Boss Me Hard (Boss Me #2) (4 page)

B
y Wednesday morning
, I’m ready to scream of frustration.

It’s been two days since he kissed me in his office. Two days since that email exchange, which I’ve read and reread. Two days since I started to let myself think Dane might feel more for me than just sexually.

And yet...nothing. No more calling me into his office. No private time alone, even. Hell, he’s barely spared more than a passing glance at me, choosing instead to bury himself in work. It’s like the Dane I thought I was seeing never existed. Instead, it’s been all professional, polished Boss Dane, with the smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, with the voice that never stirs too loudly.

With the demeanor that shows no passion.

This morning I put on a dark purple skirt with a dangerously high slit up the thigh, paired with a tight black shirt that makes my breasts look bigger, in an effort to get his attention. Yeah, I went there, with zero shame.

I felt the compulsive need to see him look at me like he wants to consume me.

In our late morning meeting, I strolled in and sat near him. Crossed my legs. Licked my lips. Drew in long breaths to make my breasts rise and fall. All lame attempts at seduction that fell flat. So embarrassing. He left the room without a spare glance my way.

Does he regret our email interaction, regret opening up even that much? I hate that his actions make me feel so insecure. I hate that I’m giving him this much control over me. I need to be stronger than this, to not let him and his level of attention determine my self-worth. I look good today, damn it. I know I do.

A few guys on campus after my early class shot me multiple glances, and Sidney told me this was the perfect time for me to ask our prof to regrade our quiz—which I got a C on—that if he got one glance at my legs, he’d cave and give me an A. I shoved at her shoulder but secretly I was flattered. Maybe I should try to dress cute more often instead of dressing to blend in.

Even Carl checked me out when I got to work, and he can’t stand me at all. That speaks volumes. It should make my ego feel better, but ugh, it’s Carl. A thousand times nope.

Right now I’m sitting in the lunchroom across from Lauren, nibbling on my sandwich and pretending everything is hunky dory. At least she’s entertaining—her running commentary on the creepy guys eating lunch with us has me snorting far too loudly.

“Don’t look to your right yet, but a guy from the second floor hasn’t stopped staring at your boobs since we got here,” she murmurs. “I think there’s drool dropping in his soup. Hold on…okay, look now.”

My lips quirk, but I do as she says. I whip my head around to glare hard at her. “Ew, he’s, like, ninety-five years old. I don’t think he’s drooling because of me. I think he might be having a stroke.”

She smirks. “Perhaps he just needs a hot young nurse to—”

“Stop that sentence right there,” I say, holding up my hand with a laugh. “I don’t think I can hear one more word about this. Gross.”

“Your loss.” She shrugs and spears a piece of lettuce covered in Italian dressing. “Maybe he’s really hung.”

“He’s got stuff hanging, for sure. All over his body, with all that loose skin.” I give a mock shudder. “I’m not that desperate for a date, but thanks anyway.”

Lauren shoves the bite in her mouth and chews fast. “Shit. I gotta go. I forgot I have a conference call in ten minutes. Can’t be late, or Carl will start seducing them out from under me. You’d think he’d get over that competitive streak by now, especially since we work for the same company, but no.”

“We can’t have that,” I say. “Go, run.” I wave as she leaves and linger at the table for a while longer. I’m not quite ready to go back to my desk, where I have to sit there with a polite smile on my face and pretend I can’t stop thinking about Dane. It’s easier when I’m not in his proximity to push him out of my head. Maybe I’ll luck out and today will be an early day.

Finally I make myself head back upstairs. I take the steps to give me a reason to linger a bit longer. When I get to my desk, his office door is closed, the light shining underneath the door. He’s in.

The rest of the day passes in a drudgery of work. I make copies, I answer emails, I chug coffee like it’s going out of stock. And I try to pretend like I’m not hurt by his extended silence. I feel like a total idiot, reading into the situation something that clearly wasn’t there.

Should I go knock on his door? Or should I make him come to me? I just don’t know what to do, and I can’t ask anyone for advice. Sidney already thinks I’m crazy for having a crush on him. If she knew the extent of what’s happened between us, she’d probably hemorrhage.

