Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress

by Natalie Anderson

  ‘Is this you “controlling it”, Jared?’ Sounding as frigid as an icicle.

  For a second it froze him and she took the chance to push free of his arms.

  She tossed her head and met his stormy expression with far more calm than she was feeling. ‘Now are you going to show me the factory or not?’

  Jared stared into her eyes, watching the clouds thicken in them, feeling her body cool and grow taut even though she now stood the best part of a metre away. The last sliver of his humour vanished and the silence grew.

  The weird thing was he’d been so sure he could control it—hadn’t he been the one to say no before? Yet now the effort was tearing him apart and she was the one holding fast. It made him all the more determined.

  He wanted to hear her say how much she wanted him. He wanted to blast through that icy outer layer and find that passion.

  He was a sexual being, well used to being wanted by women. But he wanted to hear Amanda admit it. Since when was he so needy? He knew already, didn’t he? He could see all the signs of arousal in her body. But it wasn’t enough.

  The hunger infuriated him.

  He spent a gruff hour showing her the factory, ignoring the sidelong glances and obvious speculation of his employees—personal tours weren’t something he ever did.

  Back in Reception she looked no higher than his chin as she spoke. ‘Thank you very much—’

  ‘Cut the crap.’ He couldn’t stand her finishing-school politeness a minute longer—not when he wanted the real, raw response he knew was bubbling beneath her poised exterior. ‘I’ll see you Monday.’

  She worked almost every minute of the weekend, and every second of it she thought of Jared. Could feel his fingers skimming her skin, could catch his scent in the air, could hear his low murmur in her ear—his audacity, his blatant sexual references. They’d end up in bed together, huh?

  Hell would freeze over first.

  But as much as she wanted it—to have him, to get it over so she could get over it—she couldn’t. On Sunday night she spent the early hours tossing and turning before giving up entirely. She was trapped, wanting him beyond desperation but unable to have him—she had to keep control of this job. She had to do a good job.

  Anxiety stifled her appetite. Nerves made her knees knock. Sexual frustration fogged her rationale. She was held together by the thinnest of threads and it was already fraying in the taxi on the way to meet him.

  His suit was the first thing she noticed. The second was his utter lack of smile and that last little thread inside her snapped.

  The first thing he criticised was the colour scheme. Then it was the ‘f’ on the new logo. Then it was something that she didn’t even hear.

  She tried to nod. Tried to smile. Tried to handle it. Managing the whole thing on her own had been hard enough, but managing her wayward hormones when it came to Jared was just impossible.

  ‘OK, I get it,’ she interrupted him mid-critique. ‘Nothing about it is right.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing I do will be right for you.’ Standing, she shook her head and shuffled the papers together haphazardly.

  ‘This isn’t about you, Amanda. Don’t take it personally.’

  ‘It is personal,’ she snapped. ‘Admit it, Jared. You’re determined to think the worst of me. You’re just going to rip apart anything I do for you no matter how good it actually is. And you’re never going to take me seriously, are you? I’m just one big joke to you. Someone to wind up for your own amusement. You don’t even want my work, do you?’

  Black eyes stared at her. ‘Amanda, this is the first pass at this. We’ll take what you’ve done and refine it.’

  But she’d lost it. ‘What is this? Some sort of torment? Some warped kind of retribution for my supposed good fortune at birth? Because you once had to clean my boots? Now you’re going to make me suffer? Well, I get it, Jared. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for you. I’ll never be good enough for you. So I quit.’

  ‘You’ll never be good enough for me?’ Incredulity flew across his features. ‘What the hell kind of rubbish is that?’

  ‘It’s true,’ she stormed at him, unfettered emotion to the fore. ‘You don’t want anything I do and you don’t want me!’

  Shock and then a wild anger crossed his face. An anger she’d seen once before. In a flash she knew what was coming and adrenalin roared through her blood.

  She’d roused the wolf.

