Under His Touch

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “No,” he said. Inadvertently aloud, and clearly a little too loudly, because the devil herself popped her head round the doorframe. At times such as this he greatly regretted the firm’s open-door policy. He needed a closed door. A solid one. And no windows.

  Possibly a blindfold. For himself. Don’t think about how her mouth would look under a black silk blindfold.

  “Mr. Knight—did you say something?” Amber had a mild voice, nearly accentless, American Ivy League. It got under his skin. Everything about her did. A sharp, ambitious mind in a simmeringly curved body. From the shining fall of her waist-length honey-brown hair to her Alice-in-Wonderland blue eyes, alert, wide with inquiry. A bit startled, as if he’d caught her off guard. “Can I do something for you?” she asked, a faint line between her brows.

  Firmly he pushed away the sudden fantasy of ordering her to kneel and open that blouse. “No, sorry—was talking to my email.”

  “I don’t think it can answer,” she replied in a wry tone. “Unless you’ve got voice-activation that us plebes don’t.”

  “Heh. I apologize for disturbing you—carry on.”

  “Yes, sir!” She nodded crisply and gave him a cheery smile, completely oblivious to what that phrase did to him. How he’d relish hearing her say it under other circumstances. Yet another completely inappropriate thought. He scowled as three more emails pinged in.

  “The bloody things never stop arriving.” Ill-timed again, as his muttered comment stopped the lovely Amber from leaving.

  She turned back. Tilted her head thoughtfully. “You have it sorting by conversation threads, right? So the stuff for me to deal with goes in a folder you don’t have to look at?”

  “I know how to use email, Ms. Dolors.” He sounded more irritated than he should have. Not that it daunted her at all. In fact, she took several steps into his office.

  “It’s just that—” She paused, not hesitating, but clearly deciding how to put it to him. “See, as Joe’s assistant, with him on vacation this week, I get his inbox along with Jean’s email. We all get the same company-wide stuff. But I’m not getting yours. I check your spam folder for anything that shouldn’t be there. I should be seeing the unimportant stuff too. Unless Jean is sorting it? As your admin, I’d think she’d be too busy. That’s something I could be handling for you, if they aren’t. I’d be happy to.”

  “Is that so?”

  She flushed a little, a flustered rose. “I apologize if I’m overstepping. I’d wondered about this before. You have better things to do with your time than delete emails about the company picnic or the vending machine policy. I could be doing that for you.” She raised her eyebrows significantly. “I would be doing that, if your inbox was organized by conversation threads.”

  Despite himself—uncertain whether his frustration was sexual or technological—he huffed out a laugh. “You’re waiting for me to tell you I have no idea what you’re talking about, right? And then you’ll go post on some forum for Millennials about how your stuffy old boss can’t handle his own email.”

  “Never.” She gave him a solemn, serious look. “Millennials don’t use forums. Too archaic. I’d tweet about it.”

  He really laughed then and waved a hand at the screen beneath the glass-topped desk. “Show me then.”

  A bright light flared in her eyes and she set down her water bottle and came round the desk. Tucking a long, shining strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned over, apparently unaware that her hip brushed his arm, nudging his hands away from the keyboard on its recessed tray. Her fingers flew over the keys and she explained as she reordered the lists. “See, the company server sends things by topic. You don’t need to look at the standard-topic stuff, the aforementioned vending machine policy and all the griping about it. I can sort through it for you, then bullet-point what you need to know.”

  Her scent—something essentially fresh, like green leaves—hit him hard. A mistake to let her get so close, bent over his desk as she was. What the hell had he been thinking? So easy to tell her to grasp the far edge of the desk. To stay perfectly still while he worked her black skirt up over her tight little bum. Or to simply brush the back of her knee, where the skirt slit revealed it, the darling tender crease of it. From there, short work to slide his hand up the inner curve of her thigh. She’d be wearing tights, not stockings, but they’d rip easily and—

  “Mr. Knight?”

