A breathy moan rushes out of me. My body softens, and I part my lips for him.
Dane pushes his tongue inside my mouth, sliding it around my tongue, the movements slow and sensual like he wants to taste every millimeter of my mouth. He grasps my hips, rocking his into me while he tugs my hips forward, making sure I feel every inch of his cock and the way it's hardening against me. He keeps kissing me in that intensely erotic way, so gentle and yet so powerful in his ability to set me on fire.
I'm burning inside, ablaze with the need for him to love my whole body the way he's loving my mouth.
This is wrong, isn't it? He's my boss. We shouldn't be doing this. But I don't care, because his lips feel so damn good, his tongue feels so damn good, and the hardness of his body and his erection pressing against me feels like heaven. I revel in the way he teases the roof of my mouth right before he wraps his tongue around mine. Oh God, he knows how to kiss.
My nipples go stiff, aching for his mouth on them.
Tunneling my fingers into his hair, I try to spread my legs for him, but my skirt prevents it. I whimper, partly from the way he's kissing me and partly because I want him inside me more than I've ever wanted a man before.
He pulls away so suddenly I stand there frozen, with my eyes shut, for a few seconds before I realize he's not kissing me anymore.
I blink several times.
"We should get back to the office," he says, sounding unaffected and looking at me like I'm his PA and we didn't just enjoy a steamy kiss in the hallway of a restaurant.
And we go back to the office.
Chapter Four
Dane
For the rest of the day, and for two days after that, I avoid Rika as much as possible. What did I do? Nothing. Yes, I'm deluding myself in the worst way, but I can't work with the woman unless I convince myself nothing happened. I didn't kiss her. I certainly didn't thrust my tongue into her mouth and paste my entire body to hers. That never happened.
Christ, she felt good, especially when her breasts were crushed against me.
No, she didn't feel good because I never did that.
I groan at my own stupidity. Do I actually believe I can erase what I did by pretending I'd never done it? Maybe not, but I can avoid Rika, thereby avoiding temptation too.
Except I can't avoid her. Whenever she buzzes my phone, and I pick up so she can tell me about whatever call or meeting I need to deal with, I hear her lovely voice. She always sounds cheerful---sexily cheerful. And I wind up stammering and mumbling stupid things to her. I also wind up with a throbbing cock.
Every time she knocks politely on my door, and I tell her to come in, she sashays up to my desk to give me whatever papers she's holding. It's usually something I need to review and sign. With her standing an arm's length away, I can't think well enough to read anything, so I pretend to consider the document even though I'm not seeing any of the words printed on the paper. Then I scrawl my signature and hand the document back to Rika, trying my damnedest not to glance at her.
I do it anyway, every time. My eyes have a mind of their own.
And of course, I'm left with an aching cock long after she leaves.
On the third day, Rika brings me a large brown envelope and sets it down on my desk right in front of me. Naturally, she knocked before entering my office. And naturally, she looks exquisite this morning, in a pale-blue business suit that has a form-fitting skirt. Her shapely figure leaves me speechless, again.
"Here you go," she says, her tone as bright as her smile. "Celeste sent over the mock-up of the new packaging. She wants your feedback on it."
"Oh." I pry open the metal brads that hold the envelope closed. "Think---Thank you, Miss Saltzburg. Ah, Solberg. Sorry. Thank you, Miss Solberg."
Every time I look at her, even obliquely, I get tongue-tied. It's ridiculous, but I seem to have no power to stop it. And every time I look at her, I remember my idea, the one that sounded brilliant a few days ago but now sounds like pure insanity. Still, the longer I gaze at her, the longer I admire her figure, the less insane that idea sounds.
We have the chemistry to pull off a fake relationship. My outrageous impulse to kiss her in the restaurant proved that.
No, I can't do it. She'll report me for sexual harassment, and I'll plead guilty.
Rika pivots on her high heels and walks out the door.
When she turns to close it, I hold up a hand. "Leave it open, please. I don't like being shut up in here by myself. At least with the door open, I sort of see you out there."
I freeze, realizing what I've said. Why the fuck did I tell her that? Now she'll think I'm a pathetic fool who can't handle being on my own.
She smiles---with sweetness, not pity. "Sure, I'll leave the door open. That'll make it easier for you to let me know when you need something. Just give me a holler."
Rika returns to her desk.
I can sort of see her there if I lean to the side and squint. But I do hear her voice when she answers the ringing phone. She has the loveliest voice I've ever heard.
And the softest lips I've ever kissed.
Focus, you idiot. Celeste Arnaud isn't paying you an enormous salary to daydream about Rika Solberg.
Right. Back to work.
I tip the large brown envelope up, letting the contents slide out onto my desk. It's a rectangle of red cardboard with the words Dane's Delights printed on it in gold lettering. But it's the picture in the upper left corner that shoots icy cold through my veins.
A picture of me. My face. Below that, I see my name, and apparently, my new title---"Dane Dixon, the man behind the O's."
"What the bloody hell?" I shout.
Rika sprints into my office. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"No, I am not bloody okay." I raise the cardboard mock-up so she can see it. "Why is my face on the ruddy box?"
She shrugs. "I'm guessing Celeste thought it needed a personal touch. Besides, you are the face of the company."
Yes, I am technically the CEO of my little corner of Celeste's corporate empire. She left me in charge, but clearly, it's in name only. I would never have approved packaging that has my face plastered all over it---and that declares I'm the man behind the O's. What the fuck is that?
Rika bites down on her upper lip, waiting for me to say something.
All I can manage is a string of spluttering nonsense that never quite manages to become words.
"What should I tell Celeste?" Rika asks. "She's waiting for your comments."
I take a deep breath and summon all the wits I can still find. The rest seem to have flown away. "Please tell her I don't want my face on the box, and I definitely do not want to be called 'the man behind the O's.' I am not an adult film star."
"Okay, I'll tell her."
"And please take...this away." I shove the mock-up at her. "One viewing was enough."
"Sure thing."
Rika takes the cardboard monstrosity and hurries out the door.
I try to focus on work. I'm meant to design two new devices, but after months of trying, I still can't come up with anything. Women have always been my inspiration, but I haven't had a date, much less a shag, in so long I can barely remember what a woman's naked body looks like.