Business. Work. Is that all this is to her?
I can’t do it. I can’t be her boss. I can’t stay away.
With one step, I close the space between us.
Adele
Rafe’s heat slams into me the moment before his arm cages me. He hauls me close against his hard body. I’m torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to swoon like Scarlett in Rhett’s arms.
“See, this is exactly the problem,” I say, even though my heart is thumping a mile a minute.
Red crests his cheeks. “Stop talking,” he mutters.
“Excuse me?” How dare he try to silence me. I open my mouth, but his eyes flare with an odd green light, and I gulp my insult down. From a distance, Rafe is beautiful. Up close, he stuns me to silence. Green light flashes when he dips his head close. There’s a mini Aurora Borealis, dancing in his eyes. “What’s that?” I touch his jaw without thinking. “What’s going on with your eyes?”
“For fuck’s sake, stop talking.” Rough fingers slip into my curls, and Rafe tugs back my head. The move bares my face and my throat to him.
One moment, his hard features fill my vision. Angry black brows, wild eyes. The next, his soft lips are on mine.
Our first kiss is violent. An argument, a fight. Bruising, taking no prisoners. It’s wonderful.
He advances, and I retreat without thinking, only stopping when my back hits a wall. His leg wedges between mine, forcing me to straddle the hard ridge of his thigh. His body is a taut prison around me, huge and masculine.
I flatten my palms against his shoulders. I meant to push him away, but instead, my hands find the granite-like biceps, and I clutch him closer. Another tug on my hair, and he breaks the kiss.
I pant, every cell in my body electrified, heat tingling everywhere he’s touched me.
“No,” he says, the sharp planes of his face turned away from mine. “We can't do this.”
“Fuck you,” I snap back. “Stop thinking and kiss me.”
A growl rumbles in his chest, but he obeys, his perfect lips sipping, tugging, demanding more. I drink of him, lost and drunk on his whiskey taste.
My hips surge, rocking upwards. Searching for and finding the iron edge of his thick thigh. Now I’m riding his thigh with my cute vintage 1950s swing dress crushed between us. The crisp skirts and crinoline slide up my thighs. One of my Mary Jane pumps falls off with a clunk. I don’t even care.
I'm a mess, in total disarray. He destroyed all my control and poise in five fucking seconds.
And I love it.
“Rafe,” I murmur. He kisses down my neck, the scrape of his stubble chafing my soft skin. The delicious prickle zings from my throat to my nipples and detonates in my core.
“No.” Rafe jerks his head back and leans away. Without him to prop me up, I slide down the wall.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. In the absence of his heated body, a chill washes over me. I just made out with Rafe. In his office.
“Fuck,” he explodes and turns away.
Yes! Fuck me! I barely catch myself from begging. My lips are puffy, bruised in the most delicious way. I touch them, wanting to savor the memory of Rafe’s mouth on mine.
I just made out with my boss. I stop caressing and scrub my lips instead.
There’s a tense moment while I straighten my skirts and find my missing shoe. I check with shaking hands to make sure all my buttons are buttoned. My core is throbbing, and I’m sure my panties have melted off.
Rafe’s back is to me, his hands planted on the desk. His entire body is rigid, his shoulders bunched around his ears.
Kissing was a mistake, but we both made it. I refuse to apologize. I shake my disheveled curls out of my face and clear my throat. “This meeting could’ve been an email.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” I nod even though he can’t see me. “See you tomorrow.” And I flounce out as fast as my pumps can carry me.
Rafe
I stand in my office for a long time after Adele leaves, breathing in her scent. My wolf is confused. Why didn’t I take her? Mark her?
To the wolf, the world is simple. If you’re hungry, hunt prey and eat. If you find your mate, claim her.
I can’t, I tell it. I can’t have a mate.
My phone rings, and I answer it without checking who it is.
It’s Colonel Johnson, but his gruff voice does little to stir me out of my haze. “There’s movement with Dieter. He’s left Italy.”
I sit behind my desk and pick up a pen as if it’ll help me focus. There are still drops of ink from its exploded predecessor. “Dieter,” just saying my nemesis’ name is enough to call my thoughts back. What does he know about me? About my parents’ death? “Where is he?”