by Misti Murphy
She snorts and returns her focus to grilling our dinner. “If that were the case…”
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” she mutters while closing the lid on the grill. “Do you need a refill?”
I left my glass in the kitchen since I can’t roll around in this chair while holding it. Somebody needs to invent cup holders for these things.
Christ, I need to get back on track here. “Going to get me to reveal all my secrets so you can take over my business while I’m incapacitated?”
She rolls her eyes as she slips past me, her leg brushing against mine. I almost reach out with my good hand, let my fingers trail along her calf below the hemline of her capris.
“Right,” she says, “That’s exactly my plan.”
***
Between the two of us, we manage to get my wheelchair outside onto the patio, where we eat dinner at the tiny bistro table that’s usually reserved for drinking coffee while I’m taking meetings with business associates located on the other side of the globe, before heading into the office each morning. Realistically, I’ll be able to perform most of the functions of my job from home while my various cracked and bruised bones heal.
“You aren’t planning to go into the office this week, are you?” I ask before biting down on a perfectly marinated and grilled chunk of chicken and tugging it off the stick.
Myra daintily slices her meat before popping a small piece into her mouth. She doesn’t answer me until she’s swallowed and chased the morsel with a slug of wine. Which is a perfectly acceptable way to eat, yet it makes me shift in my seat as I imagine her throat working like that while she swallows me down.
I grab my wine. I should push it away because it’s probably at least partially to blame for my recent inability to keep my thoughts on the straight and narrow, but screw it. I need something to wet my suddenly parched throat.
“Of course I am,” she says. “Have to keep your business running, remember?”
I need her here with me, not in my office.
“We can do that from here. You’ll just need to reschedule any in-person meetings, and possibly cancel that trip to San Francisco.”
She frowns. “I was looking forward to exploring some of the wineries in Napa Valley.”
I wish I could explore you. I place my elbow on the table and rub at my temple. I swear, not only can I hear that little devil whispering in my head, I can practically see him perched on my shoulder, laughing at my struggle to keep my thoughts from straying into inappropriate territory. Over my admin, for Christ’s sake.
She leaps to her feet and rushes around the table. “Are you all right?” She bends over and the front of her—my—shirt falls away from her chest, giving me a bird’s eye view of her delightfully pert breasts.
I can’t help it; I lean forward until my forehead brushes against her chest. I feel her heart beating, watch her nipples pucker, and I lick my lips. God, I want a taste. Just a lick and a suckle. And—
Myra grabs my head and lifts my face until I’m staring into her eyes, which are wide, the pupils darting back and forth. “James? James, focus. Can you hear me? Should I call the doctor?”
I shake my head, but she doesn’t release her hold. “No, I’m fine. I just…”
I want you.
No, no, that’s not right. “I’m tired, I guess. Moving about in this contraption is far more difficult than it looks.”
“Here, let me get you inside. You need to lie down, get some rest.”
It doesn’t take long until I’m settled on the couch and Myra is trying to tuck a blanket around my legs, which is unnecessary as the temperature in the condo is plenty warm enough. Not to mention, I don’t want her to get too close and realize my dick isn’t doing a very good job of following her directions.
But Myra is a damned determined woman, and when she makes up her mind about something, it’s nearly impossible to sway her. Pulling my mother’s homemade afghan off the back of the couch, she shakes out the folds and drapes it over my legs, reaching across my lap to tuck the fringed edge between me and the cushion. My pecker leaps for joy at her nearness, the head bumping into her arm. She jerks away, dragging across my sensitive skin, and I bow into myself, shockwaves of unexpected pleasure surging through my body like a freaking lightning strike.
And unsurprisingly, I’m not any less hard, despite that embarrassing interaction. Myra is staring at my lap like she’s never seen a guy’s rock hard dick before.
I grasp the blanket, bunching it on my legs to hide the evidence of my arousal. This is ridiculous. And embarrassing. I cannot imagine what Myra must be thinking, seeing her boss tenting his pants over her.
