Tempting the New Boss(18)

“Too busy. Too tense. Too I don’t know what. Did your mom really use a sperm bank to conceive you?”

Not sure he liked the abrupt change in subject—he’d rather try to steer her back to the subject of getting laid—he went along anyway. “Yes. She did.”

He didn’t know why everyone always seemed so interested in the sperm bank aspect of his parentage. He had said it during his first interview with the New York Times for some reason, he couldn’t remember why, and the suit who was handling the reporter had scowled at him at the time and made annoying hand signals that involved fingers going in a horizontal line across his neck. It was very distracting. Of course that was before the PR department stopped allowing any interviews with him altogether, which was fine with him. But people still brought it up to him from time to time. “Apparently, my mother’s criteria were very specific.”

“Only genius sperm?”

“I don’t think so. She wasn’t very intellectual.”

Her mouth dropped open.“I can’t believe that. Who was your sperm donor then? Albert Einstein?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“When was the last time you had sex?” she asked, which he definitely took as the conversation going back in the right direction.

“I couldn’t pinpoint the time for certain, but more recent than you I’m pretty sure.”

“You’re probably not very good in bed,” she said, almost to herself, and then added, to him, “How could you be? Being how you are, I mean. Clueless. Probably slam-bam-thank you-ma’am. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Though he was kind of annoyed at how casually she was discussing this now. He could barely breathe with wanting her, and his cock was aching to show her how he was in bed while she was still fiddling with the fucking necklace.

“I tell you what,” he said. “Let’s role-play and you can see for yourself.”



At first Mr. Genius-Inventor clearly did not have the slightest idea how to flirt. She kept giving him softballs, and instead of responding with “why don’t you see” or “you be the judge,” he kept answering her straight-faced.

But the role-playing line was pretty good. It shot a bolt of excitement through her right down to between her legs. The intensity of his glittering blue eyes didn’t help, one curly black lock falling over his forehead. She wanted to either kiss his eyes closed or lose herself in them. Anything. If she just waited, she was going to die or explode. Or maybe even do something really, really stupid that she wouldn’t be able to blame on the scotch later because she wasn’t that drunk.

“Maybe we could start with one kiss,” she barely breathed. “Do you like to kiss?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day as a matter of fact. Wondering what you’d taste like.”

They leaned closer to each other over the aisle, and he linked his fingers in her string of pearls and tugged.

God.

His lips closed over hers slowly, carefully, his palm cupping her neck, the slight pressure just enough. One light kiss and then a second until she leaned farther in and opened her lips to him. He held her still for a long, thorough kiss, his lips firm against hers, his tongue delving in, tangling with her own in little thrusts she felt between her legs. He tasted minty and delicious.

She tried to steady herself, reaching out while they kissed, and landed a handful of his silky hair, grasping it, rocked by the sensations flooding through her. He shuddered and broke away with a groan, his blue eyes so dark they were almost black now, and her hands dropped to her lap, feeling suddenly empty.

“How was that?” he asked softly.

She cleared her throat. “Good. Pretty good. Nice actually.”

“I can do better.” He cupped her head again, sifting his fingers through her hair, loosening the bun even more, tingles shooting through her at the subtle massage. “Let’s try again.”

His mouth was rougher this time, and his five o’clock shadow lightly scraped her cheek. He kissed like he really had been thinking of it all day. Long greedy swipes of his tongue that made her hips arch in her seat even while she twisted to the side and strained to get closer, her own tongue exploring the warm wet depths of his mouth. When he pulled away a second time, her heart was beating fast against her chest, her breath uneven and her cheeks hot from more than just the razor burn. For a moment, she forgot who he was and who she was and wanted nothing so much as to climb right over the aisle and close the distance between their bodies.

He leaned back. “Better?”