Page 34

Fuck, that smile. It’s doing things to me that it shouldn’t. I hesitate, not because I’m nervous about eating the greasy-looking concoction she ordered, but because I like the way she’s looking at me a little too much.
There’s a light in her eyes I’ve only seen a few times since she came to work for me. Each time, it’s been when she let her professional mask slip. This is a glimpse of the real Chloe. The woman whose gaze sparks when she’s irritated, whose chin rises when she’s challenged, who smiles without holding back and talks to me with a teasing lilt to her voice.
She’s always beautiful, but when she’s relaxed and happy like this, she’s absolutely breathtaking.
I wish to hell I could stop noticing.
Forcing myself to focus on something other than her pretty face and doing everything I can to tune out the way she just moaned and licked her lips, I bite into the pizza. It’s far greasier than I’m used to, but undeniably tasty.
Chloe watches me intently, obviously waiting for my response.
Once I’ve swallowed down my first bite, I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Very good.”
Her expression dims a little.
Not liking that I’ve let her down, I give her what she needs. “Delicious in fact.”
The bright smile returns. Does she realize how freely she’s sharing them with me? My guess is no. Otherwise, they’d be far more restrained.
“I told you.” She laughs. There’s a stark contrast between this light, carefree version of Chloe and the reserved woman who shows up here day after day. Now that I know about her father, it makes sense. It also explains why she was so grateful I kept her on.
When she talked about her dad, about why she’d moved in with him, and why they’d needed to downsize, my throat constricted in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before. Maybe because a woman as young as her shouldn’t have that kind of responsibility on her shoulders. Or maybe because it only highlights the vast difference between our financial situations.
Whatever the reason, the knowledge has sunken its claws into me.
As I take another bite of pizza, a glob of sauce-covered cheese slides off and lands on my shirt. I curse under my breath.
“Oh no. Let me help.” Chloe jumps up and snatches the stack of napkins off the table, then rushes around to my side. Kneeling next to me, she dabs at the mess.
Her lips are parted, and her pretty eyes are fixed on my chest as she wipes at the sauce, only causing it to smear.
“Chloe.”
She doesn’t stop.
“Chloe.” I grasp her hand to halt her frantic movements.
Finally, she looks at me and fuck, the sight of her on her knees with her big, beautiful eyes raised to mine has every muscle in my body drawing tight. It would be so easy to slide my fingers into her hair, twist the heavy locks around my fist anddrag her head back, watch those eyes turn sultry as I reach for my zipper and?—
Fuck no.
I am not that man.
I let go of her and stand. It’s the wrong thing to do, since now she’s kneeling directly in front of me. Turning away, I start to unbutton my shirt. “Can you get me a new one from my closet?”
Behind me, she scrambles to her feet, her hurried movements the only sound in the office. Then, a little farther away, the door to the closet next to my bathroom opens and closes.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve tried so fucking hard to resist the urge to picture her when I jerk off. Every time I wrap my hand around my dick and close my eyes, I do my best to imagine some faceless woman naked in front of me. But all too soon, her hair turns pale blond, and the eyes looking up at me with desperate longing become shaded in blues and greens. And when she begs me to fuck her, it’s Chloe’s voice that spills from between her lips.
Until this point, I’ve managed to force the vision from my head.
Now, after the image of her on her knees is seared into my brain, I know without a doubt, if she were to leave right now, there’d be no stopping the compulsion to undo my fly and take my dick in my hand while I picture how fucking good she looked with her face turned up and her lips parted…
My cock gives an almost violent jerk.
With a grunt of frustration, I yank off my tie. Then I shrug off my shirt and turn, reaching for the fresh one she’s holding. It’s another mistake. Facing her fully, I catch the moment her eyes drop to my bare chest, tracing over it with such deliberate focus it’s almost tangible. As if it’s her fingers trailing over my skin instead of her gaze.
I close my eyes and suck in a harsh breath, my lungs expanding as I struggle with the desire to feel her actual touch. When I focus on her again, her cheeks are pink, and she’s intently studying the floor. Quickly, I snag the shirt from her hand and slip it on.