For five years, we’ve had an easy, relaxed rapport. In fact, since her first day on the job, she’s had this same comfortable relationship with all of us. Well, not exactly the same, I suppose. She and Garrett have always acted like brother and sister, and she’s always mothered Paynt, even though she’s only three years his senior. And she and I have never been precisely friends, either, like her and Ronnie.
Still, when it comes down to it, we are business associates. Practically partners, truth be told. Okay, Chloe technically is my partner, but Myra, she’s…I don’t know. Necessary. How many deals has she managed to step in and close when I struggled to grasp what the client really wanted? It’s funny; I never considered promoting her into a different position because she has always been so perfect as my assistant. To be fair, she’s never asked, either.
“Is that what you want?” I ask abruptly.
Her gaze whips to my face and she licks her lips, and my mind leaps right back into the gutter. My vision goes hazy as the image of her standing over me shifts, and instead, she’s kneeling next to the couch, her head bobbing over my lap while my hand is twisted in her hair, the other gripping the cushion while I try to hold out because this is so damn good I want it to go on forever and—
“Er, what do you mean?” she asks, and I shake my head to clear the fantasy. I can conjure it up later, when I’m alone. Even though I shouldn’t.
“A promotion,” I manage to croak. The tension seeps from my body, the idea pushing away the fog in my brain. Yes, this is why Myra has decided to quit. I’m not sure why it was such a shock to me that I tripped over the goat at Paynt’s wedding, but that doesn’t matter now.
“I’ll hate not having you as my assistant, because we work so well together, but I can’t hold you back any longer, Supergirl. If anyone deserves to fly, it’s you. I should have promoted you a long time ago. And I’m sorry I apparently took it so poorly last night when you obviously suggested it. I don’t have an excuse. But I can make it right now. How would you like to be my partner?”
“Partner?”
I nod, grinning widely. Her eyes are huge, her mouth a perfect O. Not quite the reaction I expect for such an offer, but it has been five years. I’m sure she’s shocked I’ve finally come to my senses.
“Yes. I want you to be my business partner.”
Chapter Seven
MYRA
James wants to make me a partner.
I’m speechless, and not just because he is so far off the mark it’s enough to make a grown woman cry.
As for his offer of a promotion?
I can’t say I haven’t thought about what it would be like to have a different position in his company, and not just the regular fantasy I have at my desk where he bends me over the yearly calendar. I’ve imagined what it would be like to have my own clients. I’ve practically been that woman any time James has been out of the office for business anyway. But it’s not what I want. It’s never been my dream. Working for him has always been because it’s him. A promotion isn’t enough to fix what’s wrong with us. And it’s not enough to base my life on.
I want more.
“How about it, Myra? You’ll get a pay increase and a new office. Hell, you can even hire your own personal assistant. Some kid straight out of college who will be eager to fetch your coffee. An intern yo
u can teach all your tricks.”
“I-I resigned, remember?” I’d hoped that being a little more straightforward with him this evening might make a difference in the way he approached our problem, but he’s blinder than a bat with faulty sonar, pinging from idea to idea in the hope of landing on the right one and getting nothing more than a damaged skull for his trouble.
“That doesn’t matter. You know I’m not going to accept your resignation.” Deep lines mar his forehead. “This is what you were asking for last night, wasn’t it? And I said no. It’s why you’re quitting.”
Not even close.
“Do you honestly think you would have said no if I’d asked you for a promotion?”
“Well, no, but...”
“And fallen over the goat?”
“The goat had it out for me. You saw it. That four-legged beast hates me.”
“It does not,” I chide, almost giving in to the urge to re-tuck the edges of the afghan before recalling how close I’d come to touching parts of him I’ve only fantasized about.
“Then why don’t you tell me what happened? Save me all this guessing.” His fingers wind around my wrist. “At some point, I am going to remember, you know.”
