Boss's Christmas Seduction

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “It’s beautiful, Mr. Knight. Thank you.”

  “Hey, I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Connor.” He lifted a long finger and tipped up her chin so she couldn’t avoid drowning in the concern reflected on his face.

  Her breath hitched, and she blinked again. Except this time she couldn’t stem the acidic burn of moisture in her eyes.

  “Tears, Holly?” His eyes narrowed as one fat tear hovered for a brief second then spilled off her lower lashes and tracked its inexorable path down her cheek to the corner of her lips. She turned her face, pulling away from the tenderness of his fingers, the pity in his gaze.

  She’d had a lifetime of pity and she couldn’t bear to look up and see more from him. Not now. Not ever. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, instinctively reaching for the anger she knew she needed to shore herself up and carry through with the rest of this farce.

  “It’s nothing. Just a headache, that’s all.” She held the gift with numb fingers, the crunch of the cellophane rippling in the air over her laboured breathing.

  Connor stepped forward and removed the plant from her hands. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

  He put the plant back on his desk, then turned and caught her hands in his, drawing her closer until her breasts brushed against the fine-textured cloth of his suit. Beneath the fabric of her gown her nipples tingled and tightened almost painfully.

  Her reaction to his nearness, to him, didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes gleamed like black fire, his pupils dilating, almost consuming the rich dark brown of his irises.

  For an infinitesimal moment Holly allowed herself to dream, to believe he might want her. To believe he might return her love. In that moment, she was certain, her heart laid itself bare to his scrutiny, her own eyes the shimmering window to her feelings.

  But then the smouldering anger flamed back into life. Love, ha! He didn’t love her. He pitied her. Otherwise why would she be here, pressed up against the hard wall of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing as it matched her own. She couldn’t allow herself to be so vulnerable. Vulnerability was an indulgence she simply couldn’t afford. She pulled free of his hold, her body mourning the loss of his heat even as she did so.

  “I must go. Thank you for the plant.” She wrenched the poinsettia back off his desk and swivelled on her heels to leave, silently castigating herself for a being a fool to want more than she had a right to.

  Three weeks away from work, away from Connor Knight, would be a godsend right now. She wanted distance and she wanted it now. Yet a tiny chink in her rapidly assumed armour whispered, Liar. You want him.

  “Holly—?” He caught her by her elbow and swung her around to face him.

  Refusing to make eye contact, she stared blindly past his shoulder at the sparkling vista of the Auckland city lights, dazzling like a pirate’s treasure against the skyline and inky black harbour beyond. He could keep his wretched pity and he could keep his blasted plant along with it.

  He brushed another errant tear from her cheek with the back of his hand, his touch igniting the banked embers of desire she was working so hard to contain.

  Contain it be damned.

  She’d probably regret this in the morning. Heck, probably, nothing. Regrets were for the weak. If life had taught her anything it was how to be strong. To grab what you wanted and hold on tight. And right now, more than anything, she wanted Connor Knight.

  The poinsettia dropped, unheeded, to the soft carpeted floor. The crinkle of cellophane as it rolled to one side, spilling a little dark soil on the pristine grey wool surface, barely registering against the roaring sound in her ears.

  Holly reached up and laced her fingers at the back of Connor’s neck and drew his head down to hers. She parted her lips, drawing in the taste of him before she pressed her mouth to his.

  A jolt of shock shuddered through him. Shock and desire. Hot, hungry and hard. It had been years since he’d felt like this. Since he’d allowed himself to feel like this. Tonight Holly had struck at something deep within him. Something he’d held encased in ice, since desire and trust had been eviscerated from him by his ex-wife. Something that was now beginning to thaw.

  Connor angled his head to taste her more deeply. While she’d led, he now took control. It was what he did best, and his body had been dormant for far too long. His tongue probed the moist recess of her willing mouth, stroking, tasting and wanting more. He slid his hands around to the small of her back, tilting her hips forward, drawing her closer towards his heat, his very need. A groan wrenched from deep in his throat at the contact—the warmth of her body igniting a fever in him, making him want with a savage hunger that ached through his entire frame.

  He stroked one hand along the length of her exposed back, drawing her closer until he could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest. And it wasn’t enough. Right now, he felt like it would never be enough.

  His hand travelled further, upwards to the nape of her neck, where tiny strands of fine dark hair had fanned out and escaped the confines of her formal hairdo. Tiny strands that had enticed and goaded him all evening to feel their softness—a hint of the woman beneath the touch-me-not armour.

  Her skin tightened and reacted to his touch, much as his had earlier this evening when she’d helped him transform into Santa Claus. But he felt anything but jolly and benevolent right now. He was like a dormant geyser, coerced into boiling, surging life. A geyser about to erupt.

  His lips left her mouth. He had to taste her skin, to feel its texture against his lips, his tongue. He relished her sudden gasp as his tongue traced along the base of her hairline and he welcomed her weight as she sagged bodily against him.

  Yet still, it wasn’t enough, he wanted more of her. To touch. To see. To explore.

  “Stay right where you are,” he instructed, his voice nothing more than a husky growl.

