Under Contract

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I’m thinking...No. I want to go into business for myself. If you would help me with the numbers part.”

  “I can do that.” He took her hand. “I would love to do that.”

  “But I want you to teach me how to do it—no taking over and handling it for me. I need to learn.”

  “Not even a little bit of handling?”

  She couldn’t help smiling at that. “A little. Only because I know you won’t be able to help yourself.”

  They walked back to the car, still holding hands.

  “Can I ask what you wrote to Ara?”

  “I thanked her for being part of your life, for giving us the girls, and told her we think of her daily. And I asked her to look after my mother, if she sees her.”

  Oh. Tina brushed a tear away, salt lost in the freshwater rain. “I’m sure she would. That’s a lovely thing to think of.”

  “What did you write to her?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Stuff about the girls, what they’re up to. That I’m happy and getting engaged in a few weeks.”

  He smiled down at her. “So sure, are you?”

  “I have it on very good authority. Someone promised that and he always keeps his promises.”

  “Speaking of which, I believe you promised me something for tonight.”

  The prospect made her blood heat, despite the chill rain. “The girls are spending the night with friends, so you’ll be able to have your way with me.”

  “My favorite thing.”

  Hers, too.

  One thing ends, another begins.

  * * * * *

  Available now from Carina Press and Jeffe Kennedy,

  UNDER HIS TOUCH

  Amber Dolors knows better than to get involved with her boss. Devastatingly handsome in his sharp suits and sexy beyond belief, he possesses an air of command that fuels her darkest fantasies. But she’s worked too hard to get this job, and keeping it will lead to a brilliant future. She won’t cross that line—even if his way of giving orders and demanding her best performance gives her delicious warm shivers.

  Alexander Knight prides himself on his integrity and self-discipline. After all, he hasn’t risen to the position he enjoys by indulging his whims over ambition. He also isn’t blind. He’s certainly noticed his sharp, young assistant is hot as hell. His self-imposed sexual hermitage doesn’t stop him from watching her. And endlessly fantasizing.

  The day Alec’s cool reserve cracks and Amber catches a glimpse of something simmering beneath his apparent indifference is the day everything between them changes. Alec gives her what she’s been looking for sexually—as masterful in the bedroom as he is in the boardroom. He finds himself in the grip of an affair that tests even his boundaries, while Amber’s new role as willing student pushes them both past any consideration other than mutual longing.

  “4 1/2 stars! Kennedy’s novel has all the addictive tension and high-stakes passion that fans crave. Her main couple’s interactions are intense from the start, and she doesn’t shy away from either realistic details or dreamy fantasies. Best of all, she moves beyond their overwhelming physical passion to the emotions that drive them both, including the achingly real fears that threaten their happiness. As a result, this book is as touching as it is torrid.”

  ~RT Magazine

  Read on for an excerpt from Jeffe Kennedy’s UNDER HIS TOUCH

  Chapter One

  Amber scratched her temple, but Kiki didn’t see the signal. Probably on purpose.

  Her roommate and bestie appeared to be wrapped up in her half of the pair of guys currently chatting them up over cocktails in the never-ending quest for sex, romance and happy ever after.

  Pretty much in that order—from easy to impossible.

  Kiki looked fully into her guy, flirting outrageously, if the vigorous swing of her blunt-cut Bettie Page bob gave any hint. With her black hair and exotically slanted black eyes, Kiki tended to draw attention. Amber often joked that, when she was out with her friend, all the guys made eye contact with her about a foot to the right—or wherever Kiki happened to be standing. Not that Amber couldn’t hold her own, but more as girl-next-door than glam.

  She tried catching Kiki’s eye again as she sipped her second martini, but her friend gave no indication a mutual-bail might be in her future. And their pact prohibited Amber from leaving alone. Too much could happen. She was well and truly stuck.

  “So what’s it like working on Wall Street?” The guy gave her what he probably thought was a winning smile. What was his name again? Mark. Steve. Dave. Why did they all have to have monosyllabic names?