Maybe I’m nothing more than a guilty diversion for him when he’s not busy with work. The thought creates a low burn of anger in my gut. I don’t care what it is, I deserve to be treated better than this, and I’m not going to let him control my emotions.

He might know all my secrets, yes, but he doesn’t know my inner strength. I use the fuel to help me focus on work and shove him right out of my brain. I’ve dealt with far worse than this in my life, and I made it through.

The office gradually empties out as time ticks on past five. By six-thirty, it’s just me and that damned closed door, the golden slit of light at the bottom taunting me. He hasn’t left once—or if he did, it was while I was away from the desk for the occasional bathroom or coffee break.

The low burn of anger cranks up a notch. Pride has me stiffening my back, clenching my jaw. I need to go home. I’m tired of these games. I just want to crack open a bottle of wine and relax on the couch. Watch trashy TV and figure out what the hell I’m going to do long-term about this situation. I can’t sustain like this for long without something happening, like me marching in his office and demanding he looks at me—
really
looks at me. I refuse to.

Because underneath all this anger and hurt, there’s still that thread of desire for him, even though I don’t want to feel this way right now. No man has ever made me experience the intense things he has, and I don’t know how I’m going to stop wanting that.

Screw it. I’m going home.

After shutting down my computer, I gather my belongings and shove my arms into my coat sleeves, then drape my dark red scarf around my neck. I grab my purse and book bag and cross the tiled floor toward the elevator. It’s risky of me to leave without saying a word to him, but what’s he going to do? Fire me?

The heated bravado I’m feeling right now makes it worth the risk. I refuse to look back as I press the down button.

The double doors open, and I step inside the softly lit elevator, then press the first floor button. Before the doors can close all the way, a hand slams against the left door and pries it open.

My stomach flips over itself as I look up into the cold, slit eyes of my boss, standing there in all his frozen, handsome glory. His black suit hugs him perfectly, and the white dress shirt is open at the throat with the dark blue tie undone and dangling.

He keeps the doors open as he says, “What the hell are you doing? It’s not time to quit. I’m still working.”

“I’m going home,” I manage to say to him evenly. “I’m done for the day.”

His nostrils flare, and I see a flash of anger in his eyes that he smothers in an instant. “You’re not done. You know the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.” I’m shocked at the harsh words that fly out of my mouth. Instantly I wish I could swallow them back. I’ve never talked like that to a boss before in my life.

His jaw clenches so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding. Then once more, his face smooths into that damn mask that almost pushes me to the edge. He steps inside and lets the doors close behind him. As the elevator lurches down, he hits the stop button, and the ride comes to a quick halt.

“Tell me, Emme,” he says in a quiet voice. “Do you like your job?”

A layer of ice slides over my skin. Oh God, I’ve pushed him too far, and this is it. He’s going to can me because of my smart mouth. Despite my earlier bravado, I’m not ready to leave here. Not yet, and not like this. I give him a shaky nod, and my book bag and purse drop from my shaky hands to the ground.

“Answer me with words,” he demands in that horrible, even tone of his. The tone that says he doesn’t feel anything, that he’s so in control of himself that nothing ever penetrates the armor.

“Yes,” I tell him, a bit too loud. “I like my job.”

He stalks toward me, arms pinning me in the corner of the elevator. His whole presence seems to take up the entire space. I see a throb at the side of his temple, a hint of the emotion brewing beneath the surface. A real sign of life.

“I like my job too,” he says quietly. His head ducks down and he whispers in my ear, “I love it, in fact.” Another shiver scatters across my flesh, but this one is from the warm breath puffing along the shell of my ear. His rich scent seeps into me, the heat from his body making me uncomfortable and achy all over. “I love what I do. This company
is
my life. And this…thing with us, it’s a complication I didn’t want.” The last part almost seems spit out.

And just like that, everything crashes around me. My stomach hurts, and I push past him, trying to fight the sudden sting in my eyes. I swallow against the tight lump in my throat. There’s no way I’m going to let him see how much that comment hurt me. This was just a stupid physical thing. Not important. I’m fine, just fine.