  Connor moved swiftly behind her and skimmed both hands under her dress to coax the fabric over her shoulders until with a ‘shoosh’ of lining it dropped forward. In the reflection of his privacy-tinted floor-length office window he watched, mesmerised as the falling fabric exposed the delicious line of her collarbone. The dim lighting of the office lent ethereal mystery and shadows to the creamy caramel of her skin.

  “Lift your arms,” he instructed, and slid the fabric down further as she did so.

  A groan of approval, husky and raw, escaped him as he exposed the full roundness of her breasts, her dark rose-tinted nipples tight and distended.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured.

  Holly felt a moment’s panic as his warm breath sent flickers of dancing flame across the nape of her neck. She watched their reflection as his strong hands cupped her breasts, taking their weight, testing them. Then panic was overwhelmed by sensation as his thumbs stroked the aching peaks. Tension swamped her body, and her legs began to tremble as sensation arrowed to the core of her body, tighter and tighter until moist heat gathered then pooled in her panties.

  She shivered and sucked in a breath as Connor nipped gently at the tender skin below her ear. The tiny pleasure-pain the pressure of his teeth left against her skin was foreign, yet deeply addictive at the same time.

  She uttered a tightly strangled sob when his hands left her breasts. She wanted more with a desperation she’d never known. Not even when she’d been a child, wanting and needing a family to call her own. A family to belong to. She might not belong to Connor Knight forever, but she could belong to him for now—this moment—couldn’t she? For this one exquisite moment?

  She sighed as his hands trailed gently down her back to where her dress had arrested at her waist. The movement of his wrist was slight, but sufficient to send her gown cascading in a pool of crimson to her feet, exposing her matching lace bikini briefs and the length of her bare legs.

  In the window she watched, mesmerised, as his hands slid over the gentle curve of her hips and the tension at the apex of her thighs ratcheted up another notch.


  “Do you like what you see?” His voice was a tantalizing whisper in the shell of her ear.

  Holly trembled as his hands slid around to the front of her body. One hand stroked upwards to caress her breast, and the other down where it slid inside the sheer lace of her panties and dragged them away to expose the dark coils of hair that led to her private core.

  “Y-esss,” the word hissed past her lips as he parted the folds of her flesh and gently stroked the centre of tension that wound her body hard against his like a bow. Unaccustomed sensation cascaded through her, building in undulating waves, but riding on the crest of those waves surfed a flicker of fear. She was losing control, surrendering absolutely to him.

  “So do I.”

  His words were almost her undoing, yet she clenched her body tight—holding on, holding back, trying to regain some measure of restraint.

  Connor slid one finger inside the liquid heat that threatened to send him over the edge. He struggled to meet the challenge of maintaining an intellectual distance from the vision in the glass and the waves of heat and passion that emanated from the woman shaking in his arms—against his insistent body.

  Their reflection only served to incite him to a higher plane of need. Her glowing creamy skin fractured by the scanty line of red lace and framed by the darkness of his black suit behind her. The total contrast in their state of dress did nothing to lower the raging want that almost threatened to undo him, to send him uncontrollably over the edge in a way he hadn’t experienced since his early teens.

  He focused on Holly’s face and noted, with powerful pleasure, how her eyes glittered. No longer with tears, but with a dark intense blue flame of passion.

  With a slick finger he circled the hood of swollen flesh concealing the sensitive bud of nerve endings he knew would send her over the edge. Her breath quickened and the luscious swell of her breasts tightened and lifted as he gently increased pressure.

  Her cry of release was a trophy to his ears, and he supported her body against the screaming responsive demands of his own as she shuddered to completion. He felt all-powerful. For the first time in forever, he felt like a man who had it all.

  Well, not quite all, he acceded as he slid her underpants further down, exposing the globes of her buttocks, buttocks that as they’d pressed against him had been driving him closer and closer to losing control.

  He bent her forward, placing her hands to rest on the surface of his desk, and swiftly released himself from the confines of his trousers. He guided himself forward until his tip nestled at her entrance. He was acutely sensitive, still feeling the tiny tremors that pulsed through her, waiting, holding back until he could hold back no longer.

  The guttural cry that ripped from his throat as he thrust forward was as foreign to him as the concept of making love to his PA on his desk, yet for some reason—here, now—it all seemed perfectly right.

  She was tight, almost unbearably so, and from somewhere he miraculously found the strength to hold back until he felt her mould to his length, to sheath him with her wet heat until instinct overrode sensibility. Her body stiffened as he drove his full length into her and he reached around again to caress her sensitive nub. Taking the time to bring her to climax again was excruciating, until the rhythmic pull of her inner muscles took him suddenly, gloriously, over the edge.

  Spent, mentally and physically, and breathing in great gulps, Connor collapsed over Holly’s back. Bit by bit he became aware of their surroundings. Of the way his body pressed against hers, the feel of her silky smooth buttocks against his groin, her knotted fists beneath the spread of his fingers where he’d imprisoned them against the polished surface of his desk.

  His desk.

  The distant “ping” of the elevator returning to their floor rudely brought him to his senses. Someone was outside in the main office.