  She’d turned her head, looking at him quizzically, as he’d lost track of her explanation, failed to reply to some question. His gaze locked with hers—and her lips parted, the blue of her eyes deepening. The tension sizzled and, had they been anywhere else, anyone else, he’d have taken her up on the implicit invitation. Closed the scant inches between them and taken that mouth, ripped open her pink blouse—

  Enough already.

  “Looks splendid.” He wheeled his chair back a few inches. “Do you need to do more or—?”

  “No, it’s, um, all set up now.” She straightened, smoothed her skirt and picked up the water bottle. “I’ll go take a look and flag anything that looks important. Of course, you’ll still have total control of it all. You’re the final word.”

  “Thank you.” Was the minx baiting him on purpose? Likely had no idea what fire she was playing with. “Now, if you’d leave me be, I’ll attempt to get some work done. As should you.”

  “Of course. Sir.” She gave him a little smile and walked back across the office. He stared at the reconfigured email so as not to watch that enticing bottom swinging pertly under her short jacket. “Mr. Knight?”

  “What is it?” He snapped it out, wishing she would leave, let him clear his mind.

  “I want to do a good job here.” She stood in the doorway, hands demurely folded around her water bottle. “If you have any feedback on my performance, or...corrections. I’d be grateful.”

  Helpless to do otherwise, he watched her until she went out of sight, dark fantasies crowding into his brain.

  Chapter Two

  Holy shit. Alexander Knight, of the creamy accent and sleek suits, had a thing for her.

  She hadn’t mistaken the moment. He’d had serious lust in his eyes when she’d bent over his keyboard. In the moment, she’d been focused on making herself useful, seizing the window of opportunity to bring herself to the big boss’s notice. With Joe in Europe for the month and his admin, Jean, so busy with whatever it was the woman spent all day on, the time was ripe to show how helpful she could be. Flirtation had been the last thing on her mind, until he’d looked at her.

  Wow.

  Her heart still fluttered from it. She’d gone wet, just from the look in his eye when she called him “sir.” For an endless instant, when they’d locked gazes, she’d imagined he might be about to order her across his desk. To lift her skirt and spread her legs. Never mind that the door stood open, people walking past the row of glass windows, she’d wanted him to.

  But he wouldn’t. Whether a personality or cultural thing, he pulled out that icy British disdain with devastating effectiveness. He’d cut it off and locked it down, so fast she second-guessed herself. Wouldn’t be the first time her perverse mind read in too much. Her particular twist that his clipped instruction to leave him be and get to work sent a rush of heady desire pounding through her.

  In her box of a cube, she sorted through his email, finishing the organizing work she’d started. Locking down the steamy fantasies by distracting her head. Not easy, with that look of his burning through her mind. The way his jaw had tightened when she suggested that he would be in control. That she’d appreciate any corrections.

  Totally inappropriate, but she hadn’t been able to help herself.

  She wasn’t even entirely sure the hints had taken. Which was always the problem when you hoped the guy would take charge and make you do things. Once she’d made a bet with her boyfrien
d of the time, knowing she’d very likely lose. They’d been arguing about whether Oklahoma had a port for oceangoing vessels and she’d laughed when he said so, because she knew full well Oklahoma was landlocked. He’d been certain, though, and it was one of those weird facts that would just have to be true.

  Figuring she’d lose, she seized the opportunity and set the stakes for the bet—that the loser would have to do whatever the winner told them to, for an entire evening. Thrillingly, she’d lost the bet.

  It should have been a sure thing. She’d dressed for it—sexy lingerie, garters with stockings, sky-high heels—and gone to his apartment in such a state of heightened emotion she’d felt unsteady. What would he make her do? They’d been lovers for a couple of weeks, though all very vanilla. All very nice. Even the oral had been civilized. She’d brought up anal once, in a general, roundabout way, testing the waters, and he’d declared it disgusting. Alas.

  But surely, any guy with the chance to make his girlfriend do whatever he told her to would come up with something, right?

