Wheeler (Seattle Sharks 8)

“Because I know I can’t handle you,” I snapped. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for years, Faith. Not just in a you’d-be-fun kind of way. In a I can’t stop thinking about the way you feel under my fingers, kind of way. I want you so badly I can barely stand to be near you because I know that you’re not ready for me. This”—I gestured between our bodies—“is a bad idea. Because I know that if you work for me, you’re going to end up under me at some point, and the last thing you deserve is to be sexually harassed in the workplace.”

“You want…” she sputtered. “Years? And wait, you’re

going to sexually harass me?”

“Not intentionally! I would never touch you without your say-so. But, that’s what I’m saying. This is a bad idea because I’ll never not want you. So say no. Walk away. Don’t take the job offer. Don’t put us both through this,” I pled.

Her lips parted. “Are you offering me the job?”

“Yes. I’m a fucking moron for doing it, but yes, I’m offering.” Because Eric asked. Because Faith needed it, and when push came to shove, I’d give her whatever she needed.

“But you want me to say no.” She shifted her weight, which brought the swells of her breasts above her neckline.

My mouth watered, remembering the way they tasted.

“Please say no. Save us both.”

I watched the debate rage in her eyes, weighing my words against her need for the experience of being my PA. “I can be professional.”

“I don’t know if I can. Say it, Faith.”

Her shoulders squared, and her chin rose. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow at nine a.m.”

And just like that, we were fucking doomed.

Chapter 4

Faith

“July 1st,” I repeated to the service rep on the other end of the line as I hurried into an obscure coffee shop in downtown Seattle. My cell was wedged between my ear and my neck, the position so common lately I was sure I’d have a permanent kink in the muscle. “A private jet. Yes.”

The smell of roasted coffee beans and hot frothing milk soothed some of the tension between my shoulder blades.

“Eight-person capacity should work perfectly,” I answered, hovering near the entrance of the shop so I didn’t disturb the patrons sipping espressos by the floor-to-ceiling windows that encased the area. “Wonderful. Thank you.” I finally straightened my neck, checking my cell to ensure the confirmation email had been sent like the rep said.

For a few precious seconds, I closed my eyes and rolled my neck, the gentle whirring sounds of the espresso machines filling my head with a much-needed break. Since being hired as Lukas’s go-to girl, I’d barely had a break. I knew the man was rumored to be a diva, but it wasn’t just that. He was ambitious, proactive, and involved. The offseason wasn’t technically an offseason for him. Sure, he trained and held pick-up games with the other guys, but he worked. Which meant I worked just as hard, too.

And I was grateful for the opportunity. Truly. I’d already learned a great deal of patience from the man who made my skin flush any time he walked by. It hadn’t helped that he admitted he wanted me…but how true could that be? He’d had me, all those months ago, panties soaked and my lungs breathless, and he hadn’t taken me then.

Truth or tease, it didn’t matter. The desire, the cravings, it was an unstoppable reaction any time I was around him, totally involuntary and totally annoying.

But, there was one thing I wanted more than him.

This job. My career. My future.

I focused on that every time I felt my tongue try to betray me. Try to ask him if he’d meant those words…ask him why he hadn’t taken me when I’d begged him to.

My cell buzzed, jolting me from the debate that would never end.

LV: Make mine a double. Ten boxes just arrived.

Me: Ordering now. Hungry?

LV: We’ll order in. It’ll be a long day.

Some combination of protest and thrill shot through my body like a hot bolt. I lived for this experience, and if it had been literally anyone else, the idea of spending an entire day holed up in his gorgeous house by the water—aka headquarters because he liked his home office better than the one in Langley’s building—wouldn’t seem like a bad idea.

But it was Lukas.

Tall, lithe, sculpted muscles, dresses like royalty, speaks in a sexy accent Lukas.

Not to mention the best kiss I’d ever had Lukas.

Technically your boss, Lukas.

That notion poured some ice-water over my steaming thoughts, and I straightened my spine. People worked for attractive bosses all the time and managed just fine. I would too. I had to. I needed to prove that I was capable of handling any situation if I expected to launch a business straight out of college.

Strength returned, I marched up to the counter and ordered two double-shot Americanos. If he needed the fuel then so did I.

Ten boxes just arrived.

Ten boxes of what?

I carried our drinks back to my car, pondering all manner of items the Swede could have had shipped to his house that I’d no doubt be unpacking once I arrived.

