How to Sleep with the Boss

by Janice Maynard

  Their cab was waiting when they got down to the lobby. It was dark now, and the wind that funneled between the buildings took her breath away as they stepped outside. Patrick didn’t have to say, “I told you so.” At least her legs had a layer of protection from the elements.

  On the way, he played with the inside of her knee. “We could stay another night,” he said.

  The words were casual, but they stopped her heart. Because she wanted so very badly to say yes, she did the opposite. Too risky. She was letting him too close. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Your sister-in-law Zoe offered to help me move to Dylan’s apartment Sunday afternoon, maybe find a few pillows and pictures to spruce it up. You probably remember she did a stint as a vagabond for a couple of years, so she has a good eye for a bargain.”

  “I see. We’ll go back, then.”

  Had she wanted him to talk her into staying? Was she hurt that he dropped the idea so easily?

  She didn’t want to answer those questions, not even to herself.

  They made it to the restaurant with ten minutes to spare. An obsequious maître d’ seated them near the floor-to-ceiling windows at a table overlooking the city. Patrick tipped the man unobtrusively and pulled out Libby’s chair.

  “Does this suit your fancy?”

  “Perfect,” she sighed. The restaurant was new. And crowded. Discreet music filtered from hidden speakers overhead. Their fellow diners—men and women alike—dazzled in stunning couture clothing. Expensive accessories. Flashy jewelry. At one time, this had been Libby’s life.

  Patrick touched her hand across the table. “You okay?”

  She shook off the moment of melancholy. “Yes. More than okay.”

  Another puffed-up employee, this one their waiter, appeared at the table. “Would Monsieur like to order for the lady?”

  Patrick shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think so.”

  Libby picked up her menu, and in flawless French ordered her favorite dish of scallops and prawns in cream sauce. The man had the decency to look chagrined before he turned to Patrick. “And you, sir?”

  “I won’t embarrass myself in front of the lady. Please bring me a filet, medium, and the asparagus in lemon butter.”

  “My pleasure.”

  When they were alone again, Libby grinned. “You set him straight, but so very nicely.”

  “The owners probably taught him that spiel. It’s not his fault.”

  Libby gazed out the window, soaking in the vista of the city she considered home. “I don’t think I’ll stay in Silver Glen after this summer,” she said impulsively. It would be impossibly difficult to be around the man who didn’t want marriage and forever.

  Patrick, caught in the act of sipping his wine, went still, his glass hovering in midair. “Oh? Why not?”

  The reality was too painful, so she fed him a lesser truth. “I need to be independent. If I lean on your mom or even the Kavanaghs in general, I won’t know if I really have the guts to rebuild my life. Here in New York, at least everything is familiar. I know the turf...and I have contacts...maybe even friends if I can figure out which ones still care about me now that my bank account is empty.”

  “So you don’t see yourself becoming part of a place like Silver Glen?” His expression was curiously blank.

  “I think we’ve established that I’m not much of a country girl. The concrete jungle is more my speed. I know which deli has the best pastrami, and I can tell you the operating hours of the Met and Natural History. I memorized the subway system by the time I was fourteen. I’ve seen the Rockettes dance every December since I was three years old...well, except for this past one. New York is home to me.”

  “I see.”

  His gaze was odd, turbulent. Did he think she was somehow insulting his beloved hometown?

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said hurriedly. “North Carolina is incredibly beautiful. And I’m happy to be living there for the moment. But when I think about the future, I can’t see myself in Silver Glen.”

  In the heavy silence that followed her pronouncement the waiter returned, bearing their meals. The food was amazing, the presentation exceptional. But the evening had fallen flat.

  She was honestly mystified. Patrick should be glad she wasn’t going to hang around. He was the one with the matchmaking mother. And he’d made no secret of the fact that he was not ever going to get married.

  For Libby’s part, it made sense to decide from the beginning that she and Patrick were nothing more than a blip on the radar. She had suffered enough trauma in her life during the past year, without adding a broken heart to the mix.

  Falling in love with Patrick Kavanagh would be the easiest thing in the world. Maybe she was partway there already. But she wasn’t a fool. People didn’t change. Her father hadn’t. Her mother hadn’t. And in the end, their inability to be the people they could have been desperately hurt their only daughter more than they could have imagined.

  Still, Libby was tormented by one simple question. She knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew the answer.

  Over dessert, she took a chance. “Patrick...”

  “Hmm?” Distracted, he was dealing with the credit card and the check for their meal.

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  He lifted an eyebrow, his sexy smile lethal. “I think we’ve reached that point, don’t you?”

  Maybe they had, and maybe they hadn’t. But she risked it even so. “I know what happened to you when you were in high school. And I get that it was deeply painful and upsetting. But why have you decided that marriage is not for you?”

  For a moment, he froze. She was certain he was going to tell her to go to hell. But then his shoulders relaxed and he sat back in his chair. “It’s pretty simple really.”

