Not Safe for Work Read online

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this Swerve ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author's copyright, please notify the publisher at: http://us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  Chapter One

  The very last thing she wanted to do was show Abel Hernandez—new CFO of Hartford Industries—around. But when Hartford wanted something, Hartford got it. He snapped his fingers and she came into work on a Saturday morning, welcoming smile in place, itinerary on her iPad, every bit of her polished and coiffed.

  Nobody in the world would ever know she was irritated. The only thing they would see was a consummate professional, she knew. She even prided herself on it at times like this. It was gratifying to have Abel offer her a businesslike handshake, and an expression that said he found her correct in every possible way.

  Or at least, she thought that was what his expression said.

  But then he leaned in just as she went to pull her hand free of his, and said in a voice as smooth and warm as molten syrup, “You really don’t have to pretend that you’re happy about losing your weekend.”

  And suddenly she wasn’t sure what to think. She stepped back so she could get a good look at his face. But his face told her very little. He didn’t seem annoyed, or even like he was making fun of her. His dark eyes were free from mischief, and there was no smirk on his curl of a mouth.

  If anything, he seemed pleased, somehow.

  Like she’d done something super professional, instead of the opposite.

  Even though she suspected professional was not high on his list of pleasing things. Not like Hartford, who almost smiled when someone delivered a presentation without a single typo, or nodded his head just a little any time he saw you following the rules to the letter. No, this guy was different.

  And not just in terms of his attitude toward working weekends.

  She could see it in his dress—a V-neck sweater over a shirt, instead of a suit. Stylish, but not the rigid, stuffy look that Hartford favored. And then there was his hair, all thick black curls that seemed far too messy for someone like Hartford to approve of. It was the type of thing she might have seen in a Vogue spread about rugged outdoorsmen.

  Not something she expected from the new CFO.

  In fact, it made her wonder how Hartford and Abel were even friends.

  And that feeling only increased when he carried on talking.

  “Don’t worry, I promise not to take up too much of your free time,” he said, as if he truly believed free time was a thing. He even seemed to know what people were supposed to do with it. “On a day like this you should be sunning yourself on a veranda and drinking something with twenty fruits in it and a lot of alcohol.”

  She was so unused to comments like that she couldn’t properly reply.

  Instead she stood frozen for a second, then just blurted words out.

  “I don’t really drink alcohol. Or anything with fruit in it.”

  “Ah, so you’re more of frozen latte sort of woman then?”

  “No, actually. I hate coffee, too.”

  “Well whatever summery drink you prefer, you will soon have it. I have absolutely no intention of keeping you longer than is strictly necessary.”

  She winced, then. Somehow she kept contradicting him.

  And now she was going to have to do it again.

  “Actually, the tour I had planned will take at least two days.”

  “I really don’t think we need two days, Ms. Elliot. All I require are the directions to my office, and maybe the bathrooms.”

  “But I have presentations on personnel and operations, amongst other things.”

  She tapped her iPad, intending to bring up the itinerary.

  Only to have him stop her with a wave of his hand.

  “Ms Elliot, I can assure you I am already very aware of the inner workings of this company. In fact, it has been my life for the better part of three months.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t know your job, Mr. Hernandez, I—”

  “Please, call me Abel. I’d even say call me Abe, but I always felt it made me sound like an old man, or a dead president. Maybe even an old man who is a dead president.”

  She tried not to laugh at that. Hartford hated it when she laughed.

  Yet somehow it was spilling out anyway.

  She could feel her mouth curling at the corners.

  The sound was pushing at her pressed-together lips.

  And even worse: he noticed. Those black eyes seemed to dart over every inch of her face, as if searching for any trace of amusement. However, when he found some, he didn’t bark an order at her. He leaned in again, as if they were coconspirators. Murmured words mere inches from her lips.

  “You don’t have to hold that in. Not with me, at least,” he said.

  And just like that her ability to respond was gone.

  She went to speak, and only air came out.

  He had to fill in the blanks for her.

  “Shall we?” he asked, and waved one arm in the direction of the gilded bank of elevators. Then he just started walking, leaving her to trail after him in a daze. In fact, by the time he got there she was a good five steps behind him. He had to hold the doors for her, and the way he went about it only made her feel weirder, hotter. He did it with his whole body, so in order to get in she had to almost brush against him. She smelled his cologne, sweet and rich. She felt the warmth of him against the side of her body.

  And then they were standing together, side by side.

  Him relaxed, with his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored slacks.

  Her breathing too hard, muscles tensed in anticipation of whatever strange thing he would say next.

  Though it didn’t feel like tension when he abruptly spoke again.

  It felt like being on top of an insane rollercoaster that ran in almost complete darkness.

