by Roya Carmen
I’m mesmerized by the glass chandelier. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Let’s continue.”
I follow him to the next room. He cringes as he opens the door, and when he turns on the light, I see why. The space is a mess; clothing, books, candy wrappers, haphazardly thrown about. “I can’t stand to look at it,” he tells me. “Which is why I keep the door closed.”
“I gather he takes after his mother,” I tease.
He shrugs, looking quite defeated.
We’re both smiling as we head on to a spacious bathroom, complete with soaker tub, two vanities and spacious shower.
“This is the kids’ washroom,” he explains. “Thankfully, I have someone come in every week to clean. It’s spotless now, but just wait until next week when they’re here.”
“I get you.”
He then shows me the guest room. It’s beautiful, done in shades of grey and light blue. The bed covers are luxurious, and there’s a fun sea life theme. Black and white photos of marine animals line the walls, and a glass sculpture of a sea turtle sits atop the dark dresser.
“Wow,” I say.
“I’m kind of obsessed with all things sea life,” he admits.
I smile. “I think it’s cute.”
I then follow him to a bright open concept room, and am awed by the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the walls. A sitting area with a large mounted flat television makes up one corner. And in the other is a bar topped by contemporary flowing lighted spheres and skirted with leather bar stools.
At the center of it all are a blue felted pool table, a fooseball game, and a ping pong table.
“Wow,” I blurt out. “The kids must love this.”
“Funny enough, they’re usually on the sofa on their phones.”
I shake my head. “Pity.”
I walk around the pool table , sliding the tip of my fingers along the edge, and I’m suddenly taken back to my younger days, when Donovan and I used to go out and play with our friends. It seems like a lifetime ago now.
“Up for a game?” he asks.
I smile. “Uh… I don’t know. I’m not that good.”
“I’m nothing to write home about either,” he jokes.
“Well, I suppose…” I really, really want to.
He reaches in one of the table pockets and grabs a ball. “Let’s have a go.”
I bite my lip. “Yeah… let’s.” I can’t wait to see him play. I bet he’s sexy as hell.
I help him retrieve the balls, and he shoots me a playful smile as he racks them up. “You want to break?”
I shake my head. “No, you go ahead.”
As he leans down and takes the standard stance, I study his shoulders and the curves of his back. I suddenly itch to rip off his shirt, and see what he’s hiding under there. He’s definitely sculpted.
He breaks the rack with force, sending two balls down, one of each thankfully. He smiles at me, and I realize my mouth is still open. I shut it quickly.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have a good shot to shoot at. He attempts a difficult combination shot and fails. He shrugs and smiles. “Your turn. Please take it easy on me.”
I laugh. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t want to beat the boss, would I?”
He’s left me an easy shot on a stripe. It goes down, and he grins widely. He’s happy for me. I miss my next shot. It’s been forever since I played, and I’ve never been that great. Donovan, on the other hand, was amazing at billiards. I suppose he just had the brain for it.
“You’re not holding your cue properly,” Weston tells me. “Here…” He settles himself just behind me, and adjusts my arm just so. “Your elbow needs to be straighter, a nice square. Don’t choke up so much on the cue.” My brain is whirling, struggling to take it all in. All I can think about is how he’s so close against me, my ass practically pressed against his crotch, and he smells so damn amazing.
“Try that shot again,” he urges as he repositions the object ball and the cue ball. “Give it a go.”
I do, my heart beating a mile a minute. And I get it in. I’m on top of the world. And so is he. “See how easy that was. Now do it again.”
The next shot isn’t so easy, and I miss it.
He shrugs and bends down to shoot. He misses too. “It seems we’re both hopeless.”
I smile. “It seems so,” I agree. “We should put a bet on it… make it fun.”
He perks up, all smiles. “What kind of bet?”
I worry my lip, thinking it over. A personal favor? “How about if I win, you make me one of your famous Margaritas. Rosetta tells me they’re fantastic.”
