Page 5 of Grumpy Alien Boss

CHAPTER 5

OLIVIA

T he elevator doors close with a soft whisper, trapping me in this tiny metal box with six feet plus of pure masculine energy. My skin prickles with awareness. I twist a strand of hair around my finger, avoiding Darwin's gaze while simultaneously hoping he's looking at me.

"Nice weather we're having.". Really, Livvy? Weather talk?

"Indeed." His deep voice sends shivers down my spine.

Another floor ticks by. The tension thickens. I sneak a glance at his reflection in the polished doors. He's watching me. Our eyes meet in the makeshift mirror and my cheeks heat.

That little stunt with the fax seemed like such a good idea ten minutes ago. Now? Not so much. Sure, mission accomplished - the bulge in his pants proved that. But what exactly was my endgame here?

The elevator dings past floor twenty. Nineteen more to go.

I smooth my skirt, hyper aware of how it clings to my hips. The same skirt that rode up when I bent over. On purpose. God, what must he think of me?

"Something on your mind, Miss McGee?"

"Just hungry," I lie. Well, half-lie. I am hungry - just not necessarily for food.

My career goals flash through my mind like warning signs. I didn't move to New York and fight my way into this position just to become another office romance statistic. But the way he fills out that suit...

The elevator continues its descent, each floor bringing us closer to whatever this lunch actually is. A date? A meeting? A chance for him to fire me for being unprofessional?

His cologne teases my senses. I fidget with my hair again, catching another shared smile in our reflection. My stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with hunger.

The elevator finally reaches the lobby. Thank god - any longer in that enclosed space with him and I might have spontaneously combusted.

His hand lands on the small of my back as we exit the building. The touch sends electricity shooting up my spine. Such a gentleman, guiding me to the waiting limo, but there's something possessive in the gesture that makes my knees weak.

The leather seat creaks as I slide in, hyper aware of Darwin settling next to me. Close. Too close. His thigh brushes mine and my brain short-circuits.

"There's this fantastic place I've invested in - fusion cuisine, Italian-Mexican. Chef Garcia trained in Florence before bringing his unique vision to New York."

I try to focus on his words, but his proximity scrambles my thoughts. His hand is still radiating heat through my blouse where he touched me.

"That is, if such cuisine is of interest to you, we don't have to dine there."

"I'll do whatever you want."

Oh god. Did I actually just say that? Out loud? To my boss? Kill me now.

His eyebrow arches upward, but he doesn't comment. Thank heaven for small mercies. I fight the urge to fan myself as the limo pulls away from the curb. The air feels thick with unspoken implications.

The limo glides to a stop, and Darwin's hand finds mine as we exit. His touch sends sparks racing up my arm. The restaurant's entrance looms before us, all gleaming glass and polished brass, but I barely notice it. All I can focus on is the warmth of his palm against mine.

The ma?tre d' leads us to a secluded corner booth. The menu swims before my eyes - a blur of Italian and Spanish words that might as well be ancient Greek. My hands shake as I try to make sense of it.

"Allow me?" Darwin's voice cuts through my fog. "The chef's specialties are quite remarkable."

I nod, grateful for the rescue. There's something thrilling about letting him take control, about trusting him to choose for me.

"You know, Olivia, we spend countless hours together, yet I feel I barely know you."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you."

"Me?" His laugh rumbles deep in his chest. "I'm hardly a mystery. Google my name - you'll find everything from my first business venture to my last breakup splashed across the internet."

I lean forward, the movement bringing our faces closer together. "That's just the surface stuff - the starlets, the business deals, the charity galas. I'm talking about the real you."

"The real me?"

"Yes. The man behind the empire. The one who notices when his assistant's heel breaks, or remembers how she takes her coffee."

His eyes lock onto mine, something dark and hungry flickering in their depths. The air between us crackles with tension.

"The real me," Rook says carefully, as if choosing his words with the utmost precision, "is the one that wants to ravish you."

A rush of heat washes over me in a molten wave. I quickly drop my gaze, blushing deep red, and take a sip of my lemonade to give myself time to think.

"I..." My tongue feels like lead as I lick my lips. "You—you sure don't beat around the bush when you want something, do you?"

"Nor when I want someone." His voice is smooth as silk. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. I lift my gaze to meet his, and it's almost too much. I squeeze my thighs together as my body betrays just how much I want him to make good on his threat. Or is it an offer?

His thumb strokes over my knuckles, sending shivers racing up my arm.

