Bachelor Boss

by Christie Ridgway

  Lucy found all eyes on her once more. Her stomach swooped and her hands were unsteady as she opened the manila folder she’d brought with her. Fanning out the paperwork gave her time to gather her thoughts.

  What am I doing?

  Why am I in charge?

  What if I fail…?

  I’d hate to look like a fool in front of Carlo.

  My family will never let me hear the end of it.

  Lucy Goosey, silly all over again.

  Carlo’s voice suddenly pierced through her loud fears. “Lucy coordinated a similar effort at last year’s hot air balloon festival in Phoenix,” he said. “It was a great success according to Arthur McGrath, who coordinated the entire event.”

  Lucy’s head lifted. It had been a great success. And when had Carlo spoken with Art? She glanced over at him.

  He made a little go-ahead gesture with his chin. “A great success,” he repeated.

  Lucy cleared her throat, then smiled again at the volunteers. “I know we can make this occasion work just as well for all of us and Street Beat.”

  The older people smiled back. They took out pencils and paper and then looked even happier when Lucy provided sheets that listed what she’d already discussed with Carlo. Outlined were the details about scheduling, what volunteers should wear and a copy of the necessary permission slips they’d need for the teens. They set up an evening meeting at the McMillan & Milano offices, where they would go over with all the volunteers the layout of the festival and what exactly they would be doing.

  Then it was over. Everyone was getting to their feet. “Excuse me,” Carlo interjected into the casual wrap-up conversation. “Don’t forget to hand these out, Lucy.” He reached into his jacket pocket and passed over to her a stack of business cards.

  She glanced down at them. Stopped. Stared. Lucy Sutton, they read. Security Technician.

  Her forefinger ran over the embossed letters. Carlo had had business cards made up. For her.

  For Lucy Goosey, his temporary employee.

  But Lucy Goosey had handled this meeting with professional aplomb. The volunteers took the cards and tucked them away as they thanked Claudia for the opportunity and then Carlo and Lucy for their time, as well. Finally, the woman who appeared to be their leader held out her hand to Lucy. “We’re very comfortable working with you.”

  All the way back to the San Diego security offices, Lucy made notes. Carlo mumbled something about her making herself carsick, but she ignored him to focus on the task at hand. By the time they made it back to McMillan & Milano, she was surprised to find it was way after 5:00 p.m. and that the lights were dimmed.

  Carlo passed into his office and was checking his e-mails by only the glow of his monitor while she put her area to rights before leaving for the night. Her arms got hung up while she was trying to replace phone books on a high shelf, so she had to slip off her constricting suit jacket to reveal her white, lacy sleeveless blouse. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave,” he called through the open door. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She’d expected the offer. Carlo was a thoughtful, considerate man. For example, those business cards…

  With quick steps she took herself into his office. “You had cards made for me.”

  He looked up, obviously puzzled. “Yeah.”

  “You had them made before today’s meeting.”

  “And this is news because…”

  “You…you were willing to lay claim to me as a McMillan & Milano employee even before you saw how I handled the meeting.”

  He shook his head. “Lucy, you are a McMillan & Milano employee, and of course I assumed you’d handle the meeting well. You’re a very capable person.”

  “But…but…”

  “Claudia took me aside before we left to say that very thing to me. The words she used, I believe, were that she should know by now not to underestimate anyone, even little blondies like you.”

  Lucy laughed, unable to work up the least bit of mad at the “little blondie” remark. Yes, it made her sound like a new brand of cookie or some kind of candy, but who cared? The fact was, flush with success and the recognition for that success, she felt like dancing. And so she did. She danced right around the desk, wearing a grin so wide she could see it in the reflection of the window behind Carlo.

  After all, she had proved she was competent. Capable. Claudia thought so. Carlo said so. Better yet, Lucy knew so.

  And at that happy thought, she leaned down and gave her temporary boss a great big smack.

  On the mouth.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Uh-oh. The kiss changed on contact. What she’d intended to be a grateful, happy smack, turned downright serious when her lips touched Carlo’s. His hands gripped her waist and pulled her down into his lap.

