by Olivia Myers
Her cheeks were bright pink. Rhys stared down at them, trying to understand. She was talking as if she’d attacked him. He snorted, drawing her gaze to his face.
“I assure you —” Little rabbit, his beast whispered. “Ms. O’Hare, you once again have nothing to apologize for.”
“But —”
He cut her off with the slash of his hand. “There were two of us here just now, in case you need reminding.” He lifted one brow and was rewarded with the upward curl of her lips.
Rhys almost reached for her, to pull her back into his arms and kiss that mouth again. His beast practically purred at the thought before the rational, human part of his mind asked him just what in the hell he was doing. She was still his employee, at least for the moment, and he still didn’t do relationships.
Looking down into Cassandra’s heart-shaped face, he knew she was the type who’d want a relationship. She didn’t normally fuck her boss on top of her desk. He’d bet his considerable fortune on that. She probably had gentle, caressing, languid sex in bed. She no doubt called it “making love.”
And she deserved that. He wasn’t such an ass as to think she didn’t, or that it didn’t exist. It just wasn’t for him. Which she needed to know. He braced himself for tears, or anger. (Not a lawsuit though, not Cassandra.) He sighed. He no doubt deserved both for giving in to his own selfish desires.
Warren was going to kick his ass.
He coughed. “That being said, I should apologize.”
Cassandra’s brow furrowed, but he continued.
“I’m your boss, even if only temporarily, and I shouldn’t have crossed that line no matter how tempting —”
He cut himself off before he went down that road. The last thing he needed was to start thinking about how tempting she was. He’d have her back on the desk if he did that. In his desperation to keep from blurting out just how very much he wanted her, he said the first thing that came to mind.
“Even if I wasn’t your boss, I shouldn’t have given in to this. You’re a beautiful, sexy, interesting woman but I don’t do —”
“I understand. Sir.” Her voice was steady as she interrupted his rambling and when he met her gaze, her eyes were dry. She even smiled, though it was nothing like any of her nervous smiles.
It was wide and bright and reminded him of how Bridget used to smile at him. It hadn’t looked fake on her, but it looked all wrong on Cassandra’s round face. He scowled as she scooted around him and plucked her bra from the back of her chair.
“This was a momentary lapse on both our parts. Understandable, but over. We have a professional relationship, nothing more. Do you mind if I use your washroom? I’ll need to clean up.”
He blinked at her, his brain still sluggish with the aftereffects of that orgasm. It took a minute to process her words. Or, some of them anyway. He swept his hand at the open door to his office, and the washroom beyond.
“Of course. Feel free.”
Her smile didn’t falter at all as she gave him a brief nod and turned on her heel. (When had she put her shoes back on?)
“I’ll be just a minute and then we can see what needs to be rearranged for your afternoon.”
Rhys scowled at her back as she slipped from the room, not sure what to do with the sensation burning under his ribs.
She was being perfectly reasonable. No anger or tears or recriminations. And despite how wrong the smile was, he didn’t smell anger or fear or upset on her now. She still only smelled of herself, and him, and spent lust.
His beast, the green and gold behemoth always lurking under his skin, shifted in dissatisfaction.
He should be pleased. He was pleased. He’d gotten everything he wanted without there being any negative consequences. So why was his dragon threatening to tear through his flesh?
Rhys stomped into his office, threw open the washroom door, and glared at the steam billowing from behind the shower curtain.
“Cancel the rest of my day. I’m going flying.”
The words were more of a guttural grunt than anything, but he knew she heard him because of the sing-songed, “Yes, sir!” that drifted out.
He didn’t even bother stripping off the several thousand dollars’ worth of bespoke suit before shifting and launching himself from the edge of the balcony and into the air.
***
Cassandra hummed as she hit ‘Send’ on the email Rhys had asked her to make sure Martin in Accounting got before ten.
Well, ‘asked’ was putting it nicely. More like commanded from on high.
She couldn’t figure out the sexy, enigmatic CEO. More than just being part man, part dragon, Rhys Maddox seemed to have multiple personalities.
For the first week after the bone-melting encounter on her very own desk, he’d alternated between being stilted and overly polite and broodingly snappish. She knew he was unsure how to take her acceptance that nothing more would happen between them.
Cassandra didn’t think he’d overstepped a line. At no point in their encounter had she even thought about him stopping, let alone attempted to get him to do so. There had, as he’d said when she’d attempted to apologize, been the two of them there, after all.
And she may have only known him a few weeks at that point, but she knew he wasn’t the type to use his position in the company to control her or coerce her in any way. If she’d been a permanent employee, people might have attempted to complain about him picking favorites, except as his assistant she already got the highest non-management salary and benefit package regardless of whether she slept with him or not.
It’s not like he’d hired her because they were sleeping together.
Which they weren’t. It was just that one time. That one, amazing, toe-curling, never-t0-be-forgotten (or, likely, topped) time.
She could accept that, though. Not that she was super thrilled by the prospect. Not that she wouldn’t love to feel him inside her, hot and hard and driving, again. She would. She’d love to do that, and more, with her gorgeous, scary, and possibly a little insane boss.
