch her.

  The elevator door opened and Chance stepped out. “Hey! I was just coming to talk to you.” The door closed behind him.

  Shit. From the time he was a little kid, Chance’s timing had always been remarkable—almost like he had a sixth sense detecting when his appearance would be the biggest pain in the ass. Like now, preventing Will from getting Claire alone. He gritted his teeth as she moved a foot or so out of reach. “What’s up?”

  “Let’s go talk in Michael’s office,” he suggested. Then he noticed Claire. “Oh, hi, Miss Maddox. Have a nice evening. See you tomorrow.”

  Well, this was fucking awkward. Michael would lose his shit over taking an employee out, even a temp, but he had no idea what Chance would do. Claire obviously picked up on his brother’s assumption and hit the down button as if she were leaving to go home.

  No way. Will didn’t give a shit what Michael’s reaction might be, and he sure as hell wasn’t worried about Chance.

  He reached over and took her hand, pulli
ng her close. “Afraid I can’t right now. We’re on our way to dinner. The car is waiting downstairs.”

  His brother’s brow furrowed for a moment, then relaxed as the pieces fell into place. “Oh.” He looked from Will to Claire, then back again. “Well, okay, then.” He paused for a moment as if fishing for the right words. “Have fun.”

  Will pushed the elevator button, still holding Claire’s hand.

  Chance took a few steps toward Michael’s office, then stopped. “Michael’s probably going to call you tonight.” Again, his eyes flitted to Claire and back. “You might want to answer. He’s pretty uptight.”

  “He’s always uptight,” Will said as the elevator door opened. “I’ll answer. Don’t worry. But he should really come off his high horse and text instead.”

  Chance nodded. “I agree completely, but as you know, he feels like text messages lack the nuances and clarity of real conversation. You know how he is.”

  Yeah, unmovable.

  “Have a good night,” his little brother said, striding away.

  A good night was exactly what Will had in mind, and as the elevator closed, he exulted in the fact that he was one step closer.

  …

  Outside, a limousine was waiting. Claire tried to act like she wasn’t jump-up-and-down-giddy at the prospect of riding in one for the first time and slid in with what she hoped was going to be a dignified move. But, of course, she caught her foot on something and ended up crash-landing on all fours in the middle of the vehicle.

  “That’s first date with Will Claire-ism number one,” Will said, sliding into the forward-facing seat at the back.

  He held out his hand, and she took it, allowing him to pull her onto the seat next to him. A guy in his midforties who had held the door for them stuck his head in. “Ready, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Yes, we are. Thanks, Jacob.”

  The door closed with a muffled click, and Claire took a look around her first limousine ever. All black and plush and everything she would expect, complete with a mini bar and burled wood accents. “Where are we going?” she asked as they pulled away from the curb.