Rock Hard (Rock Kiss 2)

And talking of baking, your new cooking class buddies sound like a hoot! Juliet and Aroha are my kind of women. Hope your next coffee date is just as much fun.

– Love, Molly

p.s. A pressie attached for you. VERY NSFW.

The attachment had been a shot of Gabriel in his rugby playing days, sans his playing jersey. It had definitely been very not safe for work. The jersey had ripped during what Charlotte knew had been a particularly brutal tackle—she’d watched that game with her father by her side, both of them wincing at the punishing hit Gabriel had taken.

He hadn’t gone down, however. No, he’d made the try. Afterward, the fresh cut on his cheekbone still bleeding, he’d pulled the torn jersey off; the shot Molly had sent was of him pouring water on himself to cool down while a member of the team staff went to grab him a replacement jersey.

Charlotte had turned into a puddle in her bed at home when she’d pulled up the message and downloaded the image. The water dripping over the breadth of his shoulders, over his pecs, along the hard ridges of his abs, into the waistband of his playing shorts…

Charlotte waved a hand in front of her face.

Yes, the man was hot. Seriously, dangerously hot. A week ago, she’d walked in on him while he was changing into a fresh shirt to attend a dinner party he was heading to straight from work.

Her mouth had watered before it dried up, her skin taut over her body. She’d lost the ability to speak, so it was as well that he hadn’t been annoyed at the interruption, had simply started giving her instructions about something he needed done. Charlotte had heard none of it, though later she discovered she’d taken notes.

All she’d seen right then were the impossibly beautiful ridges and planes of his body, followed by the efficient movements of his fingers as he did up the buttons. She’d almost whimpered as he slipped each small disk into its hole, the view disappearing before her eyes. His chest was lightly furred with dark hair, just enough that her nipples throbbed at the memory even now, her body happily informing her the rasp of sensation would feel exquisite.

As for his hands, they were big and strong and a little rough from the rugby he still played when he coached a local high school team twice a week. With the season in full swing, she had standing orders to juggle his schedule so he could make all the training sessions; she knew he attended all the team’s weekend games as well.

Apart from the parade of one-date women, that appeared to be his only downtime.

If she sometimes imagined what those capable, strong hands would feel like against her skin, that was her secret fantasy. No need for anyone to know. Especially not Gabriel.

“You know, Charlotte, there’s probably a law against ogling the boss,” she muttered to herself, but knew she wasn’t going to stop.

A woman had to have some vices, and her ridiculous fantasy crush was Charlotte’s. Because that was all it was, she told herself for the hundredth time: a crush on a gorgeous man who scrambled her neurons. She refused to consider how much she liked and respected him, how fascinated she was by his brain. Going down that road would lead only to heartbreak.

No, far better to focus on his thickly muscular thighs, the lickable broadness of his chest, the strength of his forearms. Suiting action to words, she took out her phone and pulled up the image Molly had sent her, sighed. And thought about what it would be like to have him tied to her bed so she could kiss and pet him all over as much as she wanted while he called her “Ms. Baird” and gave her increasingly aroused orders in that deep voice that made her nipples go tight.

Overheated despite the crisp sea air, Charlotte walked back to the office about forty minutes after she’d left. Swinging by a convenience store on the way back, she bought a single-serve tub of chocolate macadamia ice cream for herself, then, for no reason that she could consciously articulate, a tub of boysenberry swirl for Gabriel. He didn’t like chocolate, but he always ate the fresh berries she often included as dessert when she ordered him lunch.

His office door was still closed when she arrived. Grabbing her laptop, she headed down the otherwise deserted hallway to the staff break room and put the ice creams in the freezer, then sat down at the table set beside a tall window that overlooked the sparkling cityscape. She had a good idea why Gabriel had pulled Simon Finley in, and she didn’t particularly want to be there when the man exited.

She’d just finished booking airline tickets for Gabriel’s next trip to Sydney when a shadow fell across her screen.

“You didn’t go home,” he said, opening the fridge then shutting it without taking anything out.

“I got you boysenberry ice cream.”

He opened the freezer compartment. “Shut down the laptop, Ms. Baird. It’s time for ice cream.”

Obeying, she moved the computer to the side of the table and picked up her ice cream as he grabbed spoons and took a seat across from her. His legs sprawled out on either side of her own, his big body taking over the room, but he didn’t push at her as he usually did in subtle but maddening ways.

For the first time since she’d met him, he actually looked tired.

“Finley,” she said quietly. “It was about the money, wasn’t it?”

A nod. “When did you figure it out?”

“When you asked me to pull his expenditure reports. I didn’t understand all of it, but I could tell something was off.”

“He’ll be paying it all back over the next year or he’ll be going to jail.” Jaw grim, he said, “I dislike thieves, but it’s not worth the bad press for the company if this gets out. Not now, when I’ve finally got Saxon & Archer in a viable position.”