I’m not sure if it’s my pulse or his I can feel through his fingertips. Either way it’s a tad fast. If I can feel his, does he notice mine too? “I’m sure you will. Now why don’t you get some rest, James? We can talk about all this tomorrow.”
“Just tell me. How can I fix the problem if I don’t know what it is?”
Judging from last night’s effort to escape me, I’m not sure the problem is so much fixable as it is life-changing. “Do you think maybe this is one of those issues you can’t fix?”
“Of course I can. I thought we’d come to the conclusion that nothing was impossible when the two of us work together.”
“Did we?” I glance at where his cock tents the blanket across his lap. He’s still wearing those awful golf pants of Garrett’s. I should really help him out of them. I pinch my lip between my teeth. Between my hand, his dick, and some lube, we could definitely make the impossible possible.
“Of course we did,” he mutters. “You were there. The first time we had drinks with the rest of the team.”
“Our first ever Frost Inc. social engagement.”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“I remember.” Everyone else left before midnight, but not James. He was sitting at the bar when I went to say goodnight.
“It’s late. I’m going to go too,” I say as I join him.
“No, stay.” He pockets his phone, turning his gaze on me. It’s a little more friendly than I’m used to at work, but he’s more jovial after a few drinks than he is in the office. “We’ll have another drink.”
“Okay.” I set my purse on the bar. With several business trips coming up in the next few months, it’s probably best if I know what he’s like on a personal level.
“Bartender, can we get a bottle of your best whiskey?” He grins at me, with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows that makes me laugh. “Only the best for my number one admin.”
“Eighteen-year-old Macallan,” the bartender suggests.
“What do you think?” James asks me.
“It’s a good choice.”
“We’ll take it, and two glasses.” The server puts the bottle and two glasses on the bar and James takes over, pouring for us both. He offers me one then raises his. “Here’s to you, Myra Edwards. You’ve made an excellent addition to Frost Inc.”
I’ve never met a man like James Frost. So dashing, sophisticated, worldly. And charming when he wants to be. If he weren’t my boss, I might be quite blown away. “Thanks. I’m enjoying it.”
“Good.” His blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Is it what you expected it to be?”
“For the most part. Once I got the lay of the land.”
“Anything I can help with, let me know.”
“Of course.”
“Great. I have a feeling with we’re going to be an unstoppable partnership. You’re already indispensable.” Turning to the bartender who is tidying up close by, he says, “You should see how proficient she is. My clients adore her already. And the way she wrangles a calendar...efficiency must be her middle name.” He smiles at me. “It is, isn’t it? That’s your middle name.”
“Uh, actually it’s Violet.” I pull a stool closer to where he stands and sit on it. “Myra Violet Edwards. After my mother and grandmother.”
“Between you and me”—he tops our glasses up and leans in like we’re co-conspirators, which I guess in a way we are as I guard his inner sanctum and know more about his personal life from his calendar than any other employee—“it should probably be Supergirl.”
I feel a little funny under his engaging stare. Warm and just a touch like I’m floating. I take a sip of spirits. “This is a very nice whisky.”
He grins as he settles on a stool too. “And great company.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
***
That was probably the night my crush on him began in earnest, although I managed to ignore it for a while. I found him attractive, but that wasn’t surprising. With his wavy, dark hair and those shocking blue eyes, it would have been impossible not to. He was friendly, but that’s the kind of working relationship we had. So what if it also made my pulse speed up? And what did it matter that my daydreams started to feature him more and more regularly? More than forty hours of my week revolved around him. It was par for the course.
He shifts until he’s more vertically propped against the pillows, and drops his hands in his lap. “The point is, though, I know we can fix whatever is wrong here.”
“I’m not sure we can.”
“Just try me, Myra. When have I ever let you down?”
“You haven’t. Other than...”
“Last night.”