  “So how annoying do you find Hartford?” he said.

  But all she could do was eye him with suspicion.

  Then lie, right through her back teeth.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t find him annoying at all.”

  “Well, I suppose there’s always an exception to the rule.”

  “I don’t know what rule you mean.”

  “The one that says everyone in the world finds Hartford annoying.”

  “How can that possibly be true when you’ve been his friend for ten years?”

  “Being his friend for ten years doesn’t mean I can’t see his faults. In fact, it’s how I came to this conclusion in the first place, Ms. Elliot. I have an enormous wealth of experience to draw on, believe me.”

  He paused for a long time then—long enough that she assumed it was over. No more honeypot voice saying mischievous things. No more edging toward abominable rule breaking. No more having to look directly at his handsome face.

  Just a nice, relaxing, businesslike tour.

  Until he touched her arm.

  He leaned in again.

  “I have waited four hours for him at lunch because his cuffs were not starched to the right degree, only to spend an additional two trying to convince him that they looked perfectly fine.
Even now, if I move something on his desk even slightly out of position, he will eye it until I put it back where it belongs. Whole conversations will halt because a pen is not where it should be, and no amount of kindness and warmth will make him behave any differently.”

  She was staring at him by the time he finished.

  But she quickly glanced away when he turned to her.

  “I can’t imagine why you would accept this position if he treats you so terribly,” she said, face as set as she could make it, eyes on her iPad.

  “It’s interesting that you would use the word terribly, when I said annoying.”

  “So you’re trying to trap me. This is a test of some kind.”

  “Only the personal assistant of Thomas Hartford would ever believe this was some sort of test. It’s just so exactly the kind of thing he would do, to make sure someone was loyal.”

  “I am loyal. I would never express discontent in so unprofessional a manner.”

  She looked back at him, defiant.

  Then immediately wished she hadn’t.

  “I’m already aware of that, Ms. Elliot,” he said, voice as soft and gentle as any man could make it. “I can see clearly that you follow all of his rules and guidelines down to the letter.”

  “You know about his rules and guidelines in that much detail?”

  “Of course I do. He made me follow them, too, once upon a time.”

  She didn’t know what to say after that. She was too taken aback.

  And by the time a question occurred to her, he was on to a different subject altogether. He wanted to know about the layout of the floor they were on, and the reason people were working in the marketing department on a Saturday. Then it was all about his office. Little things, like how the intercom worked and whether he could have a certain filing system implemented. And bigger questions followed, such as an assistant he would soon be hiring, and whether she could schedule meetings for him over the next week.

  He even let her show him her carefully constructed presentations.

  Then came back the next day so she could make introductions with various staff.

  In fact, by the time it was Sunday evening, she had almost forgotten the strange conversation in the elevator. Her head was far too full of other things, scary things, like how incredibly attractive he was. That glorious hair, as thick and glossy as the leaves on rubber trees. And those eyes—too lovely and liquid to look at directly without falling in.

  Not to mention how patient and diligent he could be.

  Or how it felt when he just casually touched her hand, as he said the most solicitous things. He inquired about her life without so much as a prompting. He asked her completely irrelevant questions, like what book she was reading at the moment or what she wanted to have for dinner.

  It was amazing and unsettling in the most mysterious ways.

  And those amazing and unsettling feelings only got worse once they were in his office Sunday evening watching the sun slowly set over the city. The light was getting low and his arm was too close to hers. He had just asked her if she had any last questions she wanted to ask.

  It wasn’t a surprise when his question from the elevator came rushing back to her.

  By that point it was like having a tsunami inside her, kept back by little more than a thin cardboard wall. One tap from him and it would fall down.

  “Did he really make you follow all of his rules?” she asked.

  And suddenly the light in those black eyes was different.

  Brighter. More mischievous.

  “Have you been thinking about that since I said it?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe.”

  “It can’t be all three.”

  “Yes, then. Yes, of course I have.”

  “And what conclusions did you come to in your head?”

  “That I can’t imagine a person like you agreeing to wear a pair of high heels.”

  “It’s black brogues for men. Which I can see is significantly less annoying than you’re finding those torture devices currently on your feet.”

  “They are literally hell on earth.”

  “Then take them off.”

  She shook her head, teeth sunk deep into her lower lip.

  Her feet were throbbing and throbbing and throbbing away inside their leather prison.

  “I can’t do that,” she said.

  “Not even when he isn’t here?”

  “He probably had pressure detectors installed in the soles.”

  “And if he has, you can blame everything on me.”

  “I could never. Come on, I could never.”

  “Not even if it were actually my fault?”

  He raised one eyebrow, which was bad enough on its own.