  “Actually, we’re in Midtown.”

  “But is everyone totally ruthless and cutthroat to make money?”

  Resigning herself, Amber tried to return the expression and leaned in. “Totally. I carry a shiv to the office.”

  He didn’t quite get the joke and frowned. “Really? I didn’t think the neighborhood was that bad.”

  Kill me now. Bored senseless, she couldn’t help toying with him a little. She widened her eyes and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Oh, it is! Just last week one of the partners went berserk and attacked her assistant for using the wrong account code. Blood everywhere.”

  “Wow, really—did you Vine it or anything?” Then he pointed a finger at her, flashing yacht-club white teeth. “A joke, right?”

  “Caught me! You’re way too clever for me.”

  He actually puffed up at that and in despair, she elbowed Kiki and scratched her temple pleadingly.

  Kiki, with a resigned wrinkle of her nose, made a production of yawning. “I’m beat and I have to be up early. Sorry to break up the fun, but are you ready?”

  “Too bad.” Amber grabbed her phone case, stuck her sunglasses on her head and shrugged into her coat. “Thanks for the drinks...”

  “Greg.” Her guy held out his hand and shook hers with a wry smile. “Should I bother asking for your number?”

  Ouch. “Well, I—”

  Kiki grabbed her arm. “Own it.” She lifted a shoulder at the guys. “Happy hunting, gentlemen.”

  They made a quick escape, weaving through the busy bar crowded with young execs of all genders, all remarkably the same in their sharp suits and expensive haircuts. Amber sagged dramatically against Kiki. “I so owe you.”

  “No, you don’t. Not this time anyway.”

  “Color me surprised. I thought you were into yours.”

  Kiki rolled her eyes. “Works at a bookstore. Makes nothing and wanted to talk about how YA is failing to serve boys. I nearly stabbed him in the eye with my olive pick.”

  “Did you tell him you’re an editorial assistant at the biggest YA publisher in New York?”

  She slid a cagey glance at Amber. “No. I went with shampooer at a salon this time. As a test. A regrettable one, as he wasn’t worth the lie. At least I discovered I need some realistic details to shore that one up. Do you think most shampooers are working their way up to stylist—or is it a dead-end job?”

  “Sounds dead end to me. Why did you stick so long if you weren’t into him? I’d been trying to give you the signal for fifteen minutes.”

  She huffed with impatience. “So you would give yours a chance! He was cute. And into buying and selling, like you are.”

  “Boring.”

  “You think they’re all boring.”

  “Because they are. White-bread boy with promising career seeking same, but female, for flavorless sex, possible marriage and production of next generation to feed the prep school his entire family graduated from.”

  “Seeing as how you meet those criteria, I don’t think you can cast aspersions.”

  “But I don’t want to. I don’t want a Hamptons wedding to a nice guy who comes with a nicely planned l
ife.”

  “You know, there’s nothing wrong with a nice guy.”

  “Never said there was. I’ve dated nice guys. It was very nice.”

  Of course it wasn’t tanned Greg’s fault that everything he said sounded like blah, blah, blah to her. Not entirely his fault that she wanted something different than what the Gregs of the world offered.

  “I want a guy with more...presence.” Mastery. A man like her boss.

  “Does that mean kinkier?”

  “Maybe. Probably. I’m young, unattached, living in the city. What if this is my window of opportunity?”

  “Then you’re doing it wrong because you’re not going to find Mr. Kink at the Z Bar happy hour.”

  “Clearly I’m not going to find him anywhere at all.”

  “Normal people probably get in a relationship first, then suggest the kinky sex stuff.”

  “Maybe. So far that hasn’t worked for me.”

  “There, there, darling.” Kiki dropped her head on Amber’s shoulder. “You’ll find Prince Fetish someday. Probably will have a thing for fucking his horse though.”