“Last night,” I echo. “But that wasn’t...”
“I know whatever it is was important or you would just come out and tell me.”
“Not that important. It can wait until tomorrow. Or the next day.” I fuss with his blanket, tugging and stretching it. Talking about it after so long…I wouldn’t know where to begin. I choked last night. Threw myself at him. I promised myself I wouldn’t shock him quite so hard this time. The plan is to put the idea into his head, not knock him over the head with it.
“Come on, stop it now.” He grabs my arm and unbalances me so that I’m bending over him, one hand clutching the couch for support, the other grazing his groin.
I gasp, and his fingers tighten on my skin. When I snap my gaze to his, he stares at me intently. We’re so close. My breasts are in his line of sight, but he keeps his eyes locked on my face. My mouth tingles when he darts his focus to it.
He exhales and his body shifts under my hands while he lets out a raw groan. It’s not the kind of sound James makes, and it’s fascinating. Is this because of me? Because my fingers are...is it me that’s turning him on? Sex on a crumpet, could I have my wicked way with my boss right now?
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he whispers. “You’re always the one to help me when I get stumped, but if you can’t talk to me...”
Stumped? Glancing back at my hand, still so close to his groin, I clear my throat, but the truth is, I don’t know where to begin. Just like last night, I don’t know what to say. But I do know what to do. I think.
“Okay.” James loosens his hold on me. “Perhaps tomorrow we can hash this out, and you might actually give me something to work with since you don’t want—”
I drop to my knees beside him and trail my hand across his semi-erection. With a sharp intake of breath, he bows in on himself. My palm soaks up his heat through the blanket and those hideous pants. Need grows into a ball inside me, a hot urge to drag the blanket away and undo his pants so I can get my hands on his naked flesh.
“Myra?” His breathing shallows out as I rub along the hard ridge through the blanket. “
What are you doing?”
“Should I stop?” Oh God, please don’t make me stop. This could be the worst mistake of my life if he’s not into it at all. I hesitate, almost lift my hand from his lap.
“Don’t.” He covers my hand with his and presses it more firmly to his erection. “Don’t stop.”
I do not need to be told twice. My insides melt like hot butter. I’m so going to need to change my panties after this. James wants me. He’s not turning me away. He’s not telling me that it’s a bad idea. Grabbing a fistful of the blanket, I drag it off him before I reach for his pants. He pushes his head back into the pillow, the sharp angle of his Adam’s apple standing out as he swallows down another groan. His long fingers caress my wrist as he rubs himself into my palm. I flip my hand over and squeeze his so that I can get to his fly and undo it. My heart is in my mouth and my chest is so tight I can’t breathe with the expectation. I know every damn detail about the man except for this.
I lick my lips as I take his hard, bare cock in my hand and give it a light squeeze. A soft breath pushes between his lips and the hand that holds mine tightens.
“Christ.”
My pulse gallops. Maybe he just needs time to get used to the idea that I want to be more than his assistant. Maybe he, too, wants to be far more personal than that, if this current situation is anything to go by. I run my hand up and down his length until his hips bump against my wrist each time.
“This is what I want, James.” I bow my head and whisper my lips over the fat crown of his cock. Flicking my tongue out, I swipe the bead of moisture from the top and taste him. “I know it’s so much more than a promotion, but I can’t help it.”
He shoves his hips up and his cock knocks against my lips. Obviously too much talking, not enough action. Perhaps now isn’t quite the time to tell him how I feel. No, give him a taste of what he could have if he weren’t so buried in his work first. I open my mouth and take him in. One hand wrapped around the base of him, I suck and wiggle my mouth up and down the length of him. He’s slick with my saliva, swollen hard in my mouth, and I desperately want to reach between my own legs and ease the tightness inside me. The idea of him touching me is like some weird version of heaven, only it’s a sauna and I’m permanently frustrated because he has only one good hand and it’s nowhere near where I need it to be.