  Her angry body resisted his for all of two seconds. Then she wriggled her arms up around his neck and kissed him back just as hard. At this kiss, there was no more thought. Only touch and sense and need. Control, now unleashed, had no hope of being recaptured.

  Jared ran his hands down her body. Touching her the way he’d been thinking about for too long. And because he’d been thinking about it too long, all hell broke loose when he actually did it—every muscle escaped his brain’s command, every cell strained to get closer to her.

  She gasped beneath his onslaught, her hands moving as fast and hard on him as his did on her. Pulling closer, yanking at buttons. She was so responsive, with his every touch she trembled. It made him want to touch more and more. But it was no slow exploration. He ran his palms up her thighs, straight under her skirt, gliding over the smooth warm silk of her skin. She adjusted her stance, widening it, and he knew there was no resistance, only equal need surging. He pulled down on the elastic. Once he got her knickers as far as her knees she lifted her feet, wriggling so she stepped out of them. His fingers sought that sweet contact.

  Her lips broke from his at just the slightest brush; her moan was his undoing. Looking down at the expression on her face, he could wait no longer. He was so full of energy it was as if she weighed nothing as he scooped her up and took the three strides to the sofa. So easy to lie her down and then be there with her. The relief of feeling her beneath him was equally tormenting because he needed to be closer. Their lips connected, reconnected. Hungrily kissing—deeper, harder, longer. Her arms clung tight around his neck, her hand pulling his head to hers, clutching tufts of his hair. He wriggled a hand between them to pull up her skirt at the front. She was panting between his kisses. He fumbled with his belt, not wanting to lift himself that half-inch away to be able to slide the zip down and yet frantic to get the fabric out of the way. It was only a second but it was too long. He couldn’t wait any more. From the sounds of her breathless yeses neither could she. Finally, finally, he snatched a quick breath and with one powerful movement thrust home.

  He felt her instant recoil but he was too big, too heavy, and in too deep for her to escape. She was rigid beneath him. Unbearably tight. Every muscle locked hard. And her cry…her cry had not been the sound of pleasure he’d expected.

  Shocked, he stared at her. Not wanting to believe her reaction—it had to mean…to mean…oh, hell, no.

  ‘Amanda.’ Harsh, guttural—he scarcely recognised his own voice.

  Her eyes flashed open. He saw the sheen of liquid magnifying their bright colour—the pain in their depths. She breathed out—a hard burst of air and the rasp as she gasped more air in.

  He was as tense as her, braced on his arms, about to lift away from her. But her hands clutched him, her fingers curling hard into his butt, her body not releasing his.

  ‘Make it good,’ she whispered on another rush of air. ‘Please make it good.’

  Frozen, he stared at her, brain working hard to compute this nightmare, his body winding harder. Wanting so badly but devastated at the same time.

  It was too late. There was no undoing what he’d just done. He closed his eyes, grasping hard for control. He had to retrieve this situation—to redeem both himself and her. And the only thing he could think to do was to make it better—to do as she’d asked and make it good.

  Every muscle in his body begged for him to move. But he kept as still as still. Carefully he lowered his head, kissed her eyes closed so he couldn’t see into her soul and feel the guilt pour in. When he reache
d her mouth he felt the way she was gingerly keen to kiss him back. He slowed everything. Light, butterfly kisses, starting again, slow and sweet and gentle. Until it was her mouth that parted further, her tongue that sought out his. Gradually he felt her body relax, then he felt it soften and slowly, so slowly absorb his more.

  When he felt her hands slide over his back he choked. Kissed her again, more tenderly than he’d ever treated anyone. Only then did he dare move just that little bit. A small rocking movement—a fraction deeper before sliding back. There was no instant tension in her this time and slowly he repeated the action.

  Her mouth parted and sought his kiss again—he could feel her hunger building. He slipped his hand beneath her bottom, pulled her closer towards him, lifting her leg over his to widen her position and enable her to move.

  ‘Meet me,’ he muttered, moving her hips in time with his, showing her—once, twice, and then she took over, adjusting, rising higher, arching up as she understood and experimented with their sensual dance.

