Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress

‘This isn’t about you, Amanda. Don’t take it personally.’

‘It is personal,’ she snapped. ‘Admit it, Jared. You’re determined to think the worst of me. You’re just going to rip apart anything I do for you no matter how good it actually is. And you’re never going to take me seriously, are you? I’m just one big joke to you. Someone to wind up for your own amusement. You don’t even want my work, do you?’

Black eyes stared at her. ‘Amanda, this is the first pass at this. We’ll take what you’ve done and refine it.’

But she’d lost it. ‘What is this? Some sort of torment? Some warped kind of retribution for my supposed good fortune at birth? Because you once had to clean my boots? Now you’re going to make me suffer? Well, I get it, Jared. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for you. I’ll never be good enough for you. So I quit.’

‘You’ll never be good enough for me?’ Incredulity flew across his features. ‘What the hell kind of rubbish is that?’

‘It’s true,’ she stormed at him, unfettered emotion to the fore. ‘You don’t want anything I do and you don’t want me!’

Shock and then a wild anger crossed his face. An anger she’d seen once before. In a flash she knew what was coming and adrenalin roared through her blood.

She’d roused the wolf.

Her angry body resisted his for all of two seconds. Then she wriggled her arms up around his neck and kissed him back just as hard. At this kiss, there was no more thought. Only touch and sense and need. Control, now unleashed, had no hope of being recaptured.

Jared ran his hands down her body. Touching her the way he’d been thinking about for too long. And because he’d been thinking about it too long, all hell broke loose when he actually did it—every muscle escaped his brain’s command, every cell strained to get closer to her.

She gasped beneath his onslaught, her hands moving as fast and hard on him as his did on her. Pulling closer, yanking at buttons. She was so responsive, with his every touch she trembled. It made him want to touch more and more. But it was no slow exploration. He ran his palms up her thighs, straight under her skirt, gliding over the smooth warm silk of her skin. She adjusted her stance, widening it, and he knew there was no resistance, only equal need surging. He pulled down on the elastic. Once he got her knickers as far as her knees she lifted her feet, wriggling so she stepped out of them. His fingers sought that sweet contact.

Her lips broke from his at just the slightest brush; her moan was his undoing. Looking down at the expression on her face, he could wait no longer. He was so full of energy it was as if she weighed nothing as he scooped her up and took the three strides to the sofa. So easy to lie her down and then be there with her. The relief of feeling her beneath him was equally tormenting because he needed to be closer. Their lips connected, reconnected. Hungrily kissing—deeper, harder, longer. Her arms clung tight around his neck, her hand pulling his head to hers, clutching tufts of his hair. He wriggled a hand between them to pull up her skirt at the front. She was panting between his kisses. He fumbled with his belt, not wanting to lift himself that half-inch away to be able to slide the zip down and yet frantic to get the fabric out of the way. It was only a second but it was too long. He couldn’t wait any more. From the sounds of her breathless yeses neither could she. Finally, finally, he snatched a quick breath and with one powerful movement thrust home.

He felt her instant recoil but he was too big, too heavy, and in too deep for her to escape. She was rigid beneath him. Unbearably tight. Every muscle locked hard. And her cry…her cry had not been the sound of pleasure he’d expected.

Shocked, he stared at her. Not wanting to believe her reaction—it had to mean…to mean…oh, hell, no.

‘Amanda.’ Harsh, guttural—he scarcely recognised his own voice.

Her eyes flashed open. He saw the sheen of liquid magnifying their bright colour—the pain in their depths. She breathed out—a hard burst of air and the rasp as she gasped more air in.

He was as tense as her, braced on his arms, about to lift away from her. But her hands clutched him, her fingers curling hard into his butt, her body not releasing his.

‘Make it good,’ she whispered on another rush of air. ‘Please make it good.’

Frozen, he stared at her, brain working hard to compute this nightmare, his body winding harder. Wanting so badly but devastated at the same time.

It was too late. There was no undoing what he’d just done. He closed his eyes, grasping hard for control. He had to retrieve this situation—to redeem both himself and her. And the only thing he could think to do was to make it better—to do as she’d asked and make it good.