Babysitting a Billionaire 3 : Taking Control(14)

The desire was building. Maybe this is what she needed. One last time. She'd never trust him again, never allow herself to care for him, risk any of her feelings. But this wasn't about feelings; this was about shagging. At the thought, her sex clenched tight.




 

 

God, she wanted him.

All of him. Then she wanted to walk away and never look back.

He must have seen something in her face because a slow smile curled his lips and his eyes glittered.

He pressed the button to open the door and then grabbed her hand, his fingers twining with hers as though he were still not sure she wouldn't make a dash for it.

Neither was she.

She was working on autopilot; she'd shut down the parts of her brain that could actually think. Because deep down she was perfectly aware that this was a mistake of fucking awesome proportions.

He dragged her out of the elevator and across the office. His assistant was still behind the desk, but his mouth had fallen open.

"Go home," Declan said. "You're finished for the day."

He didn't wait for any response, just continued to tug her across the carpeted floor and then through the big double doors into his office. The doors clicked shut behind them, and Declan turned and flicked the lock, then moved to face her.

"Take off the gun."

She shook her head. "What?"

"The gun, Jess. Take it off. You hate me, remember? I don't want you tempted if I piss you off."

Her brows drew together. "And are you planning on pissing me off?"

He grinned. "Well, it's not on my immediate list, but from past experience I can't rule it out."

Yeah, they'd always been volatile, had spent as much time arguing as they had making love.

They were going to do this. She knew that. There was no turning back now-if he tried, she might very well hold him down and take him by force. Years of need were simmering beneath the surface. She had to have this.

Keeping her eyes on him, she stripped off her jacket, strolled across the office, and laid it on a nearby chair. Then she slowly undid the buckles on the holster, slipped it from her shoulder, and gently rested it on top of the jacket.

He was watching her, his gaze intent, fixed on her like a predator searching for weaknesses in its prey. He appeared outwardly calm, but she could sense the pent-up emotion beneath the surface waiting to explode. A strange primordial fear gripped her, and she held herself still as though she might set off some cataclysmic explosion with the wrong move.

She tried to remind herself that he was a boring businessman who spent his whole life sitting behind a desk, but the description wouldn't hold. He'd always had an almost savage masculine beauty, his face all harsh angles, sharp cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, the fierce slash of his black brows.

Her gaze dropped, snagging on the bulge at his groin. He wanted her.

And she wanted him with a desperation that scared her witless. The last working cell in her brain screamed at her to run. But she wasn't a coward. At the thought, that one functioning brain cell snorted in disgust. She was looking for any excuse to stay. 

But it was just sex. Sex didn't have to mean anything. She'd proved that. Just not with this man. Yet. But wasn't that why she'd come here, to prove he was no different?

She was overthinking. She didn't want to think. She wanted to feel.

Their abandoned drinks were still on the table and she strode over, picked up her glass, and swallowed it in one go. She felt the scotch in her belly, stoking the flames. She slammed the glass down and picked up Declan's, gulped that, and turned to face him.

He quirked a brow but didn't speak. Instead, he raised his hand and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it out of his pants, stripping it off, and dropping it to the floor. And she stood there like an idiot and stared. A white bandage crossed his shoulder breaking up the perfection of his olive skin. His chest was smooth, but beneath his navel, a line of dark hair disappeared into his pants.

As she watched, he unbuckled the leather belt and flicked open the button on his pants.

Holy shit.

Sweat broke out on her palms, and she resisted the urge to wipe them down her sides. The alcohol was a buzz in her brain quieting the niggles of doubt. She placed the glass she was still gripping gently on the desk. If this was going to happen, she wanted it on her terms. She would decide.

Her gaze snagged on the line of silky black hair running down his lean belly, disappearing …  Yeah, it was going to happen.

As she accepted that fact, a smile tugged at her mouth.

Holy hell. She was going to have sex. With Declan. She was going to fuck his brains out and then this time, she would be the one to walk away.

She stalked toward him, her gaze fixed on the bulge in his pants. It was huge, and it was all hers. For as long as she wanted. Which wouldn't be very long. Because, while she might be deluded, she wasn't a total idiot.