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  She glanced down, her cheeks flaming.

  “Oh, god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she blurted.

  But he seemed to know she didn’t mean it.

  “I could show you if you like,” he said.

  “Show me how? What do you mean?”

  “Part your legs for me.”

  She had no idea what he had in mind. But it didn’t seem to matter. He said the words and she was suddenly leaning back against his desk. She was spreading her thighs for him, even though she rarely spread her thighs for anyone. There were men she’d dated for weeks who didn’t get as far as Abel had in days.

  Yet somehow she couldn’t make herself stop.

  And she definitely couldn’t stop him.

  He ran the back of his hand over the inside of her thigh and her head went back. A low moan pushed past her lips—and then another when he got to his destination. He just traced one light finger over the taut material that covered her pussy, barely making contact.

  But barely was enough.

  It made her throb there, hotly.

  Her little bud seemed to swell, as if seeking his touch.

  Most delicious of all, though: he knew it.

  “Ah, yes, yes, I feel it, I feel your sweet clit pushing against my fingertips. So ready to be touched and stroked—god, I’ve never known anyone this eager for it. This greedy. Here, look, see how greedy you are,” he said, then slipped one finger around the elastic of her panties.

  Only briefly, but briefly was enough to leave her gasping.

  And to leave that finger glistening from tip to knuckle.

  He held it up for her when he was done. He let her see her own excitement, as clear as day. Then just when she thought she couldn’t take a second more of this—that her body was as aroused as it could be, without going over—he put his finger to his lips and slid it in. He sucked the taste of her from his skin with so much gorgeous enthusiasm it left her feverish.

  All she wanted to do after that was pull him to her and kiss that taste on him and rub her over-heated body against his.

  But she didn’t have to. He was there before she could reach for him, mouth covering hers in the kind of kiss she’d always dreamed of getting. Lips searching hers, soft but insistent at the same time, his tongue teasing rather than forcing in, everything so hot and hungry.

  And then there was the hand between her legs, pushing beneath her underwear. He had teased before, barely touched. But this time he found her clit with two firm fingers, and made a slow, deliberate circle around her swollen bud, in a way that made her whole body clench. Then he pressed right on it, working until she was almost beside herself. She said his name against his lips, in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. And when he kissed over her throat, she grabbed a fistful of his gorgeous hair without even thinking twice about it.

  And the moment he slid those fingers down . . .

  When he found her wet and wanting cunt . . .

  When he pressed inside, and stroked . . .

  She could have cried. She did cry. A great wrenching sob broke out of her, so loud she was sure someone would hear. But here was the thing: she couldn’t seem to care. She thought of some guy working late on this floor, glancing up at the sound of her cries of pleasure. And the only thing that happened when she did was rub against him harder. She groaned and gasped more loudly—even going as far as to call out his name. “Abel, yes, now, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said.

  But nothing could have prepared her for the way her orgasm felt. The sensation pulsed through her body, so thick and intense she had to grit her teeth against it. Her whole body seemed to go rigid the second it hit, then dissolved into the kind of shuddering, writhing mess she’d only ever seen in porn. Somehow her skirt was around her waist. She’d sprawled across most of the desk.

  And only got worse after he spoke.

  “Ah, god yes, do it all over my hand you gorgeous slut,” he said, his voice so hoarse and lust-choked that she absolutely understood the words for what they were. He was praising her. He was aroused by her abandon, aroused in a way she’d forgotten men could be. She’d spent so long under Hartford’s cold thumb—or under the thumb of men like him—that this sort of thing had started to seem impossible.

  But it wasn’t. It was right here and now and it was everything.

  Oh! Just to hear him groan over the way she was behaving, to hear him saying, “I want to see you do that again . . .” It was deliriously good.

  So much so, in fact, that she let him.

  She let him strum her clit and fuck her pussy with his amazing fingers, until her back arched and her body shuddered. Only this time, when she was done, she sank to her knees in front of him as he oh so quickly unbuckled and unbuttoned his pants. She took his gorgeous, thick cock in her mouth. Then, as she knelt on the floor of that office—which only moments ago had been as pristine as the underwear of a nun—she let him buck once and groan her name.

  Before finally flooding her mouth with his come.

  Chapter Two

  It seemed best to put the whole incident out of her mind. Partly because it was just an anomaly in her otherwise steady and sensible life. But mostly because whenever she did think about it, her face got all red and hot. She would find herself suddenly dropping things. Her ability to hold a conversation seemed to disappear. Twice she trailed off in the middle of a sentence while speaking to an important client.

  She just couldn’t let that sort of thing happen.

  Not if she wanted Hartford to remain in the dark—and god knows she did. The very worst thing she could imagine was him guessing. He would probably clamp her into some stocks and then have everyone hurl eggs at her. At the very least she would get those pale blue eyes on her—the ones that seemed so lovely, until they turned cold. And then the mouth, which she tried to not think of as sensuous, would thin, and words would slice out of him.

  Like the ones he was saying to her right now, for example.

