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Authors: Lynn Raye Harris
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and there.
She came around and grabbed a towel while he began to wash. There wasn’t much—a couple of plates, knives, forks and the spoons they’d dipped the food out with—and it didn’t take long. She closed the last cabinet and set the towel down.
“I can’t believe you washed my dishes. I should have taken a video so I could post it online.”
He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “And do what? Prove that I wash dishes sometimes? Scandalous information indeed.”
Her face lit with mischief. “Ah, but if I pointed out they were
my
dishes and you were secretly my love slave, this could be detrimental to your reputation. Women everywhere would wail and rend their garments. Men would no longer respect you in the boardroom.”
She made him laugh. “What you fail to grasp, sweet Lucilla, is that I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me. So long as the job gets done—and it will—they can believe Iwear ladies’ underwear in the privacy of my own home and paint my nails on weekends.”
Her jaw was slack. “Do you?”
He was almost offended. After he’d just told her he didn’t care, he
did
care when it was Lucilla wondering these things. He straightened to his full height and, gripping her forearms, tugged her against him. She was soft and warm, her body lushly curved. She did not pull away—nor did she push him. Her hands came up to rest on his shirt, but lightly.
He knew the tide could turn, knew she could push him away a moment later, but he was going to take full advantage of her cooperation right this second.
“The only ladies’ underwear I’m interested in is yours,” he growled. “And I don’t want to wear it so much as rip it off your body.”
Her breath hitched in. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”
“It’s only your brain that thinks that, Lucilla. Your body has a very different idea.”
She dropped her gaze and studied her hands where they rested on his chest. Then she drew in a breath. He could feel her surrender before she said the words. “I know.”
She was supposed to be the good girl. She was supposed to do everything right, bestrong and come out on top at the end of the day. But here she was with Christos Giatrakos, the man she was working hard to topple, and all she could think about was how good it felt to be pressed up against him, her body melting into the hard angles of his.
He was spectacular, damn him. Her brain might resist, but her body knew it and wanted more.
She put her forehead against his chest and concentrated on breathing. He skimmed his fingers up and down her spine, his touch comforting and titillating at the same time. She could feel the tension building inside her as he continued to stroke her. But he made no move to take the moment deeper and her stomach began to twist with need and frustration.
She
wanted
him to do something. Wanted him to be the one to make the first move so she could tell herself later that she’d been a victim of her hormones. That she’d operated on instinct rather than making a conscious decision.
But all he continued to do was hold her while her nerves tightened.
“I don’t understand this,” she said. “I’d just as soon see you drive off into the sunset asspend another moment watching you sit at my desk and issue orders like a potentate.”
His voice was a rumble in her ear. “It drives you crazy, yes? Me in charge …”
She tilted her head back to look up at him. “You know it does.”
“And what will you do when I take charge in bed, Lucilla?”
A shudder rippled over her. “Perhaps I won’t allow it.”
His eyes glittered. “Ah, another battleground, then. I have a feeling it will be a most pleasurable and explosive battle.”
She curled her fingers in his shirt. “Why is everything a battle with you?”
“Who says it is?”
“You have a fierce need to conquer, Christos. I’ve watched you do it a hundred times in a hundred different meetings. You make everything into a
She came around and grabbed a towel while he began to wash. There wasn’t much—a couple of plates, knives, forks and the spoons they’d dipped the food out with—and it didn’t take long. She closed the last cabinet and set the towel down.
“I can’t believe you washed my dishes. I should have taken a video so I could post it online.”
He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “And do what? Prove that I wash dishes sometimes? Scandalous information indeed.”
Her face lit with mischief. “Ah, but if I pointed out they were
my
dishes and you were secretly my love slave, this could be detrimental to your reputation. Women everywhere would wail and rend their garments. Men would no longer respect you in the boardroom.”
She made him laugh. “What you fail to grasp, sweet Lucilla, is that I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me. So long as the job gets done—and it will—they can believe Iwear ladies’ underwear in the privacy of my own home and paint my nails on weekends.”
Her jaw was slack. “Do you?”
He was almost offended. After he’d just told her he didn’t care, he
did
care when it was Lucilla wondering these things. He straightened to his full height and, gripping her forearms, tugged her against him. She was soft and warm, her body lushly curved. She did not pull away—nor did she push him. Her hands came up to rest on his shirt, but lightly.
He knew the tide could turn, knew she could push him away a moment later, but he was going to take full advantage of her cooperation right this second.
“The only ladies’ underwear I’m interested in is yours,” he growled. “And I don’t want to wear it so much as rip it off your body.”
Her breath hitched in. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”
“It’s only your brain that thinks that, Lucilla. Your body has a very different idea.”
She dropped her gaze and studied her hands where they rested on his chest. Then she drew in a breath. He could feel her surrender before she said the words. “I know.”
She was supposed to be the good girl. She was supposed to do everything right, bestrong and come out on top at the end of the day. But here she was with Christos Giatrakos, the man she was working hard to topple, and all she could think about was how good it felt to be pressed up against him, her body melting into the hard angles of his.
He was spectacular, damn him. Her brain might resist, but her body knew it and wanted more.
She put her forehead against his chest and concentrated on breathing. He skimmed his fingers up and down her spine, his touch comforting and titillating at the same time. She could feel the tension building inside her as he continued to stroke her. But he made no move to take the moment deeper and her stomach began to twist with need and frustration.
She
wanted
him to do something. Wanted him to be the one to make the first move so she could tell herself later that she’d been a victim of her hormones. That she’d operated on instinct rather than making a conscious decision.
But all he continued to do was hold her while her nerves tightened.
“I don’t understand this,” she said. “I’d just as soon see you drive off into the sunset asspend another moment watching you sit at my desk and issue orders like a potentate.”
His voice was a rumble in her ear. “It drives you crazy, yes? Me in charge …”
She tilted her head back to look up at him. “You know it does.”
“And what will you do when I take charge in bed, Lucilla?”
A shudder rippled over her. “Perhaps I won’t allow it.”
His eyes glittered. “Ah, another battleground, then. I have a feeling it will be a most pleasurable and explosive battle.”
She curled her fingers in his shirt. “Why is everything a battle with you?”
“Who says it is?”
“You have a fierce need to conquer, Christos. I’ve watched you do it a hundred times in a hundred different meetings. You make everything into a