Play Thing. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
because she was a bombshell—she had small, pert breasts thrust heavenward by that saucy bustier, a trim waist, slim legs and an ass that fitted in his hands nicely.
No, he’d lost it because he’d seen something in her eyes...a wistful yearning, a war waged between boldness and fear, like she wanted to jump him but didn’t know how.
It had captured his interest like nothing else.
After he’d realised her true identity, he hadn’t been able to get over the startling contrast between the woman he’d imagined and the woman who’d made him hard by fixing those cool grey eyes on him.
He could read most people. But after he’d twigged that he’d screwed Charlotte, he couldn’t fathom how the hell she’d been so into it. How did a no-nonsense woman switch from being contained at work to confident enough to strip down, try on raunchy underwear and fuck a stranger in a warehouse? It left him completely baffled.
She’d intrigued him during their many phone conversations and he’d wanted to see how far he could push her. He’d deliberately teased her over the last few weeks, chuckling at the curt shutdowns she reserved for him—and probably every male on the planet.
To think how she’d responded to his touch...at the time, he hadn’t been able to explain rationally his over-the-top urge to possess her. Sure, he’d been too busy to date lately and hadn’t had sex in three months, but he’d never been driven by urges before. Celibacy didn’t bother him, especially when he had a new job in the pipeline. Yet he’d taken one look at Charlotte—not that he’d known it was her at the time—and wanted her.
His cock hardened and he shifted in the uncomfortable ergonomic chair. First item of business on the agenda at The Number Makers: change the furniture and make it more comfortable for staff so they wanted to stick around and work.
Though when he met Charlotte in a few minutes’ time and she realised who she’d had scorching sex with on a table in a back room of his warehouse, he had a feeling nothing would make her stick around.
He had to convince her otherwise.
Her work spoke for itself. She went above and beyond for her clients. She put in extra hours without expecting remuneration. She carried the load for her team. And she’d completed every task he’d set for her over the last few weeks. He’d been testing her, seeing how willing she was to take on extra work and she’d passed.
He hoped to God she wouldn’t quit because he hadn’t kept his dick in his pants.
Worse, he couldn’t get the image of her splayed on that table out of his head. He’d never seen anything so damned erotic as a woman he’d just met being so willing and eager. She’d been absolutely wanton and it had turned him on big time. Later, when he’d discovered her identity, it had made him wonder how he could have gotten her so wrong. Had that bold, fiery woman always been hidden beneath her brusque exterior? And if so, what would it be like to coax her to come out and play again?
He couldn’t afford to think that way. He’d made a mistake by sleeping with an employee, a mistake he had no intention of replicating.
But the fact he couldn’t stop thinking about her, had lain awake most of last night because of it, didn’t bode well for when she entered this office shortly.
He needed to focus on work. On making The Number Makers a strong, viable company. The more money he made, the further he left his old life behind. He couldn’t afford a slip-up.
But what if he’d already slipped up in slaking his unexpected lust for her?
CHARLOTTE LIKED TICKING off tasks in her head.
Pack up Aunt Dee’s merchandise? Check.
Have the boxes couriered to her flat? Check.
Enjoy sizzling sex with random stranger? Check.
Even now, the next morning, heat surged to her cheeks every time she thought about what she’d done in that warehouse.
She, the queen of introverts, having two mind-blowing orgasms with a guy whose name she didn’t even know.
It had been preposterous. Ludicrous. And so freaking incredible that she’d found herself smiling at random times last night, and several times first thing this morning.
After he’d left and she’d got over her funk at doing something so completely illogically bizarre, she’d expected embarrassment and shame to follow her initial remorse. It hadn’t happened. Instead, she’d felt oddly empowered, like she’d taken control of her sexuality and wielded it in a way she’d never anticipated.
Of course it hadn’t lasted and by the time she’d got home, her newfound boldness had faded and humiliation had set in.
How could she have done that?
Obsessing about sex with a stranger was the last thing she needed, especially when she had to meet her pain-in-the-ass boss in person for the first time in ten minutes.
Her confidence had taken more hits than a boxer over the years and while her sexy encounter yesterday had given her a momentary boost, she’d reverted to type today, envisaging their first meeting to be more of the usual: him demanding, her deferent.
To give herself confidence she’d dressed to impress today, wearing her version of a power suit. A deep burgundy knee-length skirt, an ivory silk blouse that tied in a bow at the neck, a fitted black jacket and low kitten heels. She’d even gone all out and straightened her hair. Not in any effort to impress Alexander bloody Bronson but to ensure she exuded self-assurance when she faced her nemesis.
Okay, so she was being a tad overdramatic, but he’d really riled her these last few weeks, barking orders, demanding perfection and teasing her with that ridiculous nickname. Charlie. Made her sound like a boy. And hit a little too close to home because of how asexual she felt at times, languishing in her single life and wishing things could be different. That she could be different.
Courtesy of that sexy stranger yesterday, maybe she could be.
That was what her brain-fade in that warehouse had ultimately been about: embracing her dormant sexy side, indulging in a little excitement, seeing exactly what she was capable of if she let go a little. Because, although she craved a stable, loving guy, deep down she wanted him to rock her world in more ways than one.
Trying not to cringe with embarrassment at the indignity of having sex with a man whose name she didn’t know, she gathered her files, checked them for the third time to ensure she’d stacked them in alphabetical order then rested her electronic tablet on the top, ready to show Mr Bronson exactly how competent she could be.
She hadn’t seen him arrive but the receptionist assured her he’d been holed up in the old manager’s office since early this morning and hadn’t opened his door since.
She’d be the first staff member he would interview.
‘Woo-hoo, lucky me,’ she muttered, glancing at the old-fashioned round clock opposite her desk. She valued punctuality so surely her new boss would be impressed if she arrived five minutes early for their meeting?
Not giving herself time to ponder the upcoming face-to-face she’d been dreading ever since he’d told her of his arrival in Sydney, she swept up her work in her arms and headed for his office.
The receptionist mouthed ‘good luck’ and Charlotte grimaced in response, before knocking twice on Mr Bronson’s door.
When she heard a clipped, ‘Come in,’ she opened the door and stepped inside. He had his back to her, his butt resting on the desk while he spoke into a cell pressed to his ear.
Her first impressions: dark wavy hair a tad too long to be conventional, broad shoulders, designer suit, nice ass.
Wow, that guy yesterday