I should know—I revamped most of them last month.”
Nikki took another long tug on her wine and swallowed. “Aren’t you handy?”
Demetria gave her a catty squint with an extra dose of what Nikki called dog-butt
lips. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“I’d love to hear your ideas, Creed.” Tor ignored the women’s exchange and lifted
his glass, his gaze sliding to Nikki. “Do I have any time in the morning?”
She dug in the pocket of her hunter-green blazer and took out her phone to quickly
scroll through his calendar. “You have a meeting with Demetria at nine, lunch with
the head of product testing at eleven, and an appointment with your tailor for your
tux fitting for the Goddess line gala the rest of the day.”
Tor seemed to consider this news as though it were a bid for a hostile takeover of
his company. “I’ll reschedule with legal. Does nine tomorrow work, Creed?
Demetria straightened. “You’re canceling our meeting?”
“Rescheduling.” Tor drained his glass and ran his tongue around its rim as though
he couldn't part with a single drop.
Nikki’s eyes rounded at the unsophisticated action. Tor was never a big drinker, and
definitely never less than perfectly refined at all times. Something was definitely
up with him tonight.
He eventually set his glass down. “There’s nothing pressing, is there?”
“Well, no, but—” Copper curls sprang about her head with each indignant shake Demetria
gave.
“Good.” Tor cut off any further argument. “Nine?”
Demetria gave an irritated grunt and slumped back against her chair.
“Nine works great for me.” Creed turned to Nikki. “You should be there, too.”
She started to tell him that she was usually around, but Tor beat her to it.
“She’ll be there. She’s always there when I need her.” He eyes tracked down her body
and back to her face, as if seeing her for the first time. “Always.”
She wasn’t sure if the statement had been a compliment or verbal slap. He stared as
if he wanted to brand her like a cow. Though she was seriously crushing on her boss,
he didn’t own her. Nikki turned to Creed and smiled. “I’ll be there.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Demetria shoved her chair away from the table and stood, striking
a supermodel pose and attempting a seductive smile, which in Nikki’s opinion fell
flat. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
Nikki refrained from pointing out that the attorney was no lady. Creed returned Demi’s
smile while Tor ignored her completely, instead picking up the golden bottle and tipping
it on end. He scowled at the three drops of liquid that fell into his wineglass.
“I’ll just get rid of this.” Demetria leaned over and snatched the bottle from his
hand. With a flip of her hair, she sauntered out of the executive dining room.
Tor pulled his gaze from the quickly departing Demetria and what was apparently his
favorite bottle of wine ever to instead trail down the wet shirt covering Nikki’s
breasts. She shifted and crossed her arms. The wet stain on the front pressed against
her skin, but it was Tor’s unwavering stare that made her uncomfortable.
After a few seconds, he turned to their guest. “I’m sorry to cut this meeting short,
Creed, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling like myself tonight.”
“Are you ill?” All of her irritation with him fled. Nikki stood and moved around the
table. Without thinking, she pressed her hand to his forehead. “You do feel a bit
warm.”
“I’ll be fine.” He gripped her hand and drew it away from his face. His thumb gently
caressed her palm a few times before he released her hand and stood. “I think I just
need to lie down.” He held out his hand for Creed to shake. “I look forward to tomorrow.”
Tor’s voice came out gravelly and a little terse. “Nikki, will you walk me to the
elevator? I’d like to discuss a few things about tomorrow.”
She stared into his unwavering expression, slightly confused and once again irritated
by his surly manner. “Of course, Mr. Stephanos.”
“Should I wait to walk you out?” Creed shrugged. “Perhaps we could share a cab.”
Again Tor cut her off, “This may take a while, but I’m sure Demetria would appreciate
an escort.”
“Of course.” Creed’s smile faltered. He sat again and poured half a glass of wine.
“Might as well finish this off while I’m waiting.”
Discussions with Tor were usually quick and to the point. Maybe Creed would still
be around when she finished—she certainly hoped so. She gave him a wide smile and
held out her hand, hoping it conveyed her apologies and interest.
“Coming, Nikki?” Tor turned the corner, not checking to see if she followed or giving
her time to reply.