  Not make him dinner and give him a foot rub.

  Seriously.

  She’d been so pissed, so damnably disappointed, that she’d picked a fight with him a week later over something trivial and blown the relationship. The worst part was, she’d barely missed his company. Something Kiki gave her all kinds of shit about. Yet another three-week relationship. She accepted that and moved on. Still, there had to be a way to find someone who would want to play some sexy games with her. Without her having to provide instructions or trick him into it.

  Alexander Knight would know. She had a feeling he’d be damn good at it, with his exacting standards and that sheen of power he wore, the way he gave orders, expecting instant obedience, raising a supercilious eyebrow at any substandard performances.

  Thinking about it just made her hotter. Which was bad.

  You cannot have an affair with your boss. Snap out of it.

  Even if the dashing Mr. Knight had looked at her like he wanted to eat her up in a couple of greedy bites, he hadn’t acted on it. Wouldn’t, with his perfect manners and adherence to company policy in all ways. Some of the junior staff gossiped about one of the VPs and his tendency to grope. She’d gotten the advice to steer clear of him on the first day. No such warnings about Knight.

  Though he was unattached—divorced, was the word, with an ex back in London—he hadn’t taken up any of the women in the office on their varied flirtations. More than a few had tried for him, too. Looks, money, power—what’s not to go for? Even Kiki had fluttered her lashes at him when she’d visited Amber, which he’d politely ignored. As he did with all the women in the office. A perfect gentleman in every way. Every time.

  Except for today, when his mannered reserve had cracked and she’d glimpsed that something beneath, hot, bubbling and so close to the surface she hadn’t been able to help trying to tease it out. Because of her. It didn’t hurt her ego in the least that he’d looked at her mouth that way. She wouldn’t mind playing it up some. A bit of flirtation never hurt anyone.

  And wouldn’t get her any closer to what she wanted.

  In the end, Kiki was probably right that she’d have to go the internet route. She’d looked at the forums—bit of a lie there, making that joke, but then it seemed a lot of the kink stuff on the web was forum-based—and wandered through a few chat rooms. She also wasn’t stupid though, and putting herself out there that way felt risky. Nothing like announcing to the greater world of creepazoids that you were a twenty-two-year-old kink virgin looking for a master. They’d sign up, all right—probably not caring how she looked or anything but getting their jollies.

  Next thing she’d know she’d be in some Thai brothel and hooked on heroin.

  Okay, maybe that would be exaggerating. Still, the prospect of sorting through the guys who would sign up, every over-inflated ego who thought that having a love slave would make him more manly, soured her stomach. How did you find out without actually trying them out? And then it would be only about sex and she didn’t really want that.

  Oh wait—was it just this morning she’d decided to focus on career and forgo this line of thinking for a while?

  “Amazing self-control there, Amber. Way to rock those resolutions.”

  “Are you talking to yourself?”

  Her heart jumped and she actually made a stupid squeaking sound as she spun around, nearly falling out of her chair, graceful as a three-legged dachshund. Knight stood in the opening to her cubicle, cool and formal as always. No glimmer of the man she’d shamefully flirted with. “Sorry to startle you. Just wanted to thank you for the ordered emails. Tons better.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m happy to hear it.” Eyes on the prize, Amber. Good job. Make him look good, you’ll look good. The rest is chatter. She gave him what she hoped was a confident, businesslike smile.

  “I like initiative.” He murmured the words, gaze lingering over her with a glimpse of what she’d seen before burning through, sending a jolt through her. Not so cool and formal after all.

  “Alec!” One of Lily’s team hailed him. “Got a minute to look at something? I’ve got some answers for you.”

  Was that irritation that flashed on his face? He held up a hand. “On my way.” Then he fastened his gaze on her. Seemed about to say something and stopped himself with a wry smile. “Good. Very good then.”

  And strode off.