  Her head found the hollow of his shoulder as she tilted her chin to give him fuller access. And oh, he accepted the invitation. His tongue slid against hers, dominant and sure. She opened her mouth wider, taking every thrust as her body began to hum from head to toes, more sensitive spots along the way beginning their own heavy throb.

  His hand, hot and big, inched upward from her hip and anticipation robbed the last of her breath. Yes, yes, she urged him silently, aroused just by the kiss. Now touch me there. Touch me again there.

  Millimeters short, his wandering fingers froze. His kiss eased. “Goose,” he groaned against her mouth, then lifted his head and let his hand drop away.

  Without his mouth on hers, Lucy managed to assess the situation. Here they were, both breathing hard, both obviously affected—that was not a banana she could feel against the pocket beneath her hip—but one of them was regretting the position they were in. The other only wanted it to go on and on and on.

  She swallowed and put off the moment where she’d be forced off his lap simply by pretending she wasn’t sitting there. Maybe if she talked about something else, they’d avoid talking about this. She didn’t want it once again labeled “forgettable.”

  “So,” she started, as if they were separated by the desk instead of less than five layers of cloth, “you really think I handled the meeting competently? I thought the volunteers looked pleased with me, as well.”

  Her strategy appeared to work, because while Carlo frowned, he didn’t lift her away. “Particularly that guy wearing the Torrey Pines Golf Course shirt. He asked me about you. Whether you were available.”

  “Really?” Blinking, Lucy drew back to get a better look at Carlo’s face and he circled his hands to the small of her back to keep her from falling off his knees. Nice. “I don’t remember a man in a Torrey Pines Golf Course shirt,” she said.

  “He was the one with the gold Rolex and the preoccupation with your breasts.”

  Just that word out of Carlo’s mouth sent a sexual zap up Lucy’s spine. She squirmed against his thighs and his hold on her reflexively tightened. “He couldn’t see my br—You know,” she protested. Not when covered with her mortuary-appropriate suit jacket.

  “Maybe he has X-ray vision.” As if he might, as well, Carlo’s gaze flickered from her face to her chest, and in a rush her nipples contracted inside her bra. Could he tell? The sleeveless blouse she was wearing was of a thin, delicate white cotton with horizontal rows of lace bisected by the placket of tiny pearl buttons.

  Lucy swallowed again, feeling a flush rise to her skin. “You…” She had to start again, her throat was so dry. “You told him I was single?”

  Carlo’s eyes widened. His look seemed to suggest she was insane.

  Maybe she was. Because she thought he looked a little possessive, too…and still a lot turned on. One of her hands toyed with the knot of his navy-blue-and-red tie, and she found herself working at loosening it. “By the way, I noticed one of the group giving you the eye, too,” she told him, breathless again. The ends of the tie fell loose and she even went so far as to unfasten the button at his collar.

  Bad Lucy, she told herself, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. Bad, flirt
atious Lucy. But she couldn’t seem to halt her daring. “Though I think the woman was more than a little wary of this serious, buttoned-up look of yours.”

  “Was it the redhead with the large hoop earrings?”

  There’d been a redhead with large hoop earrings? “Um, I…” She’d been making the whole thing up. Truth to tell, she’d been too nervous about the meeting itself to absorb those kinds of details about the people in attendance.

  “You know,” he went on, “the one who wrote her phone number on your business card and passed it over to me.”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped and she sat up straighter. “Some pushy redhead used my business card to come on to you?” She flounced and felt her eyebrows lower. “That is so rude.”

  “She even crossed out your name so I could see hers more clearly.”

  So incredibly rude!

  Carlo made a sound that was suspiciously like a stifled laugh. “Oh, God.” He made that sound again. “You should see the expression on your face.”

  “What?”

  He put a hand over his mouth, but nothing smothered the sound of his laughter now. And while Lucy loved seeing this unusual sign of his good humor, it wasn’t so great when it was at her expense.

