BOSSY: A Virgin CEO Romance

The appearance of a dim light in the closet dashes those hopes. I start to slide from the bed but hesitate. Harper is moving quietly, so she clearly doesn’t want me to wake up. Is she being polite, or is she trying to hide something?

I lie in the bed, eyes opened to slits, as I wait for her to leave the closet. A couple of minutes pass before the light goes out, and the door opens a second later. In the moonlight shining through the balcony’s French doors, Harper tiptoes across the room. A shaft of light illuminates her briefly, revealing her body clad in a white one-piece swimsuit. My groin tightens, and I clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for her as she creeps by me.

The well-oiled door opens soundlessly and closes with a nearly inaudible click as she leaves the bedroom. Her actions seem innocent, but I have to confirm her intentions. Is she really planning on a late-night swim, and will she be alone? I get out of bed and walk to the balcony. I’m not spying on her, and I’m certainly not spying on her without her knowledge, like some creepy stalker.

Peering out the glass door, it’s not the first time I’m glad that my room has a strategic overlook of the swimming pool. Within moments, she appears, diving into the pool with innate grace. It’s not too long before I have to force myself to step away from the window. It makes me feel strange to observe her when she doesn’t know I’m here. As much as I could drink in the sight of her swimsuit-clad body slicing through the water all night, I won’t.

And likely she’ll probably just jump out of the pool if I ask her if she wants my company.

Yeah, I have some work ahead of me before I can expect to seduce Harper. After the way I reacted on our wedding night, I can’t blame her for wanting to maintain her distance. But neither can I allow her to keep up the walls between us.

Besides, I like a challenge.

I was made for it.

5

Harper

Ugh. Headache. This stupid bed, this relentless heat. It’s all making me cranky. Even a nighttime swim, despite relaxing my body, refused to shut down my brain until the wee hours of the morning. I struggle to get up when Irina brings in a breakfast tray, clicking her tongue with disapproval at finding me in the nursery, rather than the “master’s” bed.

Just minutes after finishing breakfast, Sophie knocks and comes right in. Luckily I’m on my way out of the bathroom and don’t have to explain why I was sleeping in the nursery. Sophie’s ready to hit the beach and wade into the sparkling Aegean Sea.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I tell her. “Once I change.” I pull out the sides of the modest pink nightgown. “I don’t think this is suitable for the beach, do you?”

With a giggle, Sophie leaves the bedroom and I hurry into another one-piece. This one is a black suit with spaghetti straps and a hint of cleavage, cut in a style that shows most of my back. I tie a multicolored sarong around my waist, slip my feet into flip-flops, and grab a sunhat, sunglasses, and a novel before leaving the room for the beach.

Sophie’s already staked out a spot for us. This stretch of beach is accessible only by the Satyros villa, along with the two closest neighbors, so she has her choice of locations anyway. She’s lying on a blanket on the light golden sand, wearing a bikini I wouldn’t have the nerve to wear even at my current age, let alone when I was eighteen.

I sit beside Sophie, who stretches and sits up, a pouty look on her face. “Would you do my back?” She passes over a tube of suntan oil.

Squeezing out a handful of the slick oil, I coat Sophie’s back. Then pass her the oil to do her legs as I get settled, prepared to spend the next couple of hours reading my book before I even start to think about dipping my toes into the ocean. To have the time to read is a rare and beautiful thing, and I plan to take advantage of every second.

Soon, though, the sun is so bright that it prevents me from seeing the words. After a few pages, I give up and lie on my stomach, watching Sophie who is charging fearlessly into the lapping waves. Was I ever that young and lighthearted? It seems impossible to think so. My adolescence pretty much ended with the death of my mother, and the marriage of convenience to Jayson forced me to finish growing up in a hurry. His social circle is full of sharks, and I needed to learn how to navigate among them in a hurry, to avoid leaving blood in the water, so to speak. Maybe not the best analogy as I watch Sophie swimming, but it’s the one that comes to mind.

Still, several of Jayson’s associates and friends do seem like predatory sea creatures out to devour anything they can. The idea makes me grin at first, but my grin fades when I think about it. Amusement turns to deep melancholy. I lost so much during the last three years: the typical college experience, dating, sex, and maybe worst of all, independence.

When Sophie waves from the water, I lift a hand to wave in return. Trut

h be told, I also gained a lot. Sophie’s come through the worst time of her life with only a few emotional scars. I know she would have been very different if left to her own devices or heaven forbid, if she were banished to Greece after her father’s death. I know I’m a big part of that, and it’s important to me.

I also traveled more places than I could have ever afforded on a botanist’s salary and learned about art and culture firsthand. And charity work I’ve done has made a difference in at least a few lives.

So, I don’t know why I’m sad.

Not having sex is a small tradeoff for all the wonderfully positive things I’ve gained. So why can’t I stop thinking about it? Okay, yes, it’s probably because I am so close to being free...or maybe it’s Jayson’s sudden, and alarming, approachability? Regardless of why, I just need to stop thinking these kinds of thoughts. And I should avoid being alone with Jayson as much as possible.

The hot sun beats down on my back, so bright I’m still squinting. Folding my arms, I lay down my head, letting my thoughts drift as I relax.

I jerk awake sometime later. Before I have time to process where I am, or that I fell asleep on the beach, warm oil trickles over my back. Still drowsy, my eyes are half-mast as Sophie rubs suntan oil on my skin. “Thanks,” I say sleepily.

“You’re welcome,” Jayson purrs. “It’s bright out here. I wouldn’t want you to burn.”

Stiffening, I’m not sure how to react. It seems rude to pull away and sit up, but his hands are making me feel things I shouldn’t. And making me wet where I shouldn’t be. “Jayson, what are you doing? You should stop.” Fuck. Is that throaty rasp really my voice?

He makes a noncommittal sound as he continues stroking my back. I probably should protest, but his touch feels so good. As he trails his fingers up my spine I want to moan.

“You’re so tight.” Jayson probes my shoulders and neck with his fingers. “Are you stressed about something, Harper?” he whispers in a husky voice.