CEO's Expectant Secretary
Prologue
He couldn’t sleep.
Brock Maddox looked down at the woman on the bed beside him. Her eyelids were closed, her dark lashes hiding the warm sensuality of her blue eyes. Her brown hair splayed across his pillow and her wicked, wonderful lips were swollen from the lovemaking they’d shared just an hour ago.
The soft sheet sloped over her full breasts, which she’d tried to keep hidden; the dusky rose of a nipple peeked above the white cotton. His fingertips knew the feel of everything beneath that sheet—every rib, the curve of her waist and lower still, the wet, velvet secrets that encased him, stroked him and plunged him into another world.
Elle Linton had captured his attention the first time she’d walked into his office for a job interview. Fearing she might present a distraction, he’d chosen a different woman who had subsequently decided to quit just one month later. Elle was the natural next choice.
By far the most observant assistant he’d ever had, she had quickly taken note of his every preference, from his favorite sandwich and soothing music to who was allowed to interrupt him and who wasn’t. A few late nights with sandwiches had progressed to wine and gourmet delivery. A couple of innocent brushes against her body had left him hard with longing.
He’d begun to smell her perfume in his sleep. He’d noticed her gaze lingering on him and seen the wanting in her eyes—he should have resisted. He remembered the night everything had changed between them as if it were five minutes ago….
Six o’clock. He should tell Elle she could leave, he thought, opening the door to his office. She had been standing right outside. Giving a smothered sound of surprise, she dropped the files on the floor.
“Sorry,” he said, bending down at the same time she did. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her perfume rose to his nostrils and he felt that same seductive tug. The one he always pushed aside. She stumbled and he instinctively pulled her against him.
Her eyes met his and irresistible electricity crackled between them. He was achingly aware of her breasts against his chest and the sensation of her thighs on either side of his leg as he held her upright.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her gaze holding his.
She wore a black pencil skirt with a back vent, her legs were bare, her feet in a pair of black heels that made it difficult to tear his gaze from her backside throughout the day. If she were another woman, he would lower his head and take her mouth. He would pull her blouse free and slide his hands over her breasts, savoring the touch of her naked skin. If she were another woman, he would pull up her skirt and make her wet with wanting him, then thrust inside her until…
“I should—” he began.
She closed her eyes. “Should. Do you ever get tired of that word?” she asked. “I do.”
Her response shocked him and a frustrated chuckle escaped his throat. “Elle…”
She opened her eyes and her gaze spoke to him, making wicked invitations.
“If I were responsible and sane, I would transfer you to another position,” he said.
She opened her mouth in protest. “No—”
He put his fingers over her lips. “But I—” He rubbed her lips and she flicked her tongue over his finger. He swore. “Just tell me you want this as much as I do,” he said.
She tugged his tie loose and pulled open his shirt, buttons cascading to the floor. “More,” she said.
Then he’d pulled her into his arms and carried her upstairs to his private apartment where they’d spent the entire night burning up the bed.
Brock stared down at her as she slept peacefully. His gut knotted at the thought of the preliminary report he’d received from his private investigator. He would meet with the P.I. tomorrow, but the brief text message indicated that Elle might be the person leaking secrets about Maddox Communications to their biggest rival, Golden Gate Promotions.
He hadn’t read the text until after they’d made love. Now he was stuck with a nauseating sense of betrayal. Was it true? He would wait for the hard evidence. He would need to see it with his own eyes. Was it possible that the woman who had warmed his heart and his bed for the last several months had secretly been stabbing him in the back?
One
Brock strode down the hallway of the cushy San Francisco North Bay condominium and cynically wondered how Elle could afford such luxury. He paid her well, but not this well. No, he knew exactly how she could afford it, he thought, tightening his jaw. Elle, his assistant—his lover—had sold him out. The time had come for confrontation. Brock wasn’t CEO of the top advertising agency in San Francisco for nothing.
With controlled anger, he narrowed his eyes as he knocked on her door on a sunny Saturday morning. He counted as he waited. One. Two. Three. Four. Still in shock that the sweet woman who’d become his mistress had turned out to be a cold-hearted liar, he balled his fist as he waited. Five. Six. Seven.
