Page 59 of Bossy Wicked Prince

“No, it’s not.” He leans forward, his forearms crossed on the desk. “I have a stylist who picks out my outfits for me. She even organized my closet so my shirts and ties are already paired.”

I sigh dreamily. “That sounds amazing. Just having someone take choices off your plate for you. Seriously, I wish someone would justtellme what to do for once.”

Nate’s eyes flash with surprise. “You don’t mean that.”

I blink at him, my smile draining from my face. He seems almost angry at me, and I have no idea why. Out of all the things I told him, that’s the one that freaks him out?

“Yes. I do,” I whisper.

He pushes back abruptly from the desk, standing so he looms over me. I gawk up at him, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he mutters. He turns away from me, giving me a view of how his white shirt hugs his back muscles. My fingers itch to run my fingers across his shoulders, to feel the contours of his body. God, I remember too well how good it felt to have him pressed against me at the hotel window. I crave the way his every touch made my mind go blissfully blank.

As much as I want to go to him, I stay in my seat, my legs pressed tightly together.

I don’t know what’s got him so riled, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

19

NATE

Cat has no idea what she’s awoken in me.

I’ve never felt this consuming desire before. The overpowering, obsessive need to make a woman mine, to protect and care for her at all costs.

It’s like a monster lurking in the back of my mind. It’s been restless from the moment Cat melted when I called her a “good girl” back in the car in New York. It took over when I indulged in that fever-dream of a finger fuck against the hotel window, looking over the city below.

Now, it’s hungry again.

I’mhungry again—for her. I’m fucking starving for her. So if she needs help turning her brain off…well, I’ve been known to be quite charitable in the past few weeks.

Opening my top desk drawer, I pull out my bottle of Twisted Devil. I don’t drink as a rule at work, but I keep whiskey and glasses around for when one of the guys stops by, or if I’m celebrating closing a deal.

Bottle in one hand, glasses in the other, I stroll to the other side of the desk until I’m standing behind Cat, looking down at her blonde curls, barely tamed into a thick braid. I hadn’tplanned on doing anything with her tonight, but I already know exactly how I want this scene to unfold.

I lean over her to set a cut crystal glass down in front of her. My arm goes over her shoulder, caging her between the table and me. Her body stiffens, but not from fear. There’s caution, yes, but anticipation, too.

When I pull back, Cat lets out the breath she’s apparently been holding. I don’t give her time to collect herself, leaning against the desk right next to her. Setting my own glass next to hers, I pour a little whiskey into each.

“Here,” I offer, holding one out to her.

She considers it, a little uncertain.

“Just a little to take the edge off, Kitten. I’m not trying to get you drunk. You said you wanted to shut your brain off.”

She licks her lips and nods and instead of waiting for her to take the glass, I bring it to her mouth, watching the seam of her lips part for me to tip the whiskey in. Just enough to wet her mouth. My thumb catches a stray drop at the corner of her lips.

“Good girl,” I praise her, sucking the droplet into my own mouth and watching her pupils blow.

After I set the glass down, I drum my fingers on the table, and her eyes follow the movement. She’s just as hyperaware of me as I am of her. The air feels thick and charged around us, like a storm gathering.

Can she feel it?

The way her plump lips part, I know she wants me just as much as I want her right now. All she needs is her own permission.

“Color?” I ask and her eyes go bright and sharp.

The ghost of a smile tugs at one corner of her perfect mouth. “Pink.”