He smiles. “Well, I do love to make a Margarita. Sounds perfect.” His grin is impish when he asks, “What do I get if I win?”
I don’t know what comes over me. Perhaps it’s the mood of the room, or possibly the fact that I just want to rip his clothes off, but I inch closer and close the distance between us, and the next words out of my mouth are, “Depends… what do you want, Mr. Hanson?”
His eyes darken, and his lips part ever so slightly. I’ve left him speechless, and I have no desire to fill the delicious silence. I’m enjoying every second of it.
He licks his bottom lip, and I practically melt to the floor. “Actually, I’d love to see you with your hair down.”
I listen attentively, my core heating up with every passing second.
“I’d also like you in a skirt.”
God, yes.
“Easy… “ I practically purr. “I have a lot of skirts.”
“No stockings,” he says. “And an off-the-shoulder top.”
Damn.
“How about heels?” I ask. “Any preference?”
His gaze dances over me. “Round toes… high.”
I smile playfully at him. “Can do.”
He grins and shakes his head, not quite able to look at me. “Okay, let’s do this.”
He’s up again, and he throws me a mischievous smile as he shoots a long shot. It goes down easily. Next is a rail shot. His stroke is nice and soft, and he pockets it without effort. I watch attentively, getting suspicious. Has he been playing me?
He walks around the table and studies it carefully. He’s sex-on-legs. God, when do we get to see the bedroom? He leans down at the table again, and pockets the yellow ball in the side pocket, followed by the purple one. And finally, he’s down to one. This one is tricky, right on the rail, and the cue ball is on the other end of the table. If he makes this one, I’ll be very impressed.
He bites his lip in concentration and considers the shot carefully. He strokes the cue multiple times, and I study his hands. He shoots a long bank shot, and the last of the low balls goes straight in.
“You’ve been playing me,” I finally say.
He laughs. “Yes, I confess. I was hustling you.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Why?”
“I wanted us to have a game,” he explains. “I didn’t want to destroy you.”
“Well, you’re destroying me right now!”
He smiles playfully. “Well, there’s a lot at stake now.”
I think about the skirt and top I’ll wear for him. And the shoes. I’m not quite sure what I’ll choose, but the thought of dressing for him and arousing him turns me on so much. “You’re forgiven.”
He smiles, and pockets the eight ball. I clap, glad that he’s won. Next Monday promises to be quite eventful.
“We could play again, he suggests. “I can play with my left hand.”
“You’d probably still beat me,” I point out. “I haven’t played in years, and Mr. Boss Man here has his own table.”
He laughs and closes the distance between us. “Mr. Boss Man?”
I smile up at him. “That’s what Rosetta calls you.”
His bites his lip, not taking his eyes off me. “I know, but I like it better when you say it.”
“All right, Mr. Boss Man,” I tease.
He closes his eyes for a long beat, and when he opens them again, he a
sks me, “You want to see the master?”
I feel his words in every inch of my core, my chest, my belly… my sex. “Y-yes.”
His smile is shy, barely there, and I follow him to the back of the loft. My limbs are trembling. I’m both excited and scared. He can’t possibly… A part of me cannot even imagine it, but the other wants it desperately.
His bedroom is spacious but not overly so. It’s decorated in a simple contemporary esthetic. A large four post bed sits at its center, covered with a crisp white duvet, and accented with white pillows and red cushions. A tufted bench sits at the end, and a large fur throw is neatly folded over it. I can’t help myself — I need to touch it.
It might just be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. “Is this real fur?”
He brings a finger to his lips in a shush sign. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers.
“I won’t,” I promise. “It can be our little secret.”
“I like that.” He smiles. “I like secrets.”
Damn, he needs to pull it down a notch, or I might just throw myself on his bed.
I glance out the French doors to the patio. There’s a fire pit surrounded by curved outdoor sofas. I wonder if he ever spends anytime outside. I walk closer to the doors. “You have an amazing patio.” I’d seen the front end, but never this back part. “Mine is very small.”