  “Okay. Tell me.”

  “I’ve already done it. And messed it up. I choose not to take it so lightly again.”

  “I’m confused.”

  He fidgeted with his bow tie, his tanned fingers dark against the pristine white of his shirt. “Five of my brothers have gotten married so far. They’ve each stood in front of God and family and made a solemn vow to one particular woman. To love and to cherish...till death do us part...all that stuff...”

  “And you don’t want to do that?”

  “I’m telling you,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “I already did it. But I cheapened the meaning of marriage. I bound myself to a woman, a girl really, whom I didn’t love. And I knew I didn’t love her even while I was repeating the vows.”

  “But you weren’t an adult...and you were doing what was expected of you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I had my chance, and I made light of a moment that’s supposed to be sacred. So I’m not going to take another woman in front of the altar knowing that I’ve already betrayed her before we ever start.”

  It made a weird sort of sense.

  Poor Patrick...chained by the strength of his own regrets to life as a bachelor. And poor Libby...on the brink of falling for a man who didn’t want anything she had to offer in the relationship department. It might have been funny if it hadn’t been so wistfully sad.

  Over one last cup of coffee, they sat in silence. Her question and his answer had driven an invisible wedge between them. She played with the silver demitasse spoon, watching the blinking lights far below...the traffic that never ceased. The Empire State Building off to her left was lit up, but the colors puzzled her. “I wonder why they went for pink and white this weekend,” she murmured.

  Patrick leaned forward. “Seriously? Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, Libby.”

  “Oh. Well, this is awkward.”

  “Why? Because you don’t know what day it is?”

  She lifted her chin. “No. Because you and I are the last two people
who should be having a romantic dinner.”

  “Humans are good at pretense.” The tinge of bitterness was unlike him.

  But since her Cinderella experience was winding down, she chose to ignore his mood. She reached for his hand. “I don’t want to fight with you, Patrick.” She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Please.”

  * * *

  Patrick was not accustomed to self-doubt. He made decisions and followed through. He was mentally, physically and emotionally strong. People respected him...admired his integrity.

  Then why did he feel as if he were failing Libby on every level?

  He was so rattled by his jumbled thoughts that he forgot to call a cab before they got down to the street. “Stay inside a minute,” he said.

  But Libby had already gone on ahead, calling out to him with excitement in her voice. “Come look, Patrick. It’s snowing...”

  He followed her and pulled up short when the scene slammed into him with all the force of a freight train. Libby stood in the glow of a streetlight, arms upraised, her face tipped toward the sky. She was laughing, her features radiant. The sheltered heiress who had lost everything and been forced by harsh circumstances to grow up in a hurry, still had more joie de vivre in her little finger than Patrick could muster at the moment.

  She had made love to him...openly, generously. Never once holding back or trying to protect herself from his rules for relationships. Even knowing that he was an emotionally locked-up bastard, she gave him everything. Her sweetness...her enthusiasm...her amazing body.

  He should be kneeling at her feet and begging her forgiveness. Instead, he was going to commit the unforgivable sin. He was going to let her go.

  As the snowfall grew heavier and the wind stilled, the whole world became hushed. Although he was miles from home, this particular gift of winter was the same everywhere. People stopped. Time stopped. Quiet descended. The swirl of white was an experience linked to childhood. Simple joy. Breathtaking wonder.

  When he finally managed to hail a cab, he and Libby were coated in white. Strands of damp hair clung to her forehead, and her cheeks were pink. She laughed at him when he tried to brush the melting flakes from her shoulders. “Leave it,” she said. “We’ll be home soon.”

  He knew it was a slip of the tongue. A hotel, however lovely, was not home. But he was almost certain that Libby possessed a talent he lacked...the ability to make a real home with nothing more than her presence and her giving heart.

  The trip from the cab to their suite seemed inordinately long. He shook, not from the cold, but from an amalgam of fear and desperation. This was it, most likely. His last chance to be with her intimately. His last opportunity to memorize the curve of her breasts, the softness of her bottom pressed to his pelvis as they curled together in sleep.

  Libby’s mood had segued from delight to quiet introspection. Perhaps she had picked up on the chaos inside him. But no matter the reason, she gave him space. Made no requests. He almost wanted her to demand something from him. To beg him to change. To plead with him to make an exception for her.

  Libby, however, treated him like a grown man. She respected his choices, even as she made plans to go her own way. It was the most painful “letting go” he could have imagined.

  As he fumbled with the key to their door, Libby slipped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I think that last glass of wine was one too many,” she murmured.

  The door opened, and he scooted her through, backing her against it when it closed. His hands clenched her shoulders. His forehead rested against hers. “I need you.” He meant to say more than that, but she understood.

  She smiled at him as she unbuttoned her coat. “I know, Patrick. And it’s okay, I promise. I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give.” She tossed the coat aside. “But we have tonight.”