She gritted her teeth. What in the heck had gotten into him? He usually didn’t bark
commands at her. Why was it that the one time in more months than she wanted to admit,
a guy finally showed interest, Tor decided to have a psychotic episode? “He’s usually
not like this. I promise.” She pulled back her hand, her smile tightening. “See you
tomorrow, Creed.”
“I look forward to it.” He held up his glass in a salute.
She turned and walked with as much dignity as she could muster, knowing he was watching
her. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. She rounded the corner and jumped, nearly running into Tor, who waited on the other
side of the wall. “God, you scared me.”
His fingers wrapped around her upper arm and he started to walk, semi-dragging her
with him. “You seemed to have hit it off nicely with Creed.”
She did a little skip to keep up with his long strides. “He’s a nice guy. I think
he’ll fit in well here.”
“Do you?”
She leaned away from him. The lighting had been turned down, so it was difficult to
see his face. Was he angry? His tone said he certainly wasn’t happy. “Is something
wrong?”
“What would be wrong?” His hand slid from her arm to rest on her waist. “I just don’t
like my assistant flirting with the new boy.”
“I wasn’t flirting.” Well, maybe she had been a little bit, but never once in the
six years she’d worked for Tor had he ever shown concern in her private life or interests.
What was he up to now? His fingers splayed against her lower back, pulling her a little
closer to him. Her ire melted and warmth spread through her, sending butterflies up
into her chest. It was odd and exhilarating to have him touch her. Contact had been
minimal up until now, an elbow brush in the car, finger touches when handing him files,
but nothing beyond that. A strange notion hit her. Was he jealous? She tested out
the idea. “But it might be nice to go on a date if he asked. I think we have a lot
in common.”
His hold tightened. “Do you?”
Okay, something was definitely wrong. His hand stopped pushing her along and began
a tiny stroking motion against her waist, and a tremor of pleasure skated through
her. She struggled to wrap her mind around the fact that Toraos Stephanos was jealous,
which meant he must be interested in her. Wait, did it
mean he was interested, or
just being an overly possessive boss who was afraid of losing his underpaid, overly
fervent assistant?
He stumbled and fell against her. Whether on purpose or accident, the hand on her
waist made a bold move upward to her breast.
“Whoa there.” Her reaction was swift but futile. The man was strong and his hand determined.
A zing of desire shot through her when his fingers found her nipple through her jacket.
“We—uhhh.” His thumb pressed against her, drawing her to a tight peak. What had she
been going to say? With Herculean effort, she pushed his hand down to rest at her
waist. He stumbled again. “Are you drunk?”
He mumbled something she couldn’t understand into her hair. Of course he was drunk.
He'd just fondled his assistant. To prevent him from falling, she wrapped her arm
around his hips. If she could get him into his private elevator and upstairs, he should
be okay.
“We’re almost there.”
“Your hair smells good.” He nuzzled her ear and sniffed. “Like rain and sunshine.”
“Well, I did just switch shampoos.”
This night had shot from a four to a seven on her bizarre meter. He was so close and
felt entirely too good pressed against her.
She tilted her head away from him, trying to dislodge his face from her hair, but
he stuck to her like Velcro. As they stopped in front of the elevator, she had to
lean into him in order to press the button, which brought them face-to-face.
Eyes the color of toffee peered back at her. Oh man, he was so gorgeous he scattered
her thoughts.
Her finger flailed against the cool metal plate until she found the 'up' button. She
punched the up arrow but didn’t lower her hand because he stroked her arm. She should
protest but that would require coherent thought and the ability to form sentences.
His fingers slid from her wrist, along her forearm, and under her elbow, sending tingles
rippling across her shoulders. Her breath hitched as her arm hovered in the air, afraid
if she moved he’d stop touching her. His gaze caressed her face and heat blossomed
up her neck. Was he going to kiss her? He looked like he was going to kiss her. He
shouldn’t kiss her. Please God, let him kiss me.
