Taking the Boss to Bed

Ryan stared at the pavement and watched as a candy wrapper danced across the sidewalk, thinking that bonds could be broken. He had the emotional scars to prove it. All it took was two deaths in a car crash and the subsequent revelation of an affair.

“Hi.”

The voice at his elbow came out of nowhere and the cups in his hands rattled. God, he’d been so deep in thought that she’d managed to sneak up on him, something that rarely happened. Ryan looked into her face, noticed the splash of freckles across her nose that her makeup failed to hide and handed her a cup of coffee. Today she was wearing a pair of tight, fitted suit pants and a short black jacket. Too much black, Ryan thought. Too structured, too rigid.

But very New York.

“Thanks.” Jaci sipped her coffee and lifted her face to the sun. “It’s such a gorgeous day. I’d like to take my laptop and go to the park, find a tree and bang out a couple of scenes.” She handed him a puppy-dog look. “Wouldn’t you rather have me do that instead of shopping?”

“Nice try, but no go.”

Ryan placed his hand on her lower back and steered her away from the wall. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the light jacket, and the curve of her bottom was just inches away. He was so damn tempted. Screw writing and shopping. His idea of how to spend a nice spring morning was to take this woman to bed.

Boss/employee, fake relationship/Leroy Banks, friend’s kid sister...there were a bunch of reasons why that wasn’t a viable option. But, hellfire, he really wanted to.

Ryan lifted his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Seconds later a taxi pulled up next to them. Ryan opened the door and gestured Jaci inside.

“Where to?”

Ryan started to give the address of his apartment then mentally slapped himself and told the driver to take them to Lafayette Street in Soho. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for there, we’ll head to Nolita.”

He saw Jaci’s frown. “Nolita?”

“North of little Italy,” Ryan explained. “It’s like a cousin to Soho. It also has curb-to-curb boutiques.”

Her frown deepened. “I thought we were heading for Fifth Avenue and the department stores or designer stores there.”

“Let’s try something different,” Ryan replied, eyeing her tailored jacket. The unrelenting black was giving him a headache. The plump, happy teenager he knew had loved bright colors, and he’d love to see her in those shades again. He operated in a fake world and if he had to be saddled with a girlfriend, pretend or not, then he wanted the real Jaci next to him, not the cardboard version of whom she thought she should be.

As he’d said, authenticity was a seldom-found commodity, and he wasn’t sure why it was so important that he get it from her.

Ryan watched as the taxi driver maneuvered the car through the busy traffic. He was going shopping. With his fake girlfriend. Whom he wanted, desperately, to see naked.

All because a narcissistic billionaire also had the hots for her. Yes, indeed. There was something very wrong with this picture.

Five

Her previous visits to New York had always been quick ones and because of that, Jaci had never taken in the time to let the nuances of the city register. She’d visited Soho before but she’d forgotten about the elegant cast-iron architecture, the cobblestone streets, the colorful buildings and the distinct artistic vibe.

Obviously, the artists peddling their creations contributed to the ambience but she could also smell the art in the air, see it in the fabulous window displays, in the clothes of the people walking the streets. Jaci—for the first time in years—felt like the fish out of water. The old Jaci, the one she’d been before Clive and the stylist he insisted she used, dressed in battered jeans, Docs and her favorite Blondie T-shirt belonged in Soho. This Jaci in her funeral suit? Not so much.

Ryan, with his messy hair and his stubble and stunning eyes, would fit in anywhere. He wore a black-and-white plaid shirt under a black sweater, sleeves pushed up. His khaki pants and black sneakers completed his casual ensemble and he looked urban and classy. Hot.

Ryan paid the taxi driver and placed his hand on her back. He’d done that earlier and it was terrifying to admit how much she liked the gesture. His broad hand spanned the width of her back and it felt perfect, right there, just above the swell of her bottom.

Ryan gestured to the nearest boutique and Jaci sighed. Minimalistic, slick and, judging by the single black halter neck in the window, boring. But, she reluctantly admitted, it would probably be eminently suitable for an evening spent at the ballet.