  Fifteen

  He undressed her reverently, as if she were a long-awaited Christmas gift. Either Libby was very tired, or she understood his need to be gentle in this moment, because there was no mad stripping of clothes, no sex-crazed fumbling to get naked. With her head bowed, she submitted to his hands, even when those hands trembled and even when he cursed a stuck zipper.

  At last, she was nude. He lifted her in his arms and carried her a few steps to the settee. Depositing her carefully, he stepped back and removed his own clothing. She watched him drowsily, her green eyes glowing with pleasure.

  Her gaze was almost tactile on his bare skin. At last, it was done. He held out a hand. “Come with me.”

  That she obeyed instantly messed with his head. Was she trying to win him over? Or was she humoring a slightly deranged man who temporarily held her captive?

  Did it matter?

  As soon as she stood up, he recognized the possibilities in the elegant piece of furniture. “How do you feel about playacting the emperor and the concubine?”

  “On someone else’s furniture?” She was scandalized. “Not without something to protect it.”

  “Don’t move.” He raced to the bedroom and grabbed the blanket off the foot of the bed, along with a strip of condoms. When he returned, Libby had taken him at his word.

  She stood, arms at her sides, and stared from him to the settee and back again. “I never took gymnastics classes. So don’t get any kinky ideas.”

  “Kinky ideas are the best,” he said. Teasing her was almost as much fun as making love to her. She sputtered and blushed and scowled adorably. Giving her a moment to get used to the idea, he flipped the thick duvet out and over the settee and sat down, palms flat on his thighs. “I’m ready.”

  Libby tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. “Clearly.”

  “Well, come on.”

  “And do what?”

  “Sit on my lap.”

  He watched as she assessed every possible permutation of that suggestion.

  “Umm...”

  “Don’t be a chicken. You’re a fearless woman who survived a night in the mine. Surely you’re not afraid of a little role-playing.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she said firmly.

  “I know it. And now you know it, too.”

  The look on her face was priceless. Libby had changed. She had grown. She was no longer the same woman who had professed timidity during her job interview.

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Patrick.”

  He tucked his hands behind his head. “Don’t thank me. You’re the woman who has been slaying dragons.”

  She inhaled, making her breasts rise and fall in a way that would turn any man’s brain to mush. “Okay, then...”

  “Wait. Stop.” He’d forgotten the protection. But, within seconds, he was sheathed and ready to go. “Come and get me.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  He tickled the insides of her thighs as she gingerly straddled his lap. “I think an emperor would expect more bodily contact.” He grabbed her butt and kneaded her warm, resilient flesh. “We should have a mirror,” he complained, wishing he had been more prepared.

  Libby cupped his neck with her hands and leaned in to kiss him. “Focus, Kavanagh. You have a naked woman on your lap.”

  “That’s my problem,” he complained, thoroughly aggrieved. “I forget my name when I touch you. It makes decision-making dicey at best.”

  “I’ll help,” she promised. “Give me something to decide.”

  “Well,” he drawled. “It would be nice if you could get a little closer.”

  Fortunately, Libby was a smart woman. “Like this, you mean?” She lifted up and lowered, joining their bodies perfectly.

  He buried his face in her scented breasts. “Exactly like that.”

  This particular position might have been a miscalculat
ion. The visual stimulation combined with a somewhat passive role on his part made his body burn. He had barely entered her, and already he wanted to come.

  Damn it.

  But as much as he wanted to move, the urge was strong to simply hold her there. And pretend she was his to keep.

  She tapped him on the head. “Hello in there. The last emperor who wanted me was a bit more...um...active.”

  “You want active, little concubine?” he muttered. “How about this?” He surged upward, burying himself so deeply inside her, he wasn’t sure he could find his way out.

  “Patrick!” Libby cried out, stopping his heart.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling back to examine her face.

  “You didn’t hurt me.” She bit her lip. “But it was definitely...”

  “What? Definitely what?”

  One shoulder lifted and fell. “Wicked. Memorable. Deep.”

  He swallowed hard. “I see. Would you consider those positive adjectives?”

  She wiggled her butt, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he counted to ten and tried to hold on.

  “Oh, yes, my emperor,” she whispered. “Very positive indeed.”

  * * *

  Libby might have lied a little bit. That last move on Patrick’s part left her hovering on a line between pleasure and pain. She had never felt more desired, nor more completely possessed.

  He trembled against her...or maybe that was her own body shaking. Was good sex always this momentous? Her basis for comparison was woefully inadequate. She’d had one terrible experience and now this one.

  She raked her teeth along the shell of his ear. “Make love to me, Patrick. I want it all. Don’t hold back.”

  Her request tore through his last thread of restraint. He lunged into her once...twice...then a third time, before he tumbled them both onto the floor and lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.

  Suddenly, she felt exposed...vulnerable. Their bodies were no longer joined. Patrick was talented, but even he couldn’t manage that trick while airborne. He stroked a fingertip in her damp sex, making her squirm as he stared at her intimately.