But he was Rhys Maddox and Rhys Maddox didn’t get involved with, well, anyone, really.
She’d initially been embarrassed when he’d first stepped away from her and left her cold and naked and wet on top of her desk. It hadn’t helped matters when he’d asked about birth control and she realized she hadn’t even thought about asking him to wear a condom (which was monumentally stupid and reckless and something she’d never done before). She’d practically thrown herself at him the second he kissed her.
The embarrassment faded when he said he’d been just as carried away as she had.
Then, when she realized he was trying to explain that it was a one-time thing, there had still been a little embarrassment, sure. And definitely some regret that it wouldn’t be happening again.
But, Cassandra figured, lots of incredible things only happened to a person once. Winning the lottery, meeting your absolute idol, and having crazy hot sex on your desk with your smoking shifter boss, apparently.
She wasn’t about to wallow. She’d known what kind of man Rhys Maddox was every step of the way. Cassandra O’Hare might have been terrified of dragons, but she was no fool.
Which was another thing to rejoice about. It seemed that her skin-t0-skin encounter with the sexy dragon CEO had cured her of her irrational fear of his kin. She’d had to interact with several other elders from Rhys’s clan over the last several weeks, and not one of them had caused that freezing panic she’d experienced on her first day in Rhys’s office.
Of course, being in his presence still made her go a bit quivery, but the fear was more that she’d let on how very much she still desired him and make him feel uneasy.
“Is everything set for the party tonight?”
He didn’t even bother with the intercom, standing instead in the doorway between their offices to glower at her. She smiled in response. Partly because it was her standard professional smile, and partly because even frowning and looming, he
still made her mouth curl.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Maddox. The caterers will be arriving at six to begin prep. Melinda and her crew will be done cleaning by five-thirty at the latest.”
It had taken his housekeeper and her assistants almost two full days to clean his enormous home in the Catskills. Cassandra had been there the night before, watching the industrious older woman bustle around issuing orders, and knew it would gleam like the jewel that is was when his guests arrived tonight.
It was just a small soiree, dinner and drinks for about thirty people in celebration of BurningStone’s record first quarter profits. Tonight, Rhys and the rest of the board would begin discussing which charities would be receiving what he referred to as “the excess cash.”
“And you, Ms. O’Hare?”
Cassandra shivered a little, remembering how he’d called her his ‘little rabbit’ when he was inside of her. She kept her chin up, however, and met his gaze.
“I’ll be leaving here in two hours, Mr. Maddox, as planned.”
She’d take the company helicopter up to his estate to oversee the last minute preparations. She was actually quite excited to see them. She’d never gotten to plan anything quite so grand working for Mr. Stebbins.
Rhys only grunted, spun on his heel, and strode back into his office. The door thunked closed behind him.
It hadn’t been left open a single time since that day.
For a little while, she’d thought they’d moved past the initial awkwardness. He’d seemed to relax around her once again. For two whole weeks, they’d worked together easily and companionably; they’d even shared a few lunches while planning the first quarter dinner with no problems apart from a few lingering glances or sudden silences.
She was still attracted to him, of course. And it was nice to know he was attracted to her as well. But she respected his wishes and sought to maintain a friendly but professional demeanor. She’d succeeded brilliantly, too—at least, it felt that way to her.
Rhys didn’t seem to agree, though. After one particularly potent moment at lunch where their knees had brushed under the table and it was clear both of them were remembering exactly how it had felt to touch a lot more than knees, things had once again become difficult.
Cassandra had immediately apologized for the accidental touch, but Rhys had grown distant and cold, and that was how he’d remained for the last month.
He wasn’t mean or cruel. He didn’t treat her badly. Even being autocratic and barking orders, barely acknowledging her efforts with a nod, he was still a nicer boss than Mr. Stebbins.
Still, she wished for the relaxed atmosphere of those two weeks, when he’d joked with her about her love of kung-fu movies, and she’d teased him about his fear (yes, fear—the great dragon shifter was afraid!) of rats.
For that brief period of time, she’d not just liked her job, she’d loved it. She’d even kind of secretly hoped Rhys might ask Warren if he could keep her.
But then she realized how dangerous that type of thinking was and shut it down. Soon, he would find a permanent replacement for Bridget and Cassandra would go back to Chimera and the only time she would see Rhys Maddox’s face anymore would be in the Life & Style section of the newspaper.
It sucked, and she would miss him more than she’d like to admit, but she was a big girl and she’d decided to just live in the moment. Like their explosive encounter, her time as his assistant was a one-time thing. Golden and not to be forgotten, but not forever.
Two hours later, she packed up her things, called a brief, “See you later! Fly safe!” (to which she got only a grunt in response) and headed across town to the helipad.
There was a landing pad on the Chimera building’s roof, but since so many of the employees were shifters who could fly on their own power, it was rarely used. Cassandra didn’t mind either the crosstown cab ride or the bumpy, noisy flight upstate. Both gave her time to run over all the last minute details for the party.
As Rhys’s assistant, she would not actually be sitting down to the formal dinner, but she’d be on the premises the entire time to make sure everything went off without a hitch. He’d assured her that he didn’t expect that, but since it was her first real event, she’d insisted.