I did anything and everything for him, just like Langley had said, though most of the tasks had been untangling the man’s chaotic schedule. That had taken me nearly twelve hours of nothing but jumping between a list of events, meetings, calls, and lunch dates—sitting at his computer in his home office with the calendar app and trying to magically create more time. My brain had been scrubbed raw by the time I managed to effectively schedule him out for the next two months—including the trip to Sweden in July for which I’d just secured a private jet. Though, as any personal assistant would know, no task was too large or too small when it came to making the client happy—which was my main objective, regardless of how much the man simmered under my skin.

Lunch runs with ridiculous orders—the chicken-salad sandwich without the “dressing” had not only boggled my mind, but the café girl’s as well. Sometimes the language boundary with Lukas seemed non-existent while other times he may as well have been speaking Swedish to me. Not that I’d protest to that. It was almost soothing, listening to him in the background, on his phone speaking his native tongue, the words rolling off in a smooth, sensual way that only led to thoughts of how his tongue had curled against the roof of my mouth—

On second thought, I hated it when he spoke Swedish.

I shuffled the drinks to my other arm and fished out the keys to his place. Langley had said it was the first thing I should ask for since he operated mainly out of his house during the offseason, and that I didn’t want to be stuck waiting for someone to let me in if Lukas needed something while he wasn’t near his home.

“Coffee is here,” I called into the vast entryway as the door closed behind me.

My ballet flats padded against the hardwood floors as I weaved my way through the grand room and down the hallway, heading toward Lukas’ office—my office, now, too.

The French doors were open, as were the windows across the room, letting in the natural light and breathtaking views of the Puget Sound. The rays glided over the massive built-ins stuffed with books of every variety. The man had classics with worn bindings, several shelves of foreign texts I couldn’t read, and gobs of modern bestsellers as well. He may be known as a player off the ice, but seeing where he lived? It was like getting a peek behind the curtain, to the heart of him, and I was having a hard time piecing the personas together.

Everything about his home screamed sleek, minimalist style and yet was comforting in a way that he wouldn’t grow restless if stuck inside for weeks on end. The office itself was cozy, what with the pleasant book-smell and warm wooden desk and leather-cushioned chairs custom made for losing yourself in a story while lounging in them. When I’d first been invited into his place, I was expecting a bachelor pad built for seducing women, not a place I wouldn’t mind retiring in.

Lukas sat behind the desk, his white dress shirt unbuttoned to his chest like he’d popped the top three because he couldn’t breathe. A crease formed between his brows as he spoke in Swedish, that damn accent rolling off his lips and sending tremors along my skin as I set his drink on the desk. He jolted slightly, those glacial blue eyes snapping to mine.

What was he talking about that had him so tense he hadn’t heard me come in?

I knew from his schedule and from taking notes at conference calls that the launch of Adrenaline was massive, but I hadn’t realized just how important it was to him until now. Seeing him like this—tense and serious—was such a contrast to the usual casual al

oofness with the dash of innuendo he was known for.

“Faith,” he said, ending the call and reaching for the cup. He popped off the lid and brought the rim to his lips, taking a quick sip. His eyes shut momentarily as he exhaled and licked the stray drops of espresso from the corner of his mouth.

Heat soared over my skin as my eyes trailed that tongue.

My stomach tightened as my body remembered just how delicious he tasted. How he smelled like pine and citrus.

“Thank you,” he said, returning his eyes to me. “It’s perfect this time.”

That brought me back to reality. I grabbed his discarded lid and rolled my eyes. “I got it wrong, once. And that’s only because when you said you wanted an ‘espresso’ I took you at your word and brought you an ‘espresso’.”

He tilted his head, eying the cup then me. “That’s what this is?”

“No,” I said, turning to head toward the kitchen to throw his lid away. “It’s called an Americano.”

I made my way into the massive kitchen, tugging on the soft-close cabinet that doubled as a pull-out trash compactor. I tossed his lid in there, and then mine, taking a glorious hot sip as I shut the cabinet. I turned around, only to nearly collide with Lukas, who I hadn’t realized had followed me.

Swallowing the hot liquid, I gazed up at him wide-eyed. He towered over me, some of his blond hair falling across his forehead in a way that begged to be pushed back to keep it out of those stunning blue eyes.

Jerk.

“Americano?” He shaped the word, his eyes narrowing. “What is the difference?”

I licked the crema off my lips, watching as he noted the movement, and took a step around him. I couldn’t think straight with him so close, but personal boundaries had never been his forte.

“The difference,” I said, finally able to breathe on the other side of his stone island, “is the hot water added to the espresso. That,” I continued after taking another sip of my own. “And the splash of half and half you like in it.”