Read Online Sleeping With the Boss by Marissa Clarke - Free Book Online

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    “Sure.”
    He leaned his head back against the door as she padded to a wet bar near the kitchen. The small apartment was furnished with eighteenth- and nineteenth-century American antiques—very fine ones. Egyptian decorative art was scattered among odd pieces of Americana on almost every surface, making the place look like an episode of Antiques Roadshow . Not what he’d expected at all.
    She opened one cabinet, then another. “There’s scotch and bourbon, but that’s about it.”
    “Scotch works.” As she continued to search the cabinets, eventually producing a highball glass, it dawned on him that this was not her apartment. She seemed familiar with it, but not comfortable. At least that was true of the bar area. Odd. According to Jim, the tax office had this apartment listed in her name, Clarisse Maddox.
    Her hands shook as she poured a couple of fingers of scotch. It troubled him she was this anxious, especially after she was so at ease only minutes before. Well, not at ease, but far from nervous.
    He crossed to the bar. “You okay, Claire?”
    She set the bottle down and handed him the drink. “Yeah.” She gestured to a sitting area in the next room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to put on something…” She looked down at the sheer silk robe that hugged her curves in a way that made Will want to visit the door again. “Something different.”
    “Don’t change on my account,” he said, strolling into the room she’d indicated. This space was less formal than the other parts of the apartment he’d seen and was a mash-up of furniture styles and origins. He settled into the sofa facing a large carved French armoire he suspected had been converted into an entertainment center based on the configuration of the furniture. Yep. Remotes inside the inlaid box on the coffee table confirmed it.
    A framed certificate to the right of the armoire caught his eye, and he moved to get a closer look. It was a matted U.S. Army Air Corps commission from World War II under the name of Richard Thomas Maddox. It was the only personal item in the room. No photos anywhere. Just who was this girl?
    That familiar feeling of being watched crept over him like insects across his flesh. He spun to find her studying him from the doorway.
    He swirled the scotch and simply stared. She was perfect like this, wearing warm-up pants and a T-shirt. No bra, thank God. His body snapped back to attention as if he hadn’t had a several-minute reprieve. Hers did, too, if her nipples coming to sharp peaks under the thin material of her shirt were any indication.
    Her eyes traveled down his body, pausing at the bulge in his pants, which only made it more prominent.
    She cleared her throat and drew her eyes back to his, then moved to put the sofa between them. “Listen, Will, I’m sorry about…” She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “What happened.”
    What the hell was going on? “I’m not sorry. Not one little bit.”
    “Well, no, I mean, it was great. I just…” She twisted her hands together nervously.
    Shit.
    “I’ve never done anything like this.”
    He didn’t know much about her, but he knew that was total bullshit. The woman was no novice. She knew how to kiss. He lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of his scotch.
    “Well, I mean, I’ve done…you know… that . I just don’t usually…”
    Something in his chest tightened uncomfortably.
    She slumped down onto the sofa, staring straight ahead. He lowered himself beside her and placed the glass of scotch on the table in front of them. “Please don’t. It was amazing.”
    “I don’t really know you.”
    “Let’s fix that,” he whispered, gently touching his lips to hers.
    Claire pulled back, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t just jump men I hardly know.”
    He smiled. “Wait a minute! Did I miss something? Did you jump me?” Her eyes darted to his, then away, and he caught the faintest hint of a smile at his joke. Good. He needed to pull