Cassandra stepped into the sweeping stone entryway of Rhys’s mansion, marveling at the beauty of it. She’d expected more opulence like what she’d seen at the BurningStone offices the first time she’d been to Rhys’s home, and was surprised.
Not that it wasn’t gorgeous. And there were definite touches of the lavish tastes of the dragon shifter in the gleaming crystal chandeliers and priceless artwork. But for a mansion, especially one owned by a disgustingly rich dragon, the décor was understated and comfortable with a lot of warm tones and inviting furniture groupings.
It was, without a doubt, the den of a man who enjoyed the finer things in life. But it was also apparent that he enjoyed sharing those things with company.
Cassandra tried not to think of Rhys having private company of the female variety here. It sent a distressing pang through her belly. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the short, bony woman who hurried forward with a broad grin on her face.
“Melinda,” Cassandra said with a genuine smile. “Let’s see how things are going, shall we?”
***
“To the best quarter at BurningStone yet!” Miles Dearden raised his glass of port in a toast. “And many more to come.”
Rhys clinked his glass against Miles’s, the smile on his face faint, though his satisfaction with their quarterly earnings was genuine.
“Hear, hear.”
Chelsea Thomas, one of his most trusted Senior Analysts, twirled her glass in her jewel-bedecked fingers. “Speaking of best yet, Rhys, I really must commend you on this little shindig. I might just need to steal the name of your caterer.”
Several other people chimed in with their praise as well. The tight feeling that had been living in his chest for nearly two months grew sudden teeth. He tried not to let it show on his face.
“Same caterer as always, Chels.”
Her penciled brows bobbed up. “Really?”
“Mm-hm.”
Miles’s wife tilted her head, long silver lashes fluttering in surprise. “They remembered I’m lactose intolerant this time.”
More likely, Cassandra had remembered it.
“It’s probably down to that Ms. O’Hare,” Franklin, one of the board members, said, echoing Rhys’s thoughts. How did Franklin even know about Cassandra?
Again, several people added their praise of her, and Rhys realized she’d dealt with all of them at one point or another in her capacity as his assistant. Still, it was surprising to hear them refer to her that way. He doubted most of them remembered Bridget’s name, and she’d been with him for six years, and only gone two months.
What was it about his little rabbit that made her so… memorable?
If he could answer that question, maybe he could have caught up on some of the sleep that had been eluding him since that day in the office. Fuck, his body still throbbed faintly with the memory of how good it had felt to be inside her.
Only a month ago, they’d brushed knees accidentally under a table at lunch and his cock had leapt to attention, still eager for her. She’d apologized, though. Keeping it professional. As he’d asked.
He hated it.
He’d tried, he really had. Once he’d realized she really meant she was okay with the arrangement, he’d felt relief only slightly tempered with disappointment. Which was ridiculous, because he didn’t do relationships.
Still, he’d kept his physical distance from her, treating her like he would any other employee.
Except, it turned out, Cassandra wasn’t any other employee. She was his little rabbit, damn it.
He enjoyed being around her, watching her handle problems, hearing her laugh. He loved sharing lunch with her and listening to her stories. He was pretty sure he’d talked to her more in the two weeks things had
been comfortable and casual between them that he had anyone — male or female — ever. With the possible exception of Warren, who was his best friend.
He loved how she could be both timid and take charge by turns, and how she always unrolled her silverware and arranged the knife, fork, and spoon precisely beside her plate before she began to eat.
And god, how he still wanted her! He craved her worse than he’d ever desired Annette. Not just the lush, welcoming heat of her body or her peaches and cream scent, either. He craved all of it.
It terrified him.
So, he’d attempted to keep his distance. For the last month, he’d been strictly business with her from the moment she walked into his office every morning to the moment she went home. He kept her from his thoughts when he was alone in his big bed, despite the ache of his almost constantly hard cock.
The only place he hadn’t managed to keep her out of was his dreams.
And now she was here, in his house, saturating every stick of furniture with her mouth-watering scent.
She’d been there once or twice, running errands for him, over the last few months. But those had been brief, there-and-gone visits. Still the fragrance of her skin had lingered like perfume in his hallways when he got home, driving him nuts. He had to fly every night, his dragon restless to hunt his little rabbit.
“Well?” Chelsea asked, drawing him out of his reverie, her brows still arched. Rhys realized he’d missed some question. He tilted his head.
“Pardon?”
Chelsea grinned as if she could read his thoughts. “Franklin asked if you were going to keep her, your Ms. O’Hare.”
Rhys knew what she meant by ‘keep her.’ Or what Franklin had no doubt meant, anyway. But that wasn’t how the words struck him. And strike him they did, like a blow to the sternum.
Under his skin, his beast trumpeted, shaking him down to his bones.
Keep her.
The color of the crackling flames Cassandra had lit in his parlor to warm his guests after the slight spring chill suddenly deepened to vivid scarlet and canary yellow as his eyes shifted to dragon.
Rhys’s fingers bit into the wood of the mantle.