the other end of the phone?â
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her throat felt like sandpaper and that wasnât because of the fledgling cold. âNo.â
He contemplated her for a beat longer.
âHow did that game go again?â He was close enough now to reach for her hand and she was so stunned by the last three minutes, she didnât snatch hers away. âI want to play. Stand against the wall, Remy.â
She couldnât move. She stood with her tummy fluttering like warm silk ribbons in a breeze.
âIâll make it easy for you. Come on. Here.â He turned her like they were partners in an old-style dance. Next second, the tip of her work boots nudged the skirting board and her nostrils filled with the faint scent of years-old paint.
***
Christ on a stick. What was he thinking? Heâd never meant to go so far, but sheâd been so damn composed. Heâd just wanted to ⦠what exactly? Scare her? Punish her?
Heâd wanted to make a fool of her, like sheâd fooled him.
Only right now, Remy wasnât acting like any lesbian gold-digger he knew. Her scent was sunshine and cinnamon, she was warm and young and vibrant, and the longer he stood hereâwith her smell a sweet smoke in his headâthe more he wanted to play this goddamn game for real. Play it with her. Here. Damn the consequences.
Seth liked women. Heâd never needed props when he made love, never needed games, but if he touched Remy now, like he ached to, a line would be crossed. A huge great bloody black line and thereâd be no going back. She was his employee. She was a goddamn lawsuit waiting to paper-plane through the door and land writ-side up on his desk. He was so close to being past the point where he could laugh the whole thing off as a joke.
Seth flexed his arm to take her weight, swing her back from the wall, but the apology he was preparing died in his throat because he heard, thought he heard , some indescribable sound.
He thought he heard Remy moan.
Her eyes were closed. Sheâd turned her head and her cheek rubbed gently against the paint. A small silver hoop he hadnât noticed before pierced her ear and Seth had time to admire the simple grace of silver curled against the smooth column of her neck. He wondered if heâd ever see anything so perfect again.
He wanted to take the elastic band out of her hair, tumble that blonde mane around her shoulders, and if one of his desk drawers had held a hairbrush he might have offered to spend an hour brushing out the dayâs knots. Then heâd like to tug it a little, see if he could get her to make that sound again.
There was a soft pop as her lips opened ⦠the rush of a shallow breath. Then she whispered, âDonât stop now, Stud. Itâs just getting interesting.â
It shocked him so much he laughed, once he got over the minor earthquake her words caused at the base of his balls.
In answer, he picked up her right hand and moved it to her shoulder height, spreading her fingers and pinning them under his far larger hand. He was on the verge of leaning into herâwanted to put some pressure on her to let her know who was bossâwhen sanity clouted him across the head.
You are the boss, goddammit. Let her go.
âYouâre not very good at this are you?â She trembled, like her knees couldnât quite hold her up and the hand beneath his clenched, turning her fingernails dusky pink. âDid you forget what comes next?â
âOf course I didnât forget what comes next. How the hell could I?â
âWell, go on then.â Her ridiculously long eyelashes fluttered open and Seth could have sworn he saw a smile curve her lips. âTell me to spread my legs.â
Either she was the best actress heâd ever seen, or his Snow White gold-digger in khaki was stark raving certifiable. Maybe both. Whatever was going on, she was too good at this game for
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