  And what was wrong with her expression, anyway? Annoyed as he continued to laugh, she shifted on his lap so that her knees straddled either side of his thighs. Placing her hands on the back of his leather executive chair, she kneeled up to check out her reflection in the window behind him.

  Okay, her expression did appear a bit…peeved, but it was all his fault. He’d—

  “Oh, Lucy.” His laughter had died and he groaned now, his hands clamping around her waist and then sliding toward her breasts. “Lucy, how you tempt me. Every day. Every hour.”

  His touch, the unwilling need in his voice, tempted her, too. Kneeling up had placed her breasts at the level of his face and she had to wonder if her surprising inner self—that flirtatious, naughty, surprising inner self—had planned it all along. Her heart pounded loud in her ears as his hands inched farther upward, closing gently over her breasts. She could feel his breath, hot, through the thin cotton of her shirt.

  “Carlo,” she whispered.

  “I’m not supposed to want this.” His palms gave her a gentle caress.

  At the exquisite touch, her lashes drifted down. Through half-closed eyes, she could still see her reflection. As she watched, as he continued to circle and stroke, her nostrils flared and her mouth parted, clearly expressing her excitement. Hunger. Want.

  “Carlo,” she said again, her hands clutching the chair’s black leather. “Please.”

  His breath blew hot across one nipple, then he latched on to it through her blouse and her bra. Her body shuddered. She’d never, ever felt like this. So quickly. So hot. So needy. “Please don’t stop.”

  He didn’t let up the arousing caress, and she wanted to cry at how perfect it was. Then he lifted his head and she moaned in protest.

  “Shh, shh,” he soothed, as his fingers made short work of her buttons. He brushed the blouse off her shoulders and neither of them minded that it was still caught in the waistband of her skirt. Carlo’s hands were as competent with the front clasp of her bra as they were with everything else. Then that garment was gone and he found her neglected breast, running his mouth over every inch of the plump, aching skin—except the inch that needed him most.

  Her fingers flexed in the leather, but then she couldn’t stand it anymore. Grasping his head between her hands, she placed him right where she wanted him.

  He let out a short, satisfied laugh, and then he took her into his mouth. She bowed into the sweet, hot suction and her thighs trembled with each deliberate pull.

  His touch wasn’t gentle, not like the first kiss at the Street Beat party. It was strong enough to signal that this was a man who knew how to please her, a man who was making manly demands, and the temperature of her blood rose along with each one of them. His hands roamed over the bare skin of her back, then along her hips and back up again. The hem of her skirt, already hiked up thanks to her kneeling position, caught on his wrists and rode higher as his palms discovered the tops of her thigh-high stockings and the bare skin of her hips.

  His head lifted from her breast to peer down at the flesh in his hands. “Hell, Lucy. Hell…”

  The rasp of his breath and the dazed look in her eyes let her know he was as affected, as aroused as she. It gave her confidence. Even sass.

  “What did you expect?” she asked. “Granny panties?” She backed off the chair to stand on the floor between his splayed thighs, her heart slamming against her chest.

  Her flirtatious courage amazed her. Who was this Lucy? This Lucy whose blood was pounding so fast through her system that she felt dizzy with lust? Who was this Lucy who coolly reached behind her to locate the top button of her skirt? This Lucy who let the lined, pin-striped garment drop, taking along with it her blouse. This Lucy who stood before the man she’d been crushing on for what seemed like centuries in a nude-colored thong, nude stockings held up by a wide band of black stretch lace, and wearing black high heels.

  This Lucy who loved the poleaxed look on Carlo Milano’s face and who had the nerve to take the ends of his tie in one fist and draw him up from the chair. “Wouldn’t the couch be more comfortable?”

  He followed like a zombie.

  Like a besotted lover.

  Like a man under a spell that was the same as the one bewitching Lucy. He was the perfect follower, the perfect cobewitchee, until she hesitated by the leather couch. Then he seemed to find his will again, and it caused him to strip off his shirt, then take Lucy in his arms only to drop her onto the couch.