He shrugs, and buries his hands in his pockets.
“It pays to own the place, I guess,” I joke.
“So this concludes the tour,” he says. “This is it.”
I walk around and peek at the ensuite bathroom, very similar to the kids’ one. My eyes are greedy when I walk by the walk-in closet. It’s stunning, all glass doors and sleek shelves. A round tufted purple ottoman sits at the center and is topped by a glamorous light fixture. A tall mirror and chair are tucked in one corner. I walk slowly in and marvel at how everything is so perfectly organized; shirts pressed, jackets and shoes perfectly aligned, clothing folded impeccably.
“Amazing,” I say, jaw still on the floor. “I’d love this closet.”
He smiles. “I’m sure it would be more colorful if it were yours.”
“It definitely would be. I love color.”
I stand in front of his impressive collection of ties, each one more fabulous than the previous one. They are folded neatly into a series of small square cubbies, every pattern in the book; plaid, paisley, stripes, solids, flowers and even polka-dots. “This spot is quite colorful.”
I can feel him as he inches closer behind me. My body stands to attention, in anticipation of his touch. I desperately want him to reach out. I know he wants to. I can feel it in every cell of my body.
We both stand for the longest time, drinking in the delicious moment. Neither one of us dares to move. Finally, he places a hand softly on my arm, leans into me, and presses his face very lightly against the back of my head, just under my high up-do. He’s being a gentleman, not crossing the line. “Your hair smells amazing.”
I close my eyes, wanting more. Every woman has a sweet spot, and mine is the back of my neck. Donovan knew this and he always kissed me there. I haven’t been touched there in over two years. All I can think about is Weston’s soft lips on my skin. “Kiss my neck,” I whisper, the words shocking me and sending my heart into overdrive.
Weston doesn’t utter a single word. Doesn’t move. I desperately want to take the words back. Three little words. What was I thinking? Did I cross the line? Did I mess everything up?
8
Finally, he glides his mouth down and presses a slow soft kiss on the nape of my neck. I’m a puddle. I can’t feel my limbs. I’m nothing but a heartbeat and oozing desire. I slowly turn to face him, and when I do, his gaze is full of emotion; curiosity, lust and… pain. He slides his cheek against mine, and I’m completely frozen under his touch. He sweeps his mouth down my cheek and plants another soft kiss on my collar bone. The warmth of his soft lips and the feel of his five o’clock shadow sends chills down my spine.
I want more.
I reach for him, taking his face in both my hands, and draw his mouth to mine. Our lips meet for just a second before he pulls away. A pained expression etches his features as he tells me we can’t do this.
My heart sinks. My pussy screams in protest. My brain is fuzzy.
“We can’t do this, Gretchen,” he tells me again. “Given the circumstances. I am your employer, and you are my employee. This kind of behavior is highly inappropriate.”
“I don’t care,” I say, oozing desperation. “I don’t mind at all. I want—”
He takes a few steps back. “You don’t understand. We are not in the same positions here. As your employer, the consequences of these actions are much more severe for me than they are for you. I have much more to lose than you. We are not equal in this scenario.”
“Oh…” I say. “I know. You’re my boss, Mr. Rich and Important, and I’m just a lowly employee.” I spin away from him, and head out of the closet. “I get it. Please forget anything ever happened. I’m very sorry.”
I’m almost in tears as I dash out of his bedroom.
He runs after me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
I turn to him, determined to act professionally. “No, I completely understand, Mr. Hanson. It was a moment of weakness on both our parts, and I won’t let it happen again.”
He nods quietly, at a loss for words.
“I need to get back to work.” I turn on my heel, and quickly scurry to my office with as much dignity as I can muster.
I’m eating ice cream straight out of the container. I’m sharing with Ethan, so I don’t feel so bad. He’s loving every bite.
“And then I tried to kiss him,” I’m saying. “Can you believe me? Trying to kiss the boss?”
“More,” he demands.
