Tempted by the Billionaire (Forbidden Confessions 9)

As I flip on his bedside light, I rush to his side and wrap my arm around him. “Let me help you up.”

Together, we pull him to his feet. His harsh breathing renews my worry.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. What the devil did I trip over?”

A glance around me reveals the answer, and I nearly fling the rolling desk chair to the other side of the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t move this far enough away.” And in the dark, he wouldn’t have seen it before he tripped on it. “It won’t happen again. Did you need something?”

“Water,” he croaks, reaching for the forgotten bottle on the nearby dresser.

Quickly, I put it in his hand. He takes a long swallow, his strong throat working as he hobbles toward his bed. Suddenly, he winces, his whole body tensing.

“Are you in pain?” Without thinking, I crouch at his feet to take a closer look at his knee. Thankfully, I don’t see an opening, any bruises forming, or potential new swelling.

“Savannah?”

I mean to gaze up at his face. Really, I do. But I realize in that moment he’s wearing nothing except a clinging pair of boxer briefs that does nothing to hide his muscular legs, his six-pack abs, and his steely, sizeable erection in between.

I blink and stare at him. Right there, where I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop. I’m shocked. I’m embarrassed. And I’m unbearably hot.

Every tug of attraction I felt for him this afternoon comes rushing back, shoving over all my good sense and leaving a throbbing need in its wake.

He’s even more gorgeous than I thought. Way more. And for a moment, I find myself wishing I wasn’t auditioning to be his administrative assistant but his woman. I would show him the best time in bed, heaping more attention and pleasure on him than he’s ever known.

“Sir?”

He’s breathing harder. A glance tells me that’s not the only thing that’s harder.

I swallow and try to push myself upright. I can’t kneel at his feet like I’m ready to tear off his underwear and show him a skill I should never contemplate demonstrating for my boss. But my trembling legs won’t support me, especially after he drops his hand to the crown of my head.

“This isn’t wise, sweetheart.”

At his soft words, a thrill pings through my body. This thing between us isn’t one-sided, after all. He feels it, too.

“It’s not.” But still, I can’t move.

He caresses his way down to my face, trails his fingers across my jaw, then takes my chin in hand, leaving tingles in his wake. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing professional,” I blurt.

He trails a thumb across my lower lip. “I’ll bet my thoughts are even more inappropriate.”

Oh my god. “What do we do?”

“Tell me to stop touching you and I will.”

I should. I search for the will to say the words, just like I struggle to find enough air to breathe. “I need and want this job…but I can’t lie to you. I don’t want you to stop touching me at all.”

He holds out his hand. Breathlessly, I slide my palm into his. In the back of my head, I hear a frantic voice asking me what the hell I’m doing. The pounding of my heart drowns it out.

Slowly, he tugs me to my feet, banding his arm around my waist and pulling my body against his. No way I can miss how hard he is everywhere.

“I don’t want to stop touching you, either. But this is a mistake.”

Even though he’s right, it still hurts. Yet when I try to ease away, his hold on me tightens.

“Then you’d better let me go.”

“I don’t know if I can. Give me one reason to believe this won’t end in disaster. One reason to believe you won’t use my weakness against me.”

“Why would I do that? It’s my weakness, too. I’ve done nothing but try to help and serve you all day, and—”

“You have. But trust doesn’t come easy for me, sweetheart. You asked why I’ve never married. That’s the reason. Trust is damn hard when there’s money involved, and I have about five billion reasons not to let any woman close. It’s even more difficult now because you have a strike against you.”

“Because I grew up poor?” He didn’t seem like that kind of snob, but was I wrong?

“No. Because you’re keeping something from me.”

“W-what makes you say that?”

“You’ve been dodging questions and avoiding my stare for hours. Out with it.”

Wriggling, I manage to work free from his hold. “I’m not planning to swindle you or steal secrets or whatever you’re implying. The exact opposite, in fact.”

“Then what?”

This is a really bad time to try to convince him that one of his most trusted executives is plotting to take him down, but if I don’t say something now, I may never get the chance. “I don’t expect you to believe me—”