In Love (Love)

She tapped her fingers on the desktop and studied me for a few beats before asking, “And what happens when you get to that point? Will you fire me?”

I reared back in shock, completely repulsed by her proposed scenario. “Absolutely not. You’ve more than proven you’re capable of this job, and I would never fire you simply because you refuse to acknowledge there is something special between us.”

“What about if I dated another guy?”

I counted to ten in my head, trying to stay calm enough to answer her without shouting. It wouldn’t have surprised me if steam was blowing out of my ears. I finally managed to form words that were not a bellowed string of profanity and gritted out through my teeth, “Not even then. Though I can’t say he would have a job the next day.”

A wrinkle popped in her forehead, and she looked at me with confusion. “How would you fire him?”

“I didn’t say I would fire him. I said he wouldn’t have a job.”

“You think you can just make a call and get someone fired?” she huffed.

Taking two deep breaths, I clenched and unclenched my fingers before standing. “It would have nothing to do with being fired, baby,” I said as I began to prowl around her desk. When I was inches from her chair, I swiveled it to the side so she faced me. I bent over her and caged her in with my hands on each armrest. “The motherfucker wouldn’t have a job because he’d be dead.”

Charlotte gasped, and I took advantage of her surprised state and open mouth to steal a kiss. My tongue swept inside, hungry for her taste, and a little moan fell from her lips, turning my already hard cock into solid steel. “I love the sounds you make,” I groaned before diving in for more.

When we were both gasping for breath, and I was on the verge of tearing her clothes off and taking her right then and there, I forced myself to pull back. Charlotte’s emerald eyes were glassy, her lips were pink and swollen, and her skin flushed. I mentally patted myself on the back. She looked like she’d been thoroughly kissed.

“This game of chase has been fun, baby.” My voice was gruff as I gazed into her eyes, making sure she heard me. “But I’m done.”

Her eyes widened in shock, and her bee-stung lips opened into a little O.

I nodded firmly to emphasize my point, then stood and walked to the door, discreetly adjusted myself so I wouldn’t freak people out, and left.

I grinned to myself. Let her stew on that for a while.

* * *

Checking my watch, I noted that it was just after seven and debated whether to keep working or go home. My house was too quiet and empty these days.

My cell phone vibrated in the pocket of my suit jacket, which was slung over the back of my chair. I retrieved it and answered the second I saw who was calling. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Whitney, she’s fine,” Nina—a member of Charlotte’s security team—assured me. “But you asked us to call if she had any male visitors.”

My back went ramrod straight, and I growled, “How long has he been there?”

“He just arrived, sir.” Her tone was hesitant, suggesting she wanted to say something else.

“And?” I snapped.

I was already up and putting my coat on when she replied, “He had flowers and a...um, duffel bag.”

“What the fuck?” I roared. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just...keep your eye on things.”

My keys and wallet went into my pants, and I didn’t bother with shutting my office down. I needed to get to my woman as fast as humanly possible.

Had she not taken me seriously this morning when I threatened to kill any bastard she tried to date? It suddenly occurred to me that she might have asked the question about another man because she’d already had plans with the guy I was about to strangle.

After what had happened in my office yesterday, I was royally pissed off she was seeing someone else. I knew she had feelings for me, but I still hadn’t figured out why she was running from me. So, I had no explanation for this little stunt. She wasn’t aware that I had a security team watching over her, which meant it wasn’t to make me jealous and rush right over to her. Yet that was exactly what I was doing.

My driver, Fenton, was waiting at the curb, but with New York traffic, I’d get there faster if I walked. With every step closer to her townhouse, my speed increased until I was running across the street and jogging up her front steps. I banged hard on the door and shouted, “Charlotte! Open this fucking door!”

I kept pounding on it until I heard heavy footsteps and the sound of the lock disengaging. The door opened, and I was staring at a tall, attractive man, much closer to Charlotte in age than I was. He had short dark hair, gray eyes, and a strong jaw. He looked nothing like my Charlotte, so I immediately ruled out my last hope that he was family.