  Slow. He kept it slow, drawing out and then pressing close again so she felt every inch as her body accepted and embraced his.

  He swept his hand up the side of her torso, brushing aside her blouse and bra so he could return to her breast. Knowing she was sensitive there, determined to bring pleasure back to her.

  Her breathing had stepped up; he kept the rhythm the same but deepened the movement. Kissing her breasts, caressing them with fingers and tongue while matching the deep rhythm of their joining. And then he slipped his hand low, moving to touch her most sensitive spot directly.

  Her body was rigid beneath his again but it was different this time. Her breathing was fast and shallow, small moans becoming louder and her fingers curled hard into his shoulders.

  ‘Jared.’

  ‘Yes.’ He kept moving, slow, deliberate, intense. Focused entirely on her, keeping the rhythm the same as nearer and nearer she got. So close, so close it needed only one more…

  Her eyes screwed shut and she shook and this time when his name left her lips it was in a high cry that slammed satisfaction into him.

  His own body burned, blood bubbling, and every muscle screamed with the effort of restraint. Too long. He’d held back too long.

  As her cry ended he lost control. Thrusting hard and deep and fierce and fast, gathering her to him, not caring that the buttons on his shirt were digging into his chest or that the cotton was sticking to his back like a second skin. He just had to get closer, closer, closer.

  Chapter Seven

  AMANDA lay burrowed deep into the soft leather sofa, crushed by Jared’s weight, blown away by what had just happened. So good. So much better than incredibly good. Her body was warm, her cells still singing, and for one blissful moment she felt utterly ecstatic and sublimely relaxed.

  But then thought started to return. And all she wanted was a kiss—some sort of seal, an acknowledgement of how intensely together they’d been.

  But there was no reassuring touch, no word, definitely no kiss.

  Instead she felt his muscles tense and she braced herself for the unknown—his reaction. He didn’t look at her as he lifted away. Nor did he speak. The silence was louder than the way she’d screamed his name as she’d come.

  He turned his back and pulled his trousers up, redid the four or so buttons that had come undone on his shirt. He pulled it away from where it clung to his back. In less than a minute he was back to the businessman. The only giveaway that anything remotely ‘unprofessional’ had occurred was the way his breathing jerked, the sweat on his brow and the red stains across his cheekbones.

  Flushed with the remnants of desire or blazing anger?

  Amanda pulled the cups of her bra back over her breasts and clumsily worked a couple of blouse buttons. They’d both been basically fully clothed, and yet had been so intimate—so shockingly, wonderfully intimate.

  Finally he looked at her. ‘You should have told me.’ His eyes burned.

  So it was anger.

  ‘There wasn’t really time,’ she croaked.

  ‘There’s always time.’

  But he would have stopped. And she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

  His lips thinned and he turned away again. ‘That never should have happened.’ He jammed his fists into his pockets. ‘How badly did I hurt you?’

  She sat up, awkwardly pulled the front of her skirt down and did up the last button on her blouse. She had no idea where her knickers were. Didn’t want to know, just felt the imperative need to get out of there as soon as possible because he was so clearly unhappy with her.

  ‘I’m OK.’ She almost couldn’t believe it had happened. Would have thought it a dream except for the burning between her legs and the residual warmth in her muscles.

  ‘Bullshit. That was unrestrained. Too fast.’ He spun to face her. ‘It could have been a lot better for you. It should have been.’

  ‘Sleep with a lot of virgins, do you?’

  ‘You’re the first. But I know a woman needs to be ready. You weren’t ready.’

  He swore then. Almost as bad as that night of her birthday.

  Sitting on the sofa, she squeezed her eyes shut. Not wanting to cope with the anger she could hear. Past and present merged for a moment, making her feel sick.

  ‘Sorry to sully your ears, sweetheart, but you…you…’ He was pointing at her with his finger like some authoritarian figure from Victorian years. Then she noticed that the finger was shaking slightly.