  “Do you honestly believe a lewd display in the workplace with my second in command is a productive and appropriate use of your time, Ms. Elliot?”

  She looked up from her iPad, finger still poised over the schedule they had been reviewing.

  Her heart was not yet beating fast, but it was getting there.

  Had he just said what she thought he’d said?

  It seemed like he might have. His lips were even thinner than she’d imagined. His gorgeously sharp jaw was clenched tighter than a miser’s fist. And his eyes . . . they were shards of blue flint. He could have cut her with them.

  Yet she still couldn’t quite believe it.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Hartford,” she said.

  “I mean the sex you had in my brand-new office.”

  “I thought it was Abel’s office.”

  “So then you do know what I’m referring to.”

  She shook her head, suddenly breathless. Her mind raced for excuses, reasons, ways to keep up with this conversation. “No, I just assumed. I assumed that was what you meant.”

  “You know what I think of assuming, Ms. Elliot.”

  “Yes, that only morons and liars do it.”

  “Exactly the case. So tell me, which are you? A moron, or a liar?” he asked, voice now much meaner than it had been at the start.

  It sounded like he was tightening screws inside himself.

  Tense, winding up to something terrible. And it was only getting worse.

  “Right now I feel like a little of both,” she said, red-faced and struggling.

  Barely able to get out a word before he snapped back:

  “At last, we have an accurate assessment of the situation.”

  “Mr. Hartford, let me just explain myself. You see, the thing is, I—”

  He held up one long-fingered hand, like a man about to conduct a non-existent symphony. Soon, the agonizing music would start.

  “I must stop you there, Ms. Elliot. After all, there is absolutely no possible explanation
you could ever give me that would mitigate such disgusting behavior. To cavort in such a manner with my most trusted and respected associate is so far beyond the pale I can scarcely comprehend it.”

  “But I didn’t—that wasn’t—”

  “You know I despise the word but even more than the word assume.”

  “Yes I do, only the thing is that this didn’t happen like—”

  “Oh, I suppose my eyes deceived me then, Ms. Elliot?”

  She stopped dead. Flustered words were on the tip of her tongue.

  Had he just suggested that he watched them?

  He had. She could see it all over his face—expression once sure, and now slightly less so. As if he had given some game away. Some secret he didn’t quite want her to know.

  “You have video surveillance in the office.”

  “I do indeed, Ms. Elliot. How else am I to ascertain if my employees are trustworthy?”

  “I didn’t think you needed to ascertain that with Abel. He’s your friend. Your most trusted advisor and confidant. You’ve known him for years and years.”

  He looked at his steepled hands, as if they were the most interesting things in the world and she was the least. But somehow, he didn’t quite pull off the usual cool indifference. His voice was even tighter when he spoke. His eyes were twice as steely. “Even trusted advisors and confidants can be led astray.”

  “So you believe I did this to him? That I made him do those sexy things with me? You can’t possibly think such a thing. You must have watched it thoroughly enough to know that the very idea is absurd.” She laughed at the end of her words.

  But her laugh soon died when she saw his answering expression.

  It wasn’t hard or cold or even furious. For a second it sagged. It was despairing.

  “What are you implying?” he asked, a note of hoarseness in his voice.

  “I wasn’t implying anything, Mr. Hartford.”

  “Well it seems to me that you were. Your suggestion is clear.”

  “How can it be clear? I have no idea what it is.”

  She really didn’t, either. First he had accused her of leading Abel astray. Now he was telling her that she was accusing him. Of what? All she’d said was that he must have watched the tape thoroughly . . .

  Then it dawned on her, a second before he spelled it out.

  “So you deny that you accused me of voyeuristically poring over this salacious event? Your words were completely free of any hint that I might behave in as inappropriate a manner as you?”

  She sat back, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. Then she fumbled for words that all came out wrong. “God, yes . . . I mean, no. Honestly that wasn’t even a thought that occurred to me at all. I just wanted to explain how mortified I was at the slightest suggestion that I would corrupt Abel in some way, or force him to do this against his will or—”

  “You don’t seem mortified, Ms. Elliot. You seem like you’re flaunting your tawdry liaison in my face.”

  “I can assure you, sir, that there is no flaunting happening here. I don’t even know why anyone would flaunt this in front of you, considering how professional and aloof and strict about the rules you are.”

  “And now you proceed to mock me for having some sense of duty? Some values?”

  “What? God, no, Mr. Hartford, no, you have my complete respect, I assure you. That wasn’t mockery, that was the truth I would never—” she said, and this time she really tried to keep going.

  But his voice was louder now. He was almost shouting.

  Thomas Hartford, shouting in his own office.

  “Oh, you would never? Never ever cross your heart and hope to die? Perhaps we should play the recording then and see how much truth there is in such a highly dubious claim.”

  He spun the laptop on his desk around, to reveal yet another awful part of this.

  There she was, not yet stepping out of her shoes. Abel stood with his hands in his pockets, freeze-framed just as she was about to speak.