  She gasped at the cold against her bare back and bare bottom, but he filled her open mouth with his tongue as he followed her down. He warmed her with the heat of his naked chest. Her heart slammed hard against his, and she opened her thighs to help him settle deeper into the cradle of her pelvis.

  At the contact, they both groaned and took the kiss deeper. When she was desperate for breath, he lifted his head and looked down into her eyes as he brushed the hair off her face. The gesture was so tender and made her feel so cherished that this time she felt actual tears sting the corners of her eyes.

  Carlo froze. “Oh, Lucy.” His lashes swept down and she saw him clench his jaw. “Oh, Goose.”

  Oh, no.

  Don’t do this. Please, Carlo, don’t stop now.

  Desperate to avoid what was coming next, she tried her strategy again. “So,” she started, then stopped to steady her voice. “So, you really think I handled that meeting well?”

  She scrutinized his face, anxious to see his expression ease from regret to…what? Could she truly hope to turn his thoughts to desire once again?

  His lips gave a wry twist. “Not going to work this time, Goose.”

  Someday, Lucy was going to think of a punishment fitting enough for her oldest sibling, who was responsible for her irritating nickname. The family tried to fob it off, claiming that Jason couldn’t say her name clearly and “Goosey” was his mangled form of Lucy. Right. He’d been nine when she was born and was now an eloquent trial attorney. He’d never had trouble talking.

  She ran through a series of tortures as Carlo levered himself off the couch and then snagged his dress shirt from the floor. His touch was impersonal as he helped her sit and then pushed her arms into his sleeves.

  His gaze focused on the buttons, and he nimbly fastened the shirt.

  “You seem to be making a habit of that,” she said, sounding truculent yet not giving a damn about it.

  He didn’t look up. “Buttoning? Unbuttoning? Kissing you? Stopping kissing you?”

  “Regretting kissing me.” She’d hoped to say it silently, but what the hey.

  Carlo’s breath came out on a long sigh, and then he sat down beside her on the couch. “Goose—”

  “Lucy.”

  He nodded. “Right, right. Lucy. It’s just that thin
king of you as Goose…it…”

  “It makes me sound as if I’m eight years old. And I’m not eight years old, Carlo. I’m a woman.”

  “I know that.”

  “A grown woman.”

  He passed a hand over his face. “Where do you think this crazy sexual chemistry comes from? Obviously I know you’re a woman.”

  “Well, what? What’s the problem, then?” she demanded. “You made a date with the redhead and you’re afraid you’ll be late?”

  Unbelievably, Carlo laughed again. Then he took a look at her face and sobered. “G—Lucy, that’s exactly why we can’t take this path.”

  “You actually do have a date?”

  “No. And there wasn’t any redhead, either. But it was so damn fun to tease you about it. I can’t mess with that.”

  She remembered his laughter and how much it had thrilled her to see serious, all-business Carlo amused and letting it show. Still…“I don’t like being the butt of your jokes.”

  “You know you weren’t.” He gave a brotherly pinch to her chin. “It’s just that…that…Lucy, for the past few days you’ve been the sun around here.”

  Why didn’t that sound promising?

  “You’re bright and sparkling and you warm this place up. I…I suppose sometimes I need that.”

  Lucy’s heart fluttered. Had he just said he needed her?

  “But too close, sweetheart, too close and the sun will burn. I’ll burn you, Lucy, and I can’t have that.”

  He meant he wouldn’t have her. Because he didn’t do the couple thing, which he’d said from the beginning, which she’d known for years. Another man would have let them be swept out on the tide of lust and to hell with the consequences, but not Carlo.

  Damn him.

  Okay.

  Not damn him.

  Didn’t you have a crush on a noble, upstanding guy precisely because he was so noble?

  Carlo picked up her hand and held it in a loose grasp. “Goose, I enjoy having you here. I’m glad there’re a couple more weeks that you’ll be around the office and we’ll be together. But not like this. I need your friendship, long-term, way more than this kind of indulgence.”