His Temporary Assistant

I picked up the K-cup. “Columbian Coconut-Caramel blend,” I read aloud then set it in front of him.

“And why is it not at my coffee station?”

I laced my fingers on top of the file. “Not sure. I only had one in my pocket.”

“In your—”

I unearthed the warmer one that was still in the pocket of my dress. I’d actually forgot about it while I was working. “Look at that, now you have two. Okay, forty-eight if you want to get technical.” I gave him a brief smile.

He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, making his arms bulge with all those muscles that just didn’t compute for such a desk jockey.

“Maybe you should have one now, and it will put you in a better mood.” I frowned. “The box is under my desk—how did you get this one?”

“My brother chucked one at my head when we were arguing about who was going to take the Donnelly case.”

I winced. Mary Donnelly had been particularly vicious when she’d come in earlier in the week. “Your brother shouldn’t have been under my desk.”

Preston’s jaw flexed, and I was pretty sure he was going to crush his molars. “That is not the point. And why exactly aren’t you manning the phones?”

“Because I’m manning all this.” I gestured to the stacks of files before tapping the K-cup from my pocket. “Look, it was just a little fun. You were being all rude and PMS-y.”

“Would you cease and desist with that name?”

“It’s your name.”

“It is not.” He brushed the pods to the side and leaned over my table, his long fingers curling over the lip right in front of me. “Preston. Say it.”

My heartbeat thundered between my ears. Or was it my thighs?

His gaze never wavered even though I was pretty sure I was the definition of having heaving bosoms at the moment. I’d been perfectly comfortable ten minutes ago in the air conditioned room, and now my skin was dotted with a light sheen of sweat.

I swallowed and couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward. What was it about the alpha side of this man that made me all…stupid? There was no other word for it.

Our lips were an inch apart. “No.”

He shoved the table out of the way and I gasped. He stepped into the empty space and hauled me up into his arms.

Startled, I grabbed at his shoulders. God, he was so damn hot under the fine cotton and silk blend.

He swung me around and set me on the table. It didn’t put us on an even playing field. If anything, I was even more trapped. He stepped between my thighs, drawing his fingers gently under my knee to lift it up and around his hip.

“I’ll find a way to get you to say it.”

“I’ve used your name before.” I was pretty sure I didn’t always use his initials. But right now, my brain was a fog of lust and white noise.

He tipped me back a little so he had the upper hand. The placket of his trousers rubbed over the cotton panties I was wearing in deference to the inferno of heat outside. At this point, it was inside too.

So, we’d apparently reached the hot portion of the day’s agenda.

His fingers dug into my thigh as he widened my legs a little more to fit his hard shaft against the center of me. “You’re so fucking irritating,” he said against my lips.

I smiled. “You like it.” My gaze dropped to his mouth. The puff of cinnamon on his breath made my lips tingle. I braced myself on the table and didn’t touch him. I was certain if I did, I wouldn’t stop. “We’re at work, PMS.”

Poke the lion much, Ry?

Well, something was poking back. And I wanted it inside me, dammit.

“I don’t fucking care.” He slanted his lips over mine, his other hand at my lower back, dragging me closer until we were nearly conjoined.