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Booty Call: Prologue
She'd finally found the balls to quit.
"You're sure about this?" Dan's smooth, somber voice sent shivers sent down her back. As always, she refused to acknowledge the reaction.
She wondered what her characters would do in this case. Maybe knock the disks and papers off his desk and make him fuck her, here, right now.
Right on his desk.
"Yes, I'm sure." She pushed away the image of his face between her legs, his mouth on her, working her to orgasm. As always, Nicole clenched her muscles at the empty pleasure pulsing between her thighs and simply tucked the thought away for later when the laptop waited, fired up and ready, and busy fingers twisted thoughts and feelings into another story.
"You aren't telling me why."
For now she kept twisting her ring. She didn't normally wear the square cut red stone in a plain gold setting, meant for courage, luck and passion. She'd bought it when her first book hit Borders, from an old, smiling woman at a kiosk downstairs. A ruby for Rubina Red. Her author name and alter ego.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said.
"Try me."
Christ, he looked gorgeous sprawling behind that desk. Three monitors, computer parts and stacks of papers crowded the wide, light surface, and once again Nic found herself wondering at his reaction if she pushed all of that shit onto the floor on her way up towards his mouth. Five years working with him and still she couldn't help but stare. Dark hair, dark eyes, a slash of lips that seemed both sensual and cruel.
"I don't think so."
"Come on." He leaned back in his chair before crossing his impressive muscled arms across hismassive chest.
She loved a man in jeans and T-shirts. He usually wore suits in business meetings, but Christ, looking like this, with simple black cotton stretching all over that ripped chest. She had to bite her lip to keep from drooling. She wanted to vault over the three monitors on that wide desk and bite him--at least once. Her characters certainly would. Nicole Lang, Director of Client Relations, never did anything unprofessional. Except writing erotic romance and fantasizing about her boss.
Nic twisted her ring again. "Trust me. You really don't want to know."
She watched him lift an eyebrow. "Oh, I really do. You're running a porn website?"
"Close enough." The words came out before she even processed them. Shit.
He simply grinned at her, white teeth contrasting against tanned clean-shaven skin. "Spill it."
Like he'd believe her capable of that. The Nicole he knew was too calm, too damned proper. Too damned conservative to hit on him over three a.m. pizza as they finished up the latest bug patch and the conversation somehow veered to one-night stands and booty calls.
"I hit the New York Times best seller list." Words tumbled out soft and swift. "My publisher contracted three more books. I'm going to be a full-time writer," she finished while she still had the guts.
The silence stretched into a long tense moment. She held back the urge to pluck at a tiny piece of lint on her conservative dark pants. Sweats from now on. She'd work in sweats and not have to wear heels unless they hurt her feet and looked ridiculously, atrociously sexy.
Dan walked around his desk, and for a swift delirious moment Nic got the feeling he'd pull her into his arms. He didn't, of course.
Instead he held out a hand and she clasped it in a handshake, felt warm, rough skin against her palm. Another shiver. She sincerely hoped he didn't see it as she broke contact, curled her fingers around the lingering touch of heat he left inside her palm.
"That's damned impressive." She heard pleasure in his voice, something akin to pride. Certainly, more then what she got out of her brother or her mother. Imagine erotic romance on the New York Times. Not quite The Grapes of Wrath.
"You didn't tell me that you write." He leaned against his desk in front of her. If she sat down, she would be eye level with his cock.
So Nic kept standing, hoping the blush didn't work its way up to her face. "Yeah. I'm stoked."
He grinned at her and she just had this urge to take that final step forward him and let him hug her.
Professionalism. She was determined to keep that at all costs. If she ever needed to come back, if things didn't work out, at least she'd have an unburned bridge to come back to.
"You know that I expect an autograph."
No way in hell. "That would require you to buy my book."
"There's a Borders downstairs."
Uh huh, no way. She wasn't telling him her pen name. No way she'd let him read Seduction's Boss. There were too many places and coincidences he'd probably pick up on. Chickenshit, her own voice snickered in her head.
"I doubt it's anything you would be interested in."
"Try me," he said with another wicked smile.
The words came out before she even had the chance to stop them. "You're into erotic romance?"
Those dark eyes widened. She saw surprise, confusion, maybe a little bit of lust. You wish.
"You write erotic romance." It wasn't stated as a question.
Might as well deal with her big mouth. "I do. And I'm not comfortable you knowing my pen name." Straightforward, to the point. And maybe even a bit rude.
He straightened now, as if her words had struck him. "I see." His face went blank, like someone flipped a switch. "Let Kerry know, so she can draw up paperwork. I wish you best of luck." He held out his hand again, a gesture so coolly polite she felt like the last bitch on earth.
No way, she wasn't apologizing. Instead she took his hand, clasped briskly, and ignored the heat that shivered up her skin. Except the ring chose just that moment to fall off and they both bent for it, nearly hitting foreheads in the process, and--what the hell--she leaned in closer and let her mouth touch his.
Quick molten moment. Fraction of a second. No harm, no problem. She no longer worked for him, and didn't she always wonder what it would feel like working under him?
He didn't move. Didn't try to pull her toward him. Didn't push her away. Just stood there, silent, still as a block of marble, smelling of aftershave and coffee. Not kissing her back, just ... there.
She wondered what he'd do if she bit his lower lip. Her courage slipped away before she took her chances. Clearing her throat, Nic stepped away, forced herself to look back at him and not stare at the gray, fascinating carpet on the floor.
His face stayed pleasant and polite as if nothing had happened.
Her lips still tingled and her face felt hot. And he didn't look like anything had happened.
"It's been a pleasure working with you, Dan." Too bad I didn't work under you. "Take care."
"You too," he murmured, his dark eyes clear and direct on hers.
Nothing had happened. She simply made herself an idiot and he did her a favor by not making an issue of it. Case closed.
She didn't expect to see him again. Not after this. If things didn't go as planned--Shit, she would deal with that later. She had a book to write and three others to panic over.
Keeping her chin high, she forced herself not to look back. Five years. Done.
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