  * * *

  He managed to avoid her the rest of the day. Going to her cubicle had been absolutely the wrong idea. He’d done it once he had himself under control again, convinced his behavior had been a momentary lapse. The product of too much work, too little female companionship, and the unfortunate proximity of a pretty young woman who pushed all his particular buttons.

  To prove it to himself, he’d gone to tell her thank you for a job well done. Junior staff should receive positive reinforcement and he knew well he tended to be abrupt. Had been, very likely, unforgivably curt, ordering her out of his office that way. He’d reckoned to give her a pat on the back—figuratively, of course, as it would be a dire mistake to touch her in any fashion—and reassure them both that he was not some sort of office predator.

  And then she’d been so startlingly lovely, making that little sound when he surprised her, swiveling in her chair so her skirt rode up over her knees, just askew enough that the upper curve of one full breast showed plainly through the gap of her blouse. In a flash, he’d gone back to full heat, wanting more than anything to pounce on her then and there.

  Then saying that to her about initiative, indeed. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he’d have been offering to see her after hours with some corrections.

  He was clearly losing his mind.

  He even had to viciously rein himself in when Bob called him over to look at the quarterly figures. Something he’d brought to Bob’s attention the day before from one of his regular reviews. Important answers he was barely able to focus on.

  This could not continue. Short of issuing a department memo banning the color pink or putting a smudge on Amber’s record by transferring her out, he had no options other than getting himself the hell under control. Something that should be well within his ability to do.

  After finishing with Bob and sending a discreet memo to the partners, he left early, taking advantage of a canceled conference call, unwilling to risk being caught late at his desk by the pink-clad Amber without the buffer of the busy office. Making it out of the building unscathed, he congratulated himself on a successful escape—absurd thought, as if Amber were the predator and not the hapless victim.

  Potential victim. He’d done nothing more than entertain unsuitable thoughts and some slightly questionable comments. Bad enough.

  At the gym, he pounded through his usual routine and more, hoping to sweat it out of his system. Exhausting the body would le
t his mind clear. When the running and the weights failed to do the job, he secured an empty racquetball court, playing against himself.

  A metaphor for his life, that.

  Too much alone these days. Perhaps he’d have to give some attention to his sex life, after all. He’d grown tired of the dance of it, the game playing. Dating after divorce felt even more grueling than it had before. Emptier. Far too much work for far too little reward. The sleek women, the clubs, the endless jockeying for position. At some point it had stopped being fun and became an obligation. Much as his marriage had, toward the end. He supposed he’d have to face that the divorce had left him scarred on some fundamental level.

  Or exposed his essential flaws.

  The rubber ball, slammed too hard, ricocheted past his head and he barely shied in time to avoid being nailed by it. Another excellent metaphor for his life of late.

  “Whoa there, Nelly!” Bill Worstler, one of the partners and frequent gym buddy, pretended to cringe behind the door, offering a genial grin. “Teach me to sneak up on you.”

  Alec shook his head, clearing it, and strode over to grip Bill’s hand. “Sorry, mate. Had my mind elsewhere. Didn’t hear you knock.”

  “You were in the zone, all right. Care for an opponent to work some of that aggression out on? Or would you prefer to pound on Curlew directly?”

  Ah, yes. Curlew, who’d screwed the quarterly figures. Bob had corroborated it easily enough, once pointed in the right direction. Whether the lapse had occurred out of laziness, incompetence, deliberate obfuscation or sheer error remained to be seen. They’d spent a good part of the day sorting the mess out, so naturally Bill assumed that was the source of his restless frustration.

  Instead of a junior assistant young enough to be his daughter.

  “Sure.” He gave Bill a savage smile. “Let’s go a few rounds.”

  He won four games out of five—losing the one due to a phenomenally lucky shot on Bill’s part—and finally said he’d had enough. Satisfyingly drained, drenched with sweat, he took a shower, surprised to see it had gone past nine. He’d been at it hours then, scarcely noticing the passage of time. Too late to think about calling anyone. Not that he could summon a single face or name he’d want to ring up.