He couldn’t sleep.
Brock Maddox looked down at the woman on the bed beside him. Her eyelids were closed, her dark lashes hiding the warm sensuality of her blue eyes. Her brown hair splayed across his pillow and her wicked, wonderful lips were swollen from the lovemaking they’d shared just an hour ago.
The soft sheet sloped over her full breasts, which she’d tried to keep hidden; the dusky rose of a nipple peeked above the white cotton. His fingertips knew the feel of everything beneath that sheet—every rib, the curve of her waist and lower still, the wet, velvet secrets that encased him, stroked him and plunged him into another world.
Elle Linton had captured his attention the first time she’d walked into his office for a job interview. Fearing she might present a distraction, he’d chosen a different woman who had subsequently decided to quit just one month later. Elle was the natural next choice.
By far the most observant assistant he’d ever had, she had quickly taken note of his every preference, from his favorite sandwich and soothing music to who was allowed to interrupt him and who wasn’t. A few late nights with sandwiches had progressed to wine and gourmet delivery. A couple of innocent brushes against her body had left him hard with longing.
He’d begun to smell her perfume in his sleep. He’d noticed her gaze lingering on him and seen the wanting in her eyes—he should have resisted. He remembered the night everything had changed between them as if it were five minutes ago….
Six o’clock. He should tell Elle she could leave, he thought, opening the door to his office. She had been standing right outside. Giving a smothered sound of surprise, she dropped the files on the floor.
“Sorry,” he said, bending down at the same time she did. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her perfume rose to his nostrils and he felt that same seductive tug. The one he always pushed aside. She stumbled and he instinctively pulled her against him.
Her eyes met his and irresistible electricity crackled between them. He was achingly aware of her breasts against his chest and the sensation of her thighs on either side of his leg as he held her upright.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her gaze holding his.
She wore a black pencil skirt with a back vent, her legs were bare, her feet in a pair of black heels that made it difficult to tear his gaze from her backside throughout the day. If she were another woman, he would lower his head and take her mouth. He would pull her blouse free and slide his hands over her breasts, savoring the touch of her naked skin. If she were another woman, he would pull up her skirt and make her wet with wanting him, then thrust inside her until…
“I should—” he began.
She closed her eyes. “Should. Do you ever get tired of that word?” she asked. “I do.”
Her response shocked him and a frustrated chuckle escaped his throat. “Elle…”
She opened her eyes and her gaze spoke to him, making wicked invitations.
“If I were responsible and sane, I would transfer you to another position,” he said.
She opened her mouth in protest. “No—”
He put his fingers over her lips. “But I—” He rubbed her lips and she flicked her tongue over his finger. He swore. “Just tell me you want this as much as I do,” he said.
She tugged his tie loose and pulled open his shirt, buttons cascading to the floor. “More,” she said.
Then he’d pulled her into his arms and carried her upstairs to his private apartment where they’d spent the entire night burning up the bed.
Brock stared down at her as she slept peacefully. His gut knotted at the thought of the preliminary report he’d received from his private investigator. He would meet with the P.I. tomorrow, but the brief text message indicated that Elle might be the person leaking secrets about Maddox Communications to their biggest rival, Golden Gate Promotions.
He hadn’t read the text until after they’d made love. Now he was stuck with a nauseating sense of betrayal. Was it true? He would wait for the hard evidence. He would need to see it with his own eyes. Was it possible that the woman who had warmed his heart and his bed for the last several months had secretly been stabbing him in the back?
One
Brock strode down the hallway of the cushy San Francisco North Bay condominium and cynically wondered how Elle could afford such luxury. He paid her well, but not this well. No, he knew exactly how she could afford it, he thought, tightening his jaw. Elle, his assistant—his lover—had sold him out. The time had come for confrontation. Brock wasn’t CEO of the top advertising agency in San Francisco for nothing.
With controlled anger, he narrowed his eyes as he knocked on her door on a sunny Saturday morning. He counted as he waited. One. Two. Three. Four. Still in shock that the sweet woman who’d become his mistress had turned out to be a cold-hearted liar, he balled his fist as he waited. Five. Six. Seven.