Her conscience shouted, “He’s your boss! And he might possibly be liquored up!” from somewhere in the back of her mind. Screw that. Toreas Stephanos was feeling her
up finally and she was totally going with it. With a mental kick, she slammed the
door on her pesky scruples.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open just as he leaned in. Instead of giving
her the much-anticipated kiss, Tor wrapped his hands around her arms and backed her
into the confined space. His eyes never left hers and his mouth teased, lingering
an inch from her lips.
But he didn’t kiss her. Damn him.
He crowded her into the elevator until she bumped against the back wall. The sleek
handrail that ran around three sides of the car pressed into her back. The entire
length of his torso lay against her, and she could feel every curve, every dip…and
every bulge of his body. Even she couldn’t misread the message. He wanted her.
The doors shut, but the elevator didn’t move.
“I don’t have the spare keycard.” Her voice cracked. “Do you have yours?”
“It’s in my pocket.” A wicked smile spread across his mouth, and he placed a hand
on either side of her head against the wall. “Find it.”
Nikki swallowed hard. “Umm no. ”
He tilted his head, his gaze drilling into hers. “Yes.”
Since the day Tor had interviewed her for the job, she’d dreamed about fondling his
tight rear end, and now she’d been handed a grope all you want pass. But she really needed to resist the temptation. She shuddered to think what
this morning after might look like, fairly certain it would include a pink slip for date
raping her drunk boss. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I do.”
This was getting her nowhere. Without his cooperation, she wouldn’t be able to get
him to the penthouse. No assistant should have to endure this much temptation. If
she got him in bed—unmolested—she’d deserve a raise.
Her touch was tentative at first, like finally trying on the thousand-dollar pair
of shoes in the store window she’d always admired but unsure if they’d be as awesome
as she imagined. She needn’t have worried.
Her hands glided across the firm plains of his backside. Sweet baby Jesus, he was
built. Her fingers itched to squeeze the tight cheeks and pull him against her, but
she only just remembered she was searching for his security card. “You don’t have
any back pockets.”
“Don’t I?” He ground his hips against her pelvis, and his voice rumbled against her
chest. “You’d best check the front ones.”
This was not happening. Her super hot boss who'd never shown an ounce of interest
in her before tonight was not urging her to feel up his merchandise in the company elevator. No way. But what if
he was? What was she going to do about it? She needed to find his key card and get
him to his suite of rooms upstairs, that's what. Clearly he had drunk more than she
remembered, and they'd both be embarrassed in the morning.
Her hands slid along his hips and into the front pockets of his pants. She squeezed
her eyes shut and leaned forward, bending her elbows in order to wedge her fingers
into the constricted compartments. The small space separating them shrunk. Their lips
brushed but didn’t fully make contact.
His topaz gaze caught hers again and wouldn't let go. Silently they both weighed what
was about to happen, his fist gripping her blouse and pulling her even closer.
She dove deeper, kind of searching for the keycard, but mainly hoping for a gratuitous
feel of his manhood, if she were being honest.
The man was pure perfection. Her hand bumped the rigid line of his erection, eliciting
a low growl from him, and all thoughts of resisting morphed in an all-consuming need
she couldn't fight any longer. She schooled the impulse to wrap her leg around his
waist and grind like a teenager at prom. If they were going to do this, and by now
she'd pretty much decided to hell with her job—she wanted this man more than her next
breath—and she didn’t want to be interrupted. With a mental shake, she swept her hands
along the inside of his pockets.
“There’s no key in your front pockets either,” she whispered against his mouth.
He leaned back a fraction, removing his creeping hand from her ribs, and extracted
the card from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Oh, here it is.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You knew it was there all the time.”
Without denying her accusation, he twisted to swipe the card along the security pad
and pressed P. The only time she’d ever been to his penthouse was to drop off dry
cleaning or files that needed to be signed. The visits had been brief, and she’d always
been alone. Not this time.
The elevator hummed and eased upward. He faced her, their eyes locking. This was it,
the moment she’d been dreaming about since the day she’d met Toraos Stephanos.
The million reasons why she shouldn’t make out with her boss now the furthest t
hought
from her mind. Screw it all. She'd start combing the want ads in the morning, but
tonight she was going to finally find out what it meant to be fucked by a god.