  ‘Don’t think yourself a villain, Jared.’ She stood, emboldened by that faint sign of emotion other than anger in him. ‘I was willing.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘I finally got what I wanted.’

  ‘Why are you crying, then, if it was what you wanted?’

  ‘I’m not crying.’

  ‘Then what are these?’

  Surprisingly gentle fingers moved fast, wiping under her eyes, then he pressed them to her mouth.

  ‘Taste it,’ he insisted. ‘Salt, Amanda.’

  But not only that. His fingers tasted of her. Smelt of her. An intimacy she’d never known. Her eyes widened, senses reeling. He snatched his hand away. Swore again. Short and pithy this time.

  Another unbidden, unwanted tear rolled down her cheek and turning she swished it away. ‘I guess this isn’t exactly the aftermath I expected.’

  ‘What the hell did you expect?’ He swung her to face him. ‘I’m not about to get romantic on you, Amanda.’

  ‘I know that,’ she snapped.

  ‘You really are still that spoilt child. You’ve no clue, have you? You could get pregnant.’

  ‘Actually I’m not that naive, Jared. I’m on the pill. But I guess I might have to worry about other things.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ he said, white about the nostrils. ‘Incredible as it may seem to you, that’s the first time I’ve ever had unprotected sex. I’m clean. You won’t catch anything from me.’

  They stared at each other—both lost for any more words.

  She couldn’t believe anything that had happened in the last half-hour. That the conversation had descended like this. There wasn’t even the comfort of a post-coital hug. Not even the pretence of friendship to ease the awkwardness.

  She walked to the table, started to gather up her papers. Once she’d stuffed them together she turned, caught him looking at her with a face that was now pale.

  ‘We can go over those another time.’ He gave her file a quick glance. ‘I’ll take you home now. You should have the rest of the day off.’

  ‘I’m fine, Jared. I’ll go back to the office.’

  ‘You’re going to be able to concentrate on work now?’ He shook his head. ‘You need to go home. You need to…’

  Cry some more? His voice had trailed away but she knew he was right. She had no chance of coping with work now. Truthfully she just wanted to click her heels and be home alone and able to bury her head in her pillow for ever and ever and ever.

  How could this have gone from something so subl
ime to so awful?

  Instead she glanced at her watch. Good grief. It was only a bit after ten-thirty in the morning. His office door hadn’t even been locked. Anyone could have walked in and caught them. She’d just lost her virginity in unplanned, almost unprotected sex first thing in the morning with a man who didn’t even like her let alone love her.

  But, oh, how she’d wanted it. Hadn’t she done it deliberately? Pushed him?

  ‘Amanda, I’m—’

  ‘Please don’t apologise, Jared,’ she said, icily polite. ‘I asked for it. I wanted it.’ What was more she’d enjoyed it—after the initial shock. And she didn’t want him ruining it further by making it even more obvious how much he regretted it.

  He drove on the outside edge of the speed limit. The awkwardness created an impenetrable cone of silence between them.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Amanda was the one with regrets now.

  Not that it had happened—she would never regret that—but she did regret that it could be nothing more and that it would only be that once.

  She didn’t have to give him any directions; he obviously remembered well from the other night. As they pulled up outside the building she undid her seat belt, eager for a quick escape. But he had the engine off and the key out and was out the door just as fast.

  ‘You don’t have to—’

  ‘Don’t even go there. I’m seeing you right in.’

  ‘Where does the chivalry come from, Jared?’ She didn’t want him feeling like he ‘had to’ just because a situation had flared up between them that had got out of control. He was feeling bad because he’d just slept with her. Taken her precious virginity and not realised until it was too late. Was worried he’d hurt her.

  What hurt was knowing that it had been so incredible with him and that it wouldn’t be like that with anyone else. She’d tried already—so many times. Kissing every Tom, Dick and Harry and never going a step further because there was nothing in it. Earning herself a reputation as a frigid prick tease. But she’d never come close to feeling a thing with any of them, certainly not the thrilling wildness that she’d just experienced.