  Amber snorted out a giggle and waved down a cab. “At least he sounds interesting.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t be stupid.” Kiki held out her crooked pinky and Amber linked hers with it.

  “Don’t worry.”

  But she did worry. At least, the problem remained on her mind as she dressed for work, buttoning up her favorite pink blouse and trying to think about the day ahead and not the several disappointments of the night before. First boring Greg and then the erotic book she’d saved as a treat had taken a bad turn. It had been decent until the heroine decided to quit her job, turn over all her money to her dom and become a 24/7 slave.

  Why did these fictional doms have to be such assholes? Surely there was a real-world balance out there, a man who could fulfill the sex fantasies and see a woman as an actual person with career ambitions. Because the kitchen-cleaning porn? Not even remotely appealing.

  As a palate cleanser, Amber had pulled out her box set of Sandman, losing herself in the painful and sometimes horrific journey of dark and brooding Morpheus, the King of Dreams.

  Totally different from the world of high finance.

  She did love her job. The rush of it, the huge stakes. Even the routine stuff got her revved every morning. Like walking through the steel-and-glass lobby of her office building, the satisfyingly sharp clack of her high heels on the marble floors, even having to show her ID to the security guard. It was all so shiny and exciting.

  So was working for Alexander Knight.

  She’d landed in clover with this job. Barely above an intern’s salary, but with rich potential.

  She was working it. Following the business mantra—make your boss look good. A man like Alexander Knight made for excellent inspiration that way, since he already looked pretty damn good. He had a similar vibe as Morpheus, especially at the end of a hectic day, with his dark hair ruffled from scraping his hand through it, snapping out orders to manage his empire.

  If being around him gave an extra sparkle to things, well, all the better.

  She could—and would—sublimate her sexual energy into the job. Prince Fetish would be nice, but apprenticing to the King of Dreams...priceless.

  * * *

  She’d worn pink again. That ruffled cotton-candy silk blouse under the severe lapels of her black suit. The one with the tight skirt that showed off her trim young ass. Absolutely appropriate, modest workplace attire. Not that you’d know it from the prurient direction of his thoughts.

  If only he could stop thinking about popping her full breasts out of her bra, letting them be squeezed there amidst the pink, framed in black, while he pulled up her skirt and laid her back across his desk.

  Bloody hell.

  Alec rubbed a hand over his eyes to erase the image and to avoid watching her sashay down the hall, perfect bum twitching, slim calves like cream under her smooth hose, flashing through the demure back slit of the skirt. Though his computer pinged, announcing the arrival of yet another email, he waited a beat to be sure she’d moved out of sight. If he could figure out a way to transfer sweet young Amber Dolors off his team without unfairly impacting her blossoming career, he would in a heartbeat.

  Not her fault she tripped his particular trigger, however. As part of senior management, he knew better than to make a pass at her—or do anything to put a smudge on her fresh and shiny reputation. Sending her out in under six months with no reason? It would look bad.

  She was too bright and ambitious for some dirty old man to knock down, just because he couldn’t control himself.

  Because he could control himself. Prided himself on it. Iron self-discipline to govern the baser urges that sometimes threatened to overtake him. Stainless integrity. If he’d caught a whiff that anyone in the company—male or female—entertained thoughts about the junior staff of the variety that plagued him with this girl...well, he’d have them called out on the carpet. Had done so in the past.

  Rightfully so. He could and would keep himself leashed.

  Safe from temptation until the next time she made a trip down the hall, he focused on his overflowing inbox and gulped his tea. Too hot, but the burn helped him to concentrate. Not to think about whether her nipples would be the same color as her blouse or if he spread her slim, creamy thighs—

  “No,” he said. Inadvertently aloud, and clearly a little too loudly, because the devil herself popped her head round the doorframe. At times such as this he greatly regretted the firm’s open-door policy. He needed a closed door. A solid one. And no windows.

  Possibly a blindfold. For himself. Don’t think about how her mouth would look under a black silk blindfold.