My mouth goes dry. This is it. The moment of truth. I could laugh it off, pretend this is all just harmless flirting between a boss and his assistant. Or I could take the plunge, cross that line...

His eyes darken with hunger.

"Let's get out of here," he says.

We barely make it back to the limo before his lips are on mine, his hands sliding over my curves. I moan into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair. Weeks of pent-up tension explode in a frenzy of grasping hands and desperate kisses.

His lips claim mine with fierce intensity, and every fantasy I've had about this moment pales in comparison to reality. My fingers trace along his jaw, expecting the rough scratch of five o'clock shadow, but instead I find something... different. Smooth yet textured, like touching fine leather or...

"God, you're incredible," he growls against my mouth, and coherent thought vanishes.

His hands slide down my sides, settling on my hips and pulling me closer. The leather seat creaks beneath us as I arch into his touch. The strange texture of his skin becomes just another delicious sensation as his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

My whole body tingles with electricity. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his hands sets my nerve endings on fire. I've never felt anything like this before - this raw, primal need consuming me from the inside out.

The limo turns a corner, and I catch glimpses of the city flashing past the tinted windows. But New York could burn down around us right now and I wouldn't notice or care. All that matters is the way Darwin's mouth moves against mine, the way his fingers dig into my hips, the deep rumble of pleasure in his chest when I tug gently at his hair.

"Darwin," I gasp as his lips trail down my neck.

He responds by pulling me even closer, until I'm practically in his lap. The strange smoothness of his skin barely registers anymore - not when his kisses are making my head spin and my body melt.

His lips crash into mine with a ferocity that steals my breath. His hand grips my ass, fingers digging in, claiming me. A low growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my own. It's a primal sound, one that awakens something wild within me.

I'm pinned against the plush leather of the limo seat, his body a delicious weight atop mine. His lips leave mine, trailing a path of fire down my neck. Each kiss, each lick, each nip of his teeth sends me higher, until I'm a writhing mess beneath him.

"Oh Daddy," I hear myself moan. They're wanton and needy, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when he's making me feel like this.

His hands are everywhere, bunching up my skirt, gripping my thighs. He strokes me through the damp fabric of my panties, and I can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more. More friction, more pressure, more of him.

He obliges, his fingers working me with a practiced ease that has me seeing stars. I'm so lost in the sensation, so caught up in the moment, that I don't realize what he's about to do until I hear the fabric tear.

Cool air hits my exposed sex, and then his fingers are inside me, filling me, stretching me. He strokes a spot deep within that has my vision whiting out. My orgasm hits me like a freight train, my body bowing off the seat as I cry out.

But he swallows the sound with his mouth, his hand clamping over my lips as I shatter around his fingers. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over me, until I'm limp and boneless beneath him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with lust as he gazes down at me. There's a possessive glint in his gaze that should scare me, but all it does is stoke the fire within me. I want him, all of him, in a way I've never wanted anyone before.

"You're mine now, Olivia," he says, his voice a low, sexy rumble.

And God help me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

The limo glides to a stop in front of Rook Tower. Darwin's hands smooth my skirt, his touch still sending shivers through me. My hair's a mess, and I catch my reflection in the privacy divider - lipstick smeared, cheeks flushed.

"Here, let me help." His fingers thread through my hair, arranging it back into something presentable. The tender gesture makes my heart flutter.

He reaches down, picking up my torn panties from the floor. My breath catches as he brings them to his nose, inhaling deeply. His eyes darken with renewed hunger.

"A souvenir," he says, tucking them into his breast pocket. The possessive gesture makes heat pool low in my belly.

"We never ate lunch," I say with a breathless laugh. My body still hums from his touch, pleasure coursing through my veins.

"We skipped right to dessert." His voice drops to that growl that makes my toes curl. "And once we get up to the office, I plan on a second helping."

My pulse quickens at the promise in his words. Images flash through my mind - his desk, his chair, the conference room table...

The door opens, and reality crashes in with a wall of sound. Angry voices. Chanting. Signs wave in the air: "Save the Rainforest!" "Rook = Destroyer!" "Stop the Bulldozers!"

Hundreds of protesters pack the plaza, their faces twisted with rage as they spot Darwin. My stomach drops as their shouts grow louder, more hostile.

"MURDERER!" someone screams. "YOU'RE KILLING THE PLANET!"

Darwin's jaw tightens, his earlier playfulness vanishing as he stares at the sea of angry faces before us.