  “Christ, okay, okay, I think I need a paper bag to breathe into.”

  “And why would that be, Ms. Elliot? Do you possibly say something insubordinate?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Then let me refresh your memory.”

  He clicked play right where she least wanted him to: When she had said that thing about pressure detectors in the soles of her shoes. And it wasn’t just the words, either—it was the way she looked when she said them: flushed with the thrill of it; defiant, almost.

  Suddenly she could see why Abel had been so attracted. Why he had called her that morning to ask to see her again. Not that any of it helped her now.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Ms. Elliot?” Hartford said.

  And then it was back to thinking of excuses.

  “In fairness, the heels are really uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, and so is being confronted by this sort of behavior in a place of business. Look at yourself, woman. Eyes already half closed, lips already parted.”

  “It just felt nice when he took them off, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Oh, I see. Then pleasure trumps propriety in this scenario? You may do whatever you please simply because it feels good?” he asked, only he wasn’t really asking.

  It sounded more like he was talking to himself.

  And when he did, his voice cracked. It cracked so viciously that she glanced up, brow furrowed.

  “I didn’t say that, Mr. Hartford,” she said, her tone a little steelier now.

  While his voice descended into near chaos.

  “No, but you implied it. You suggested in every touch you offered to him and every disgusting thing you asked him to do! Look at you there, with your breasts thrust out and your legs spread—it’s as though you barely care about your standing in this company at all!”

  “Sir, I do care about my standing in the company. You know I do,” she said.

  But he was no longer listening. His eyes were fixed on the screen.

  “Look at you encouraging him, moaning and writhing.”

  “In fairness, Mr. Hartford, he hardly needed any encouragement.”

  “And yet you gave it to him, you pushed him to do the same in return—how could you? How could you?” he demanded, voice now so brittle she was sure one more push would break it. And she was right. He spoke three more words, and all of them were full of despair. “How could he?”

  He stood up abruptly the moment they were out. Then, before she could say another word, he turned his back on her.

  His visibly shaking back. Thomas Hartford was shaking.

  She couldn’t carry on being indignant while he was shaking.

  “Mr. Hartford, are you all right? Because I feel like you might not be. All right, I mean.” She turned the recording off and waited. But still he didn’t do or say anything.

  “Not that it’s a problem at all, if you aren’t. I can just cancel your meeting at four and rearrange the conference call with investors from the Parkman Group. Call the car around, maybe, and have it take you home.”

  Still nothing. So she stood.

  She went to him and thought of putting a hand on his shoulder.

  However, the second she actually did it, he spoke into the tension-filled air of the office.

  “None of that will be necessary, Ms. Elliot. You’re fired.”

  Chapter Three

  She meant to tell him the second he walked through her door. About Hartford finding out. About his furious reaction. About the visible and still shocking emotion he had revealed, beneath the cracking ice of his cool exterior. She even opened her mouth to ask: Does Hartford have some sort of crush on you?

  But then he pushed her up against the hallway wall and she sort of forgot what words were.

  He was even more handsome now than he had been three days ago. Those black curls were so thick and lustrous, she couldn’t resist plunging her hands into them. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded already—before they�
�d even started anything. And that mouth . . .

  He pressed it to hers and nothing else mattered. Every single surge of pleasure and feeling came back to her, somehow twice as strong as it had been before. As if the meeting with Hartford had strengthened it in an odd way, instead of turning it into something tawdry. Now, when he touched her, she thought of Hartford watching them. Spying on them. Maybe even enjoying what he saw.

  And it turned her inside out.

  She was panting before Abel pushed a hand up her skirt. Moaning, before he dragged her panties down in one rough jerk. Then, when he bent her over her own dining table, she lost it altogether. “Fuck me, just fuck me, I’ve thought of nothing else but you fucking me,” she gasped like some sluttish other version of herself.

  But it was fine. It was good.

  His answer made it good.

  “My head is so full of you I had to force myself not to abandon my trip to Lisbon. Every second I was there I imagined you like this, skirt around your waist, your bare ass presented for me, those gorgeous legs spread so eagerly . . . oh god, you’re still eager for me.”

  Then his hand was there between her thighs—as hot as the table was cool against her cheek. Testing that eagerness, teasing through her already slippery folds. He found her slick hole with two thick fingers and simply slid right in. Then out again, to make maddening circles around her clit. And all the while he murmured to her that she was so wet and so swollen and so ready, in a way that made her want to sob.

  She did sob, after five minutes of that torture.

  “Just please, please, Abel,” she tried.

  Then heard the click and drag of a belt. The purr from a zipper, then a snap of rubber and the hiss of his breath.

  Followed by the thing she wanted most: the sweet sliding of his heavy cock into her slick pussy. Slow at first, oh so agonizingly slow. Like he wanted to savor it, maybe. But then he grunted, and his hand went to her hip, and suddenly things were much more urgent. He started pulling her back onto his cock instead of simply nudging forward.

  And he did it hard.