I reach out to push the elevator back into motion when he grabs my wrist and pins me against the elevator wall. His body presses along mine, and I fight like hell the warmth brewing in my pelvis. I absolutely refuse to feel this, even though my body is screaming with desire at the way he’s touching me.

With his other hand, he tilts my chin up, searches my eyes. I look down to fight what he’s trying to make me do, but he tightens his grip a smidge. “
Look at me,
Emme.”

I thin my lips and force myself to do so. I can’t seem to resist the pull in his voice, and I hate myself for being so weak for him. I know he can read my face just as easily as he read the journal. I know he can tell how much his words hurt me. He sees all my vulnerabilities; I can’t hide from him.

We stare at each other for a long, tense moment, and his brown eyes pierce me right through. His grip loosens on my chin and his thumb caresses the curve of my cheek, a gentle brush that sends tingles down my spine against my will.

“I can’t do this,” I manage to get out. “I can’t have you toy with me anymore. I need to go home. Please.”

Dane flinches at my words and draws in a ragged breath, exhales. His hand releases my wrist and slides around my waist, pulling me flush to him, breasts to chest, pelvis to pelvis. “Is that what you think? I’m not toying with you, Emme. This isn’t a fucking game. I might not have wanted this, but I’ll be damned if I can’t help but take what you’re offering me.” His gaze drops to my lips, and my mouth dries at the way his pupils flare.

The wide, firm line of his arousal is insistently pressing against me, and I try so hard to not rub along him like a cat in heat. My head grows dizzy from everything I’m thinking and feeling.

“Then why have you ignored me?” I ask, a slight tremble on the last word. Damn it.

“Every time I see you, I’m so fucking hard I can barely function,” he fires back in a husky growl that makes me clench in response. His eyes are fixed hard on me, running me through like a dagger, pinning me in place. “I’m losing my focus, not getting my shit done. This is me keeping myself in control, making sure that my personal life doesn’t interfere with this job.”

But I don’t want you in control,
I almost say, but bite my tongue. He isn’t done talking, I can tell. And I need to hear what he’s thinking and feeling.

I feel his hardness twitch against me, his body stiffen. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues. The resonance in his voice shatters my reserve into pieces, melts the last of my resistance. I can tell he’s sincere. “But the line between us keeps getting too blurred. We can’t let that happen. We still need to be able to maintain some semblance of professionalism, Emme.”

“I understand,” I say, even though I’m not sure I do. Not completely.

“And I’m not a good person to get close to,” he continues. “I have baggage. You deserve better.”

I hear a fragility in his tone I hadn’t expected. Dane’s afraid to drop his guard, afraid of getting hurt. Maybe that’s the other reason he’s pushing me away like this, though he hasn’t admitted it—not just because he’s trying to focus on work, but because he isn’t ready for entanglement. “Who hurt you?” I find myself asking.

He sighs, and his hand reaches up to caress my hair. “I had a very difficult breakup,” he says. “Almost immediately after I split from my ex, my brother got together with her. They’re married now.” The words are so plainly spoken, but they jar me.

This must be the family drama he meant in his email. No wonder he’s so skittish, so slow to open up and trust. “I’m sorry about what you went through.” I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss his jaw. He tastes so good, his skin so warm against my mouth. I feel him shudder, his breath growing more ragged from my actions. Something in me wants to take away the hurt.

I can make him feel good.

He buries his face in my hair, his arms tightening around me. “I need you, Emme.” A blunt sentence that sets me on fire.

I want to do this for him. I slide my left hand to his hip, the other moving to the hardness in his pants. With shaky fingers I cup him, and he groans, his grip tightening on my waist. “Then take me,” I tell him. “I want you to. I need this, too.” Consequences to my heart be damned. I’m so breathless for this man that I couldn’t possibly stop the painful craving sweeping through me right now.

Before I can blink, my coat and scarf are on the ground, then Dane’s suit jacket is whipped off and tossed in the upper corner of the elevator. Oh God, a camera. I didn’t even think of that. Then he’s back on me, his mouth pressing against mine, the fingers of one hand tangled in my hair. I groan and open for him, and his other hand strokes my thigh beneath my skirt’s slit.