Page 82 of The Reluctant Billionaire

‘Not my favourite outfit in July.’

‘I get that. Just stay indoors. You look so gorgeous.’

I pull away and grin at her. That red lipstick is looking nicely smudged against her ripe, swollen lips. The buttons on her dress are a bit of a pain in the arse, but I can take them.

‘Why don’t you give me a tour of your office?’ I ask, stroking my fingertip gently down the slope of her adorably pert little nose. It makes her look younger, somehow. Her freckles are clearer, her skin more sun kissed, after spending most of the weekend by my pool.

‘With pleasure.’ She spreads her arms wide. ‘This is my office. Now I really want to get under that suit.’

I tut. ‘Not going to happen, sweetheart. I’m just here to service the boss. Are you her?’

‘I am.’

I lean in and lower my voice, taking her hand in mine. ‘Come with me, then. This your desk?’

‘Yes.’

‘This your chair?’

‘Yes.’

I hold out my hand. ‘Please, have a seat.’

‘Thank you.’ She sinks gracefully into the leather swivel chair and I look down at her, admiring the view.

‘This place suits you. It’s veryyou.’ I mean it. It’s an equally stylish but more colourful version of the lobby, with oversized arrangements of fresh flowers everywhere, stunning, hyper-feminine canvases in muted pinks and blushes, and a couple of blown-up building shots that look similar to the ones in the leather portfolios downstairs. Against one wall is a long sofa whose grey-green velvet looks a lot more luxurious than mine and reminds me of the colour and texture of the sage leaves in my garden.

‘I love it.’ She looks around the room, and I see pride and possession on her finely wrought features.

She’s earned this.

She’s worked her arse off for this office.

This is a microcosm of her kingdom, and she is its queen.

And what a fucking queen.

I step between her desk and her chair, pushing the chair backwards, and get to my knees in front of her.

‘It’s a lovely room,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got great taste. But you’re the most beautiful thing in it by a million miles.’

She raises a shapely eyebrow.‘Thing?’

‘Thing,’ I confirm, cuffing her ankles with my hands and nudging her feet apart. I slide my hands up her legs, hitching the hem of her dress higher as I go. ‘Very tidy desk, by the way.’

‘What? Oh, yeah. I don’t like clutter. I like fabulous things, but not random shit everywhere.’

‘Makes sense,’ I say, but I’m thinkingI know exactly how to make use of that very tidy desk surface.

‘How has your morning been?’ I ask evenly, staring down at her knees, her smooth thighs, as they appear from under the light, frothy fabric.

‘Tiring,’ she says, but there’s an edge to her voice that suggests anticipation rather than weariness. ‘I feel like I’m still playing catch-up.’

‘Poor baby,’ I say. I’ve got the dress almost all the way up now. My thumbs drag up her inner thighs. ‘How about you let me be the boss for a few minutes?’

‘Sounds good,’ she says in a breathy voice I decide I really, really like.

‘Good girl. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a guy who turns up to make you feel better every time it all gets too much?’ I bend and kiss her knees. Softly. Chastely. ‘Who does all the work?’