  Reluctantly he withdrew from Holly and hastily rearranged his clothes before bending to assist her with the twisted swathe of her gown from where it lay about her feet.

  As she slid her underpants back up, Connor caught sight of a telltale stain on her inner thighs. Blood?

  “Here,” he said, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, “You have your period.”

  “No.” Her voice was strained. “It’s not my period.” She shimmied back into her gown, hiding the luminescent glory of her skin behind the rich glowing fabric.

  “What?”

  “I said I don’t have my period.” Holly smoothed her gown with shaking hands.

  “You mean…” Connor was lost for words. She was a virgin? Or at least she had been until he’d taken her like a rutting stag. He grabbed her hand and stopped her as she started to walk away.

  “Holly, you can’t just leave. We need to talk.”

  A knock sounded at his inner office door.

  “I think we’ve just said everything we needed to say for tonight.” Holly lifted her chin and summoned every ounce of poise she’d worked so hard to develop. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Knight.”

  As an exit line she knew it was sadly lacking, but her mind was so scrambled she could barely think straight. She slid from his grasp and walked over to the door, swinging it open.

  “Yes, Janet?” Holly dragged every scrap of composure she could garner. No mean feat when her heart still pounded like a marathon runner’s and her legs were the consistency of jelly.

  “I, um, I came upstairs to get my things, and I thought I heard something in Mr. Knight’s office. I didn’t realise you were still here.” A flush of pink dusted the younger woman’s cheeks, emphasizing the unsettled look in her eyes as her voice petered out. Holly only hoped her own embarrassment wasn’t as visible.

  Connor had drawn in behind her and stood like a shield at Holly’s back. She stiffened at the sudden sense of heat and latent strength that emanated from him. A tiny quiver of pleasure rippled through her at the physical memory of his hard body behind her, within her, driving her past her prim and proper exterior and onto an entirely new level of living. She fought to control the urge to lean back against him and relive their lovemaking all over again.

  “Is that all then, Janet?” Connor asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I think you should go, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Merry Christmas, Janet.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too, sir, and you Holly.”

  “Thank you, Janet. Have a good holiday.” Holly suppressed a hysterical bubble of laughter that rose in her throat. She couldn’t believe how normal their exchange sounded. Inside, her heart was hammering a crazy tattoo, while on the exterior she felt like ice. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief when her assistant gave them both a weak smile and left them.

  Alone, again.

  Holly remained frozen where she was until rationality kicked in and she made for the door. She couldn’t stop in case she threw herself at him again. Already she wanted more of him, more than she could ever ask for.

  “Don’t go. It’s not over, Holly.”

  “Yes, it is. It has to be.” With swift simple movements she gathered her garment bag and handbag and made it to the elevator before even taking another shaking breath. With each step she’d expected to hear Connor’s footfall on the carpet behind her, yet when she stepped inside the elevator and turned to push the ground-floor button he remained silhouetted in the door to his office, his face inscrutable.

  Behind him, his office appeared normal, unchanged—the clock on the wall giving evidence to the passage of but half an hour. Only half an hour? It felt like a whole new lifetime. Holly knew she would never feel normal again. But whatever happened after tonight, she would always be able to lock the memory deep within her to take out and examine and cherish at will.

  The elevator doors took forever to close but finally they began to draw together. She bit back a cry of alarm as a dark-suited arm wedged between the closing elevator doors sent them springing wide apart again.

  “What are you
doing?” she asked, her voice high pitched and foreign to her ears.

  “It may have escaped your notice but we didn’t use protection. We need to talk. Besides which, that was your first time, Holly. For whatever reason, you chose me, and now I owe it to you to make tonight memorable and not just some denigrating experience.”

  Denigrating? He thought that had been denigrating?

  “You don’t need to—” Her protest was cut short by an implacable sweep of his hand.

  “No, that’s where you’re completely wrong, Holly. I do need to. And, I will.”

  Four

  Holly watched as Connor swiped his key card through the internal controls that permitted access to the penthouse apartment on the top floor of the tower that he used during the week when late nights didn’t make it practical for him to fly back to his home on the island.

  She knew she could stop him, if she really wanted to. He was nothing if not a gentleman. But she didn’t want to. Not at all.

  Despite the climate-controlled temperature in the elevator, a shiver ran down to the base of her spine. She’d only wanted to belong to someone for a moment, to have a connection, albeit fleeting. She hadn’t dared dream for any more than that. From the time she’d been old enough to understand what had happened, that her mother was never coming back for her and there was no one else out there who cared enough to try and find her, Christmas Eve had always been the hardest day of the year.

  It now struck her as ironic that despite all those years of conditioning, the one time she’d weakened and sought comfort had turned into her first sexual experience. A tug of heat reminded her that Connor had intimated there was more to come.

  Was that why she hadn’t put up any argument? Was she so pathetic that she’d take whatever he could hand out to her and be grateful? Yes.

  Suddenly his comment about not using protection struck home. She’d acted purely on instinct, on basic need, and been so swept away by both the man and the moment that the possibility of pregnancy hadn’t even occurred to her.

  Stupid! Of anyone, she should have known better. There was no way she could have a baby. No way.