Off Limits

He walks behind her, but only so far as the door, which he pushes shut emphatically and slips the lock across with equal force. And then he is prowling towards me. Yes, prowling. That’s absolutely the word.

I have about four seconds to pull myself together. Four seconds to ignore the hammering of my heart and the throbbing of my libido. Four seconds to remind myself that he’s my boss, and a total ass to boot. To remember how I felt when he rolled off me and all but asked me to leave his bed not two minutes after deserting my body.

No one has the right to make me feel like that. No one. And certainly not twice.

‘That went well,’ I say efficiently, leaving no room for the personal. ‘I’m thrilled she’s going to be at the helm of the foundation.’

A muscle jerks in his cheek—as though he’s grinding his teeth or something. He catches my wrists and lifts them, pushing my sleeves up my arms to reveal the full extent of my bruising. He closes his eyes as he runs his finger over them, as though fortifying himself to look properly.

‘You’re hurt.’

I swallow, not liking this side of him any more than I do the bastard side that showered as soon as he’d pulled out of me. This is scarier, because it’s doing really odd things to my heart and my tummy, seeing him show this kind of humanity and compassion.

I jerk my wrists away. ‘Yeah... Can’t you tell? I’m in agony.’ I roll my eyes for good measure. ‘It’s just a couple of bruises.’

He nods, but there’s a look in his face that I don’t know if I ever want to see again. ‘Listen, Gemma...’ The way he says it rolls my stomach. ‘About yesterday...’

‘It’s fine.’ My smile is a flicker across my face and then it’s gone. ‘I know you.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, you don’t understand.’ His frown is one of frustration. ‘Let me explain.’

I swallow. Be strong. Remember Shower Gate. ‘You don’t need to explain,’ I say firmly.

Please don’t let him explain. Without an explanation there’s ambivalence. But if I have to listen to his regrets, worse, his apology...?

‘It was good. I had fun. Let’s leave it at that.’

I walk towards the door, needing an escape. My legs are unsteady and my throat is parched and sore—like it’s been flamed with a blowtorch. I walk away from him because my sanity depends on distance.

But this time he follows. He puts a hand on either side of me as I reach the darkly panelled door, so that I’m trapped by him. I freeze, staring straight ahead while my body goes into overdrive, his nearness impossible to ignore.

‘You want to leave it at that?’ he asks, his hand dropping to my hip.

I close my eyes, waiting for the hammering of my pulse to slow. As if it’s going to.

‘You want to forget what that felt like? Never do it again?’ His fingers run lower, down my leg to the hem of my dress. ‘Say the word and I’ll step backwards. I’ll stop touching you. For good.’

I nod, but ‘the word’ clogs my throat.

‘Spread your legs apart.’

You do that and I am outta here. Love from your brain.

‘Jack...’ I say, his name thick and hoarse.

‘I’ve been wondering all morning,’ he says quietly. ‘Did you listen to me?’

And his hand creeps under my dress, up my leg towards my bottom, where he finds the fabric of my knickers and flicks at it, hard enough to make me jerk.

‘No, you didn’t. Shame... Because if you weren’t wearing underwear I could take you right now. Here against the door. Would you like that, Gemma?’

I groan, completely frozen by the imagery of his words.

‘I’m going to fuck you now unless you tell me not to.’

Not only can I not find the words, I nod my head in total surrender. I hear his exhalation of breath and smile weakly. I move to turn around, but he keeps his hands on my hip—firm.

‘No. Like this.’ And he pulls me backwards, bending me at a ninety-degree angle.