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I stumble over to the bed, bracing myself on the mattress as I get into it, telling myself she doesn’t have to know I think about her like this. That the thought of me peeling off that silk dress of hers sets me on fire. That wishing I knew the taste of her lips has my blood pumping harder than before. That if she were here with me now, I’d be unable to help making a move on her, praying she’d let me lay her out on this bed and show her how good we could be together.
Because there’s no doubt in my mind we’d be explosive if given half a chance. I’ve never had a reaction like this to any woman. It has to mean something. And I swear there was interest in her gaze as she’d focused on my lips at the end of the night.
What would she have done if I’d leaned in and kissed her? Pull away? Remind me I’m her boss?
Or kiss me back, pushing me into the couch cushions as she straddles my waist? Her lithe body mine to do with what I want, her mixture of innocence and seductiveness spurring me on, the two of us getting worked up, just like I’m worked up now, my fist flying full throttle over my dick. Almost there. So close.
Slowly undressing her, uncovering every part of that luscious body, discovering the taste of her sweet skin. Her wild underneath me, asking for more in that throaty voice, looking up at me with lust-filled eyes as she takes my cock.
I groan as my release slams into me, nearly knocking the wind out of me with its force, keeled over the bed as I lose control of myself, spending onto the comforter. If it’s that powerful just imagining it, how will it be when—
No. That’s not happening. This is all fantasy. Like picturing yourself with a celebrity crush.
Except Emma is very much real.
And getting dangerously close.
I head into the adjoining bathroom and clean up, gazing in the mirror at my flushed face, the relaxed curve to my lips. Maybe what I needed all along was to let off some steam privately. That way she won’t affect me so much in person.
I can stay professional with her. She never has to know what I do alone. How I think about her. Fantasize about her. Wish beyond hope…
Nope. Not going there. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t always get what you want.
No matter how hard it is.
Chapter Twelve
Emma
“Alittle to the left,” the photographer calls out, and Connor adjusts his arm accordingly, wincing as the camera flashes in his face. He rolls his eyes at me as the man fiddles with his camera settings, and I hide my smirk behind my hand, enjoying watching him pose. He could make a killing as a model. I’d pay to see him, at least.
I shift in my seat, chastising myself for the train of thought. I’m here as his assistant, not to gawk at him. But how can I help it when he looks so good in that suit?
He wears suits every day.
Yeah, but he’s not giving smoldering poses at work.
“Seems like he was made for magazine covers, right?”
I glance up, the journalist who interviewed Connor earlier standing next to me.
“Tiffany,” she reminds me, reaching her hand out to shake. “You’re his assistant, right?”
I nod, surprised at her strong grip, and watch as she takes a seat close by, out of the way of the photo shoot they have set up. “Did you need to talk to him again?”
“No, I wanted to speak to you.”
“Me?” I clear my throat, smoothing out my skirt. “I’m not anyone.”
“I’m just trying to get the whole picture,” she says. “And you’re the one that works most closely with him, right?”
“I guess.” I glance over at him, but the photographer has him angled away from me now.
The woman takes out a notepad and paper, looking at it rather than me as she asks me, “Would you say there’s any tension between him and his brothers because he inherited the company and they didn’t?”
What? She didn’t ask him anything about that. “I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. “He doesn’t talk about them much.”
“So he’s estranged from them?”