  “Mr. Knight—did you say something?” Amber had a mild voice, nearly accentless, American Ivy League. It got under his skin. Everything about her did. A sharp, ambitious mind in a simmeringly curved body. From the shining fall of her waist-length honey-brown hair to her Alice-in-Wonderland blue eyes, alert, wide with inquiry. A bit startled, as if he’d caught her off guard. “Can I do something for you?” she asked, a faint line between her brows.

  Firmly he pushed away the sudden fantasy of ordering her to kneel and open that blouse. “No, sorry—was talking to my email.”

  “I don’t think it can answer,” she replied in a wry tone. “Unless you’ve got voice-activation that us plebes don’t.”

  “Heh. I apologize for disturbing you—carry on.”

  “Yes, sir!” She nodded crisply and gave him a cheery smile, completely oblivious to what that phrase did to him. How he’d relish hearing her say it under other circumstances. Yet another completely inappropriate thought. He scowled as three more emails pinged in.

  “The bloody things never stop arriving.” Ill-timed again, as his muttered comment stopped the lovely Amber from leaving.

  She turned back. Tilted her head thoughtfully. “You have it sorting by conversation threads, right? So the stuff for me to deal with goes in a folder you don’t have to look at?”

  “I know how to use email, Ms. Dolors.” He sounded more irritated than he should have. Not that it daunted her at all. In fact, she took several steps into his office.

  “It’s just that—” She paused, not hesitating, but clearly deciding how to put it to him. “See, as Joe’s assistant, with him on vacation this week, I get his inbox along with Jean’s email. We all get the same company-wide stuff. But I’m not getting yours. I check your spam folder for anything that shouldn’t be there. I should be seeing the unimportant stuff too. Unless Jean is sorting it? As your admin, I’d think she’d be too busy. That’s something I could be handling for you, if they aren’t. I’d be happy to.”

  “Is that so?”

  She flushed a little, a flustered rose. “I apologize if I’m
overstepping. I’d wondered about this before. You have better things to do with your time than delete emails about the company picnic or the vending machine policy. I could be doing that for you.” She raised her eyebrows significantly. “I would be doing that, if your inbox was organized by conversation threads.”

  Despite himself—uncertain whether his frustration was sexual or technological—he huffed out a laugh. “You’re waiting for me to tell you I have no idea what you’re talking about, right? And then you’ll go post on some forum for Millennials about how your stuffy old boss can’t handle his own email.”

  “Never.” She gave him a solemn, serious look. “Millennials don’t use forums. Too archaic. I’d tweet about it.”

  He really laughed then and waved a hand at the screen beneath the glass-topped desk. “Show me then.”

  A bright light flared in her eyes and she set down her water bottle and came round the desk. Tucking a long, shining strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned over, apparently unaware that her hip brushed his arm, nudging his hands away from the keyboard on its recessed tray. Her fingers flew over the keys and she explained as she reordered the lists. “See, the company server sends things by topic. You don’t need to look at the standard-topic stuff, the aforementioned vending machine policy and all the griping about it. I can sort through it for you, then bullet-point what you need to know.”

  Her scent—something essentially fresh, like green leaves—hit him hard. A mistake to let her get so close, bent over his desk as she was. What the hell had he been thinking? So easy to tell her to grasp the far edge of the desk. To stay perfectly still while he worked her black skirt up over her tight little bum. Or to simply brush the back of her knee, where the skirt slit revealed it, the darling tender crease of it. From there, short work to slide his hand up the inner curve of her thigh. She’d be wearing tights, not stockings, but they’d rip easily and—

  “Mr. Knight?”

  She’d turned her head, looking at him quizzically, as he’d lost track of her explanation, failed to reply to some question. His gaze locked with hers—and her lips parted, the blue of her eyes deepening. The tension sizzled and, had they been anywhere else, anyone else, he’d have taken her up on the implicit invitation. Closed the scant inches between them and taken that mouth, ripped open her pink blouse—