His Temporary Assistant

Another text came through.

PMS: I’m coming up.

My eyes widened as I whirled around and took in the state of my apartment. It wasn’t in awful shape, but there was stuff everywhere. Books, tarot decks, hunks of crystal, sketchbooks, and random articles of clothing covered many of the surfaces, including the sofa.

Fuck.

Ryan: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

He was already at the door, knocking with heavy thumps of his knuckles. Rude. He didn’t even give me time to say if I was busy.

But when it came to PMS, that was surprising, how?

I hurried over to stuff the items on the couch underneath, so at least he had a place to sit. I hadn’t invited him over, so he got what he got. But yeah, I needed a maid. Or to spend an afternoon tidying up.

Probably more likely than the maid.

I flung open the door. “How did you get my—”

He pushed up his dark sunglasses and dragged me to him, cupping my jaw and silencing my irritated question with his firm, persuasive lips. He didn’t hesitate before sweeping his tongue inside and rendering me mute with slow, teasing flicks of heat that made flames scorch the base of my spine.

Literally, since his other hand rested there and I couldn’t breathe from the lack of space between our bodies.

He finally moved back and rested his forehead against mine. We were both breathless. “You were saying?”

“Who are you again?”

His laughter was a deep rumble that made me grin in response before I caught myself. I was annoyed.

Right.

“My resumé was not meant for you to use to make surprise visits.”

He was already nudging me aside to enter my apartment, continuing the whole uninvited theme.

I tried not to see my place as he would. I had people over all the time. Usually, I cleaned up a little better than this, but I’d been distracted this week.

That was a good word for it.

He went right to the sofa and bent over to pick up a dark piece of material sticking out from beneath the piece of furniture. That was when I noticed he was not wearing a suit. In fact, he wasn’t even wearing pants.

“Whoa, you own shorts?”

Damn, he had a nice ass too. Who’d’ve guessed? Well, every part of the man was fine, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.

He turned toward me and held up the item he’d found, a black T-shirt that proclaimed Witches Make Better Lovers. It had stress lines around the chest area because I’d had the shirt forever and it had never fit quite right.

“I can say this is a true statement. Put it on.”

My nipples immediately hardened so I crossed my arms over them. “Excuse you? I’m already dressed.”

He stepped toward me. “So, get undressed.”

Nope, nuh uh, I wasn’t doing that again. Repeats were dangerous.

“Uh, not sure if you realize, but we aren’t at work right now. You don’t get to boss me around here.”

His voice dropped to a level guaranteed to disintegrate my panties. “Would you be more likely to comply if I say please?”