I scoop up a large spoonful, and slide it in his mouth.
I sigh. “I’ve ruined everything. I’m probably going to get fired on Monday for hitting on the boss.”
Ethan’s brows furrow and his face crumples. His reaction surprises me. Can he understand what I’m saying? That’s impossible.
His expression morphs into one of pain, and his familiar cry fills the kitchen.
What the hell?
“What’s going on, baby?”
He presses a hand against his forehead, all the while wincing and squirming and crying.
“Oh, shit, baby.” I take him in my arms. “I think you have what we call a brain freeze, baby. Too much ice cream too fast. It’s all Mommy’s fault.” I stroke his back. “It’s okay. Mommy is very sorry. Mommy promises to start being a better Mommy.”
I resolve to put the ice cream away, and get my life in order. I will not freeze my baby’s brain. I will not hit on my boss. I will be a good mother and employee, and get my fucking act together.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m in heaven. I’m sandwiched between Claudia and Abigail at the nail salon, and my feet are being rubbed by Sandra, also known as an angel sent from heaven. I’ve chosen a sparkly blue for my nails, and am desperately trying to forget all about the unfortunate recent events with my beautiful boss.
Claudia is still talking about her new chef boyfriend, and I welcome the distraction.
“And he’s so good in bed,” she goes on. At that, Sally, her manicurist, smiles. We all smile.
“Lucky girl,” I say, brought back to Mr. Boss Man’s closet. I wanted him so badly. He’s awakened a part of me I thought was dead. I haven’t thought about sex since before Donovan’s death, and I was sure I never would again. But now it’s all I can think about… sex.
“And she gets to eat gourmet food,” Abigail chimes in. “I’m so jealous.”
“Where is Mischa?” Sandra asks.
“Oh, she had a thing with her kid,” Claudia tells her. “She’ll be here next time.”
“So enough about me,” Claudia says. “Tell us all about Mr. Dark & Mysterious.”
I smile. “You
can call him Weston.”
“Yes, yes… Weston. Now dish.”
I bite my lip, wondering what I should share. I desperately want to confide in someone. My thoughts have been whirling around in my brain for the past twenty-four hours and driving me crazy.
“We almost kissed,” I blurt out.
Claudia jerks up, causing her manicurist to completely mess up. Claudia’s toe is covered in red polish.
“Oh, no,” Sally scoffs. “You can’t jump up like that. Now I need to start all over.”
“Sorry,” she says and turns to me. “What? You almost kissed your boss?”
Sally and Sandra perk up. Even Lorraine, Abigail’s manicurist, who usually looks bored out of her skull, sits a little straighter.
“How did this happen?” Abigail asks.
I’ve opened the gates. Everyone is invested now. I can’t go back. “Well, as you already know, Rosetta’s been gone so it’s just us two, and we’ve been having lunch together every day in his kitchen, take-out and leftovers and stuff.”
Claudia nods, riveted. “Nice.”
“We’ve gotten kind of close, kind of fast. We have a lot in common. We’re kind of on the same page…” I sigh, thinking about him, and hoping that stupid almost-kiss hasn’t changed everything. “Anyway, we’ve been flirting a little. He calls me Grasshopper.”
Abigail laughs. “Wow, that’s sexy,” she says sarcastically. “Why grasshopper?”
“Because he says I hop around all the time.”
“You totally do,” Claudia trills. “He’s right. Clever boy.”
“Oh yeah… he’s clever, all right. You have no idea.”
“What about the kiss?” Sandra says.
I smile. “Anyway, he offered to give me a tour of the penthouse.”
Abigail sits up straighter. “Oooh… you need to tell us all about it.”
“It’s so amazing,” I tell her. “The light fixtures alone are probably worth more than my car. And everything is so perfect and sleek. The windows—”
“Who cares about the penthouse,” Claudia cuts in. “We want to hear about the kiss.”
“Yes, sorry… so we found ourselves in his bedroom at the end of the tour—”