I find myself desperately hoping my reactions to him aren’t somehow … detectable. My nipples might barely be visible through the thin silk of my dress, which has a sort of light, built-in bra that might not be fully up to its job. My skin feels warm and flushed, and I’m getting all hot and … oh, God …
Flustered, I distract myself by taking in the surroundings. His office is huge. Three walls are windows and the fourth is black marble. There’s the elevator and one other steel, space-age-looking door, with blinking electronic locks. A large desk sits in the middle of the room and there’s a couch and several leather chairs. One of the glass panes has been folded open, and leads out to a huge patio area and a private pool. Tropical plants and palm trees decorate the space. Everything has clean lines and ultra-swish detailing. Clearly no expense has been spared. The design, at a guess, seems to suggest that Rafe Black is efficient, organized and … controlling. You get the feeling he does things his own way and will tolerate nothing less.
I walk over the window, looking out over the vast expanse of the city, which stretches out towards the distant strip of golden sand and the blue, blue ocean. “You have an amazing view.” Okay, not the most ground-breaking observation, but I can congratulate myself on the blithe, offhand tone of my voice, even if it is slightly husked. At least I don’t sound as shaken as I feel.
“Come, take a seat.” He motions to one of the leather chairs.
I do, as he half-sits against his desk and folds his arms across his chest, causing his suit jacket to tighten against his arms. Jesus, he’s buff. He looks unbelievably … strong. If he wanted to, he could so easily overpower me.
Lexi! I scold myself. Get a grip right now, girl! He’s interviewing you for a dream job, not “overpowering” you!
I do my best to obey the little voice in my head because I’m still picturing him, yes … holding me down … pinning me under all that big, hard weight … oh, hell.
This is bad.
His mouth quirks in a languid half-smile, as though he’s reading my thoughts.
Of course he can’t. I just need to calm down, and now that I’m sitting, I do. I try to, at least.
But then he takes off his suit jacket and tosses it onto his chair. Jesus H. The man is ridiculously built. Tall and muscular, but gracefully so, like a sculpture of a perfect male form. A perfectly ripped male form, with toned, hard muscles, as though he’s spent the last six months sweatily lifting hay bales in the Outback of Australia or something. As my eyes kind of rove and drink in the sight—don’t judge, this guy is seriously freaking hot—I can’t help but notice, as much as I try not to, that Rafe Black is impressively built in … well … in every conceivable category. There’s a sort of … very large … gigantic, in fact … swell …
Help me.
“Let’s get started,” he says.
Yes. Please. I need any distraction I can get at this point.
He reaches for a silver bucket on a stand I hadn’t noticed before, behind his desk. He pulls a bottle of champagne out of its bucket of ice. “This might seem a little strange, but this bottle was delivered only a few minutes before you arrived. It’s from my brother, Max.”
“Oh. Are you celebrating something?”
“Today’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he says. “Can I tempt you?”
I can’t even begin to describe how tempted I am. I know I probably shouldn’t accept his offer. A glass of champagne will only annihilate my self-control, which at this point I badly need. But I can hardly say no. It’s his birthday. “Thank you.”
He smiles, and his gaze lingers on my mouth, before returning to my eyes. That brief, subtle glance has all the effect of a shot of pure, uncut aphrodisiac.
No one should be this good-looking. Or this much of a big, rugged, sexy tomcat. All I can think of is hot, sweaty, down-and-dirty sex—which I have absolutely zero experience with whatsoever—and it’s freaking me out. I really have no idea what’s come over me. “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy my brother’s gift while we get down to business.”
Rafe Black pours two glasses of champagne and hands one to me.
Then he sits in the chair that’s next to mine. He looks even bigger this close. And even more manly and mouth-watering, if that’s possible.
I could reach out and touch him … it would be that easy.
What would he do? Would he let me?
Somehow, I know he would.
His eyes blaze and I get that feeling again that he’s able to read me—if not my thoughts, then … my vibes. With chemistry this off-charts, it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m finding it a little hard to breathe with him this close to me.
“As you know,” he says, “I’m looking for a new assistant. I’ve had the same assistant since I founded the company seven years ago. She’s sort of a Moneypenny type. She’s retiring.”
“You must have been young when you founded Downtown, Mr. Black.” I wonder if he’s even thirty. He looks younger than that.
“Call me Rafe.” His wicked mouth quirks. He’s a rich, powerful mogul, obviously. And I’m an unemployed, entry-level nobody. I am, in more ways than one, at his mercy. His request for me to call him by his first name feels like … a small triumph. A connection. An invitation for familiarity that’s ridiculously enticing.
“Rafe,” I repeat. The name suits him. Strong, dark, commanding.
His eyes are intense, and I get the feeling that something about the way I’ve said his name has affected him. “I was twenty. Still at Stanford.”
“I … also went to Stanford.”
“I saw that on your résumé. It was one of the reasons I decided to interview you.” I wonder what the other reasons are, but I hold my questions. Maybe it’s best if he does the talking. My nerves have made me thirsty, and the champagne is the most delicious I’ve ever had. I sip again.
“Are you aware that Downtown is only one of the companies I own?” he says. “One of the smaller ones, in fact.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“We run the magazine and all its off-shoots, as well as several hedge funds, an investment company and a real estate brokerage firm.”
I’m beginning to grasp just how rich and powerful Rafe Black actually is.
“I have to be honest,” I tell him. “I’ve never been an assistant before. I did an internship last summer for a literary agency. The job mainly involved reading manuscripts and writing up reports. But I’m a quick learner and a hard worker. And very eager to please.”
His eyes spangle, and I realize what that must have sounded like. What’s wrong with me? Why the hell did I just say that? I blush again.
“I’m very glad to hear that,” is his soft reply. “I think your résumé and references speak for themselves.” His long fingers curl around the stem of his champagne glass. He looks like he could easily snap it without any effort at all. His eyes burn as he takes another sip. “I’m impressed.”
I think I might be combusting inside this potent cloud of alpha-male pheromones he’s emitting. My senses are hyper-aware, and my body feels unsettlingly warm … and soft … and—oh, hell, this is way too much …