  But then to cap it off, he sank down onto one knee.

  He reached for her right foot in a way that made her cheeks flush.

  “Honestly, you don’t have to do that,” she said.

  Only he was already there. He slipped her shoe off.

  And in response she tried her best not to sigh.

  “But I’m guessing it feels good when I do.”

  “So good I kind of want to kill you.”

  “Then you want me to stop?”

  “If you stop, I will kill you.”

  But thankfully, he didn’t test her on that. He started on the other foot. One hand lightly pressed to her suddenly wildly sensitive ankle, the other easing off that perfect Prada heel, slowly this time, and with a kind of deliberation she wasn’t prepared for. That deliberation made her hold her breath. It made her flush hot all over.

  And even hotter when he looked up at her.

  His eyelids were incredibly heavy, and the eyes beneath had turned a deep and burning black. Though it was his mouth that really knocked the wind out her sails. That curving upper lip had lifted even higher, giving her just a hint of his teeth. Maybe a flicker of his tongue, slick enough that it sent a little thrill through her body. Then he spoke, in a voice that shook her down to the bone.

  “Any other rules you want me to help you break?” he said.

  And someone else seemed to answer instead of her.

  “The jacket might be nice.”

  “Ah, yes, the rule about always keeping it on.” He nodded, but it was not the nod she paid attention to. It was the way he stood and started undoing the buttons. Slow again, as he carried on saying all kinds of things. “That was one of the first rules I refused to follow, you know. I would come in without one on and feel brazen, like the most daring person alive. Watch his expression seethe beneath the glacial coldness. Those frosty eyes of his suddenly white-hot.”

  “I can’t imagine him ever feeling that much emotion.”

  “He did. He does. He would, the second you let that jacket slide off your shoulders.”

  “Like this?” she asked, then somehow she was doing just that.

  In fact, she couldn’t seem to get it off fast enough.

  Seconds later it was a crumpled heap on the floor.

  And five seconds after that she was facing him again, breathless.

  “Yes, yes, exactly like that. Exactly so,” he said, his voice low and slow.

  Her own voice was too quick when she answered him.

  “And what else? What else would make him look like that?”

  “He likes shirts buttoned all the way up, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. Even when it’s as hot as it is now.”

  “So perhaps you should undo one or two.”

  She went even faster this time.

  The shirt was open at the throat before he’d finished speaking.

  And somehow she wasn’t stopping there.

  “Maybe more than two,” she said, as she started on the third one down.

  Then thrilled to see his eyes flash bright. That tongue licked over his upper lip again a second before he responded. “Then just let your shirt open a little, when you lean over to hand him a report.”

  “Maybe flash some of my silk bra and the s
well of my cleavage?”

  “Like you’re doing for me now, Ms. Elliot? Yes, yes, I can almost hear the faint intake of his breath the moment he notices. I can see the reddening of his cheeks, and the tightening of his jaw.”

  “Do you really think it would? Did it tighten for you?”

  “Oh yes. Oh definitely, yes,” he said, his voice almost a sigh.

  Or a moan. God, had he just moaned at the memory?

  She didn’t know. But she wanted to find out.

  “And after that? More must have come after that,” she urged him.

  “He told me I was getting sloppy. Insubordinate. That he would have to address the issue. One more infraction, he said, and he would need to show me who was boss.”

  “Oh god. And did you? Did you make one more mistake?”

  “I wanted to. Just like you want to now.”

  “I do. It’s all I can think about. It’s eating me alive.”

  “Then let me help you. Tell me how you want to transgress next.”

  She considered saying something tamer to that. Something that would keep all of this aboveboard and almost innocent. There was still time to do so, after all. Still time to be the rigid, rule-following person she had always thought she was. But then his eyes trailed over her face, so slow she knew he had to be savoring every inch. His breath ghosted against her lips, hot and tantalizingly unsteady.

  And suddenly she was whispering: “The stockings. I hate wearing these silk stockings.”

  In answer, he curled his fingers around the hem of her skirt.

  He lifted it to reveal the lacy tops that clung so tenderly to her thighs.

  “Ah, yes, these ones here,” he said, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. There was nothing strange about a man gazing at the underwear of a woman he had only spent a couple of days with. Nor did it matter when he started to ease them down.

  Slow at first, like he had with the shoes, but then he moved faster. He was more feverish, she thought, and couldn’t hold back a moan.

  “Does it feel that good to do this, Ms. Elliot?”

  “Better than I ever imagined it could.”

  “Well, that’s the thing about breaking the rules,” he said, as he let the stocking he’d just removed run through his fingers. “You think it’s going to be the very worst thing in the world . . . and instead it makes you so wet you soak through your panties.”