The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

Did she understand we were playing a game? And if she had, did she realize how terribly unbalanced her forces were in comparison to mine? She was playing against a master. I’d gravely underestimated her talent when we’d shot our round of skeet, and I was eagerly anticipating the moment when our roles would reverse.

I was seated behind my desk, and my tone was unassuming. “That dress looks even better in person.”

Sophia paused awkwardly at my unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”

She resumed the menial task I’d assigned her of filling my office with the items that had been stored while I was away. She arranged a collection of awards I’d received during my tenure as CEO on the bookshelf, wiping away her fingerprints from the glass when she had the arrangement as she wanted it.

“You liked my Instagram post from yesterday.”

My pulse went out of rhythm, then settled back into its steady tempo. “Yes.”

“Why?”

There was a myriad of truthful reasons I could have given her, but I went with a lie. “It was a successful meeting with Mrs. Gabbard.”

The way she held my gaze announced she did not believe me.

Or . . . perhaps it was something else? She angled her head as if contemplating. “What are you planning to wear tonight?”

I lifted an eyebrow before dropping my gaze to the black, three-piece cashmere suit I wore.

She frowned and abandoned her task, moving toward me. “Stand up.”

Her order caused me to tick my jaw, but I found myself rising from my seat. Was there something wrong with the fit? I’d lost some weight and muscle tone during my time away but had been working diligently to get it back. “This is one of my finest suits.”

Sophia held one arm across her stomach and used it to support her other elbow, resting her fingertips against her lips as she studied me critically. I didn’t retreat when she reached out and tugged at the knot of my tie, but my body went on alert. As I did last night, I wrapped my hand around her wrist and pulled it away, holding it aside.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

Her crystal blue eyes flooded with surprise at my abrupt action and curt tone, but like me, she didn’t retreat. Both our gazes slid to my fingers trapping her wrist, and her voice wavered. “You didn’t ask permission to touch me last night.”

That was easily justified.

“I didn’t need to because I already had it.” A smug smile warmed my lips. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Her pink lips parted as she sipped in air. It forced me to consider kissing her again. I wanted to examine if her mouth would be as soft and inviting as it had been last night, and if she’d sigh the same way when I slicked my tongue across hers.

She didn’t deny what I’d challenged her with. All she did was lower her hand to her side, dragging mine down along with hers since I couldn’t seem to pry my fingers loose of her. She stood in perfect submission, allowing me to touch her, and as I watched the bob of her throat in a thick swallow, the desire to kiss her exploded inside me.

This . . . was not part of the plan.

Who exactly was holding the power between us now? I jerked my hand away, finally free of her strange witchcraft.

She blinked rapidly, as if bringing herself out of a trance. “Lose the tie and the vest.”

I grimaced. “You seem to be operating under the mistaken impression you can tell me what to do.”

Fire blossomed in her eyes. “Did you tell me how to dress today?” She shifted her weight to one side and put a hand on her hip, flaunting her sexy figure. “I wore this for you,” she said, “so you’ll do this for me.”

War broke out in my mind, the two sides battling over her statement. Irritation took offense to her order, but on the other side of the battlefield, excitement was very pleased at her phrasing.

I wore this for you.

Logic became the mediator. I was no longer an expert in what women wanted, so listening to her advice was the sensible thing to do. I kept my gaze locked on her as I grabbed the neck of my tie and slipped the knot free, unthreading the silk from my collar. The patterned tie was discarded on my desktop.

My jacket had to be removed before the vest, and as I tugged one sleeve of it off, the atmosphere in my office began to turn. I wasn’t taking off anything of substance, but it didn’t lessen the impact. The fact remained I was stripping off clothes under her direction and watchful gaze.

I hung the coat on the back of my office chair, plucking away an errant silver strand of my hair that had been shed on one of the shoulders.