Her Billionaire Rancher Boss

by Genevieve Turner

  Spicy, savory, the tortilla carrying a hint of butter—God, these were good carnitas. Not quite as good as her madre’s, but considering Pilar would never eat those particular carnitas again in this life, it would do.

  “Good?” he asked, his smile treading dangerously close to a smirk. But a hot smirk. One that made her want to kiss it off his face.

  She’d spent the past year being so good, trying so hard not to think about how goddamn sexy he was—and now he insisted that she couldn’t leave, tucked her napkin into her cleavage, and fed her carnitas—now she couldn’t think about anything but jumping his bones.

  She was a bad feminist.

  She nodded in response to his question, then swallowed. “So, about my resignation…”

  His smile faded into sternness. And maybe a hint of… sadness? Yes, there, around his eyes.

  “You’re right, I can’t stop you,” he said, his voice lowering. “And I understand that you want to finish your certification now that Javier will be on his own.”

  “Well, Javier won’t really be on his own,” she corrected. “Even once he’s at college, he’ll still need me for stuff.”

  The twist of his mouth was skeptical. “Javier’s not gonna want you fussing over him all the time. He’ll have to learn to stand on his own two feet.”

  “Well, of course I know that. But if he needs me, I have to be there.”

  “Has he decided on a school?”

  Javier had refused to even discuss sending out applications with her, but she wouldn’t admit that. Couldn’t bear to think that all the sacrifices she’d made over the years would be wasted if her brother didn’t go to college.

  And her parents? What would they have said if they’d known Javier might not get a college degree? They’d been so proud when she’d been accepted to UC Riverside. Surely they would want the same thing for Javier.

  She was going to make certain he got it. Whether he wanted it right now or not. He’d thank her later.

  “Not yet,” she hedged. “But soon. And then I can finish my certification.”

  He dropped his gaze to his finger, which was tapping against the handle of his knife. “It’s just—I thought you were happy here.”

  Spoken as if her leaving had any bearing on his future happiness. Really, she’d been a good admin, but she hadn’t been that good.

  “I am happy. But now I’m ready for something more.”

  Crap. She should have said different, something different. Because more implied that this job wasn’t enough, that she was ungrateful. Even if she was ready for something more.

  His gaze turned a darker shade of intense. She really was going to combust if he kept looking at her like that. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “if you’re so determined to leave, I think we both might be ready for something more.”

  The heat flooding her face had nothing to do with the carnitas and everything to do with the wicked images she couldn’t hold back. “What… what do you mean by more?”

  But she knew. Oh God, she knew—the two of them, sweaty and entangled in a bed, her bent over his desk, her bare ass exposed—

  It was all there in his heavy gaze, the intent, almost predatory set of his limbs, even in the rasp of his breath.

  He wanted her too.

  “What do you think I mean by more?” he asked, his gaze hot but his voice steadily neutral.

  Was this a trap? She’d admit all the filthy things she wanted to do to him—the really filthy things she wanted him to do to her—and then he’d shout, “Psych!”

  But that wasn’t Benedict’s MO.

  “Well,” she said carefully, “we’ve had a good working relationship—”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve been there for it. I’m not talking about our working relationship. I’m talking about more.”

  Her limbs went still even as she shivered beneath her skin. “You mean a more—intimate relationship?”

  Oh God, she didn’t even dare to hope that was what he meant, except that she totally did.

  He leaned in, dropped his voice. “It would have been unprofessional of us to do anything intimate while you were working for me,” he answered. “But now that you’re leaving…”

  She released a slow breath into the silence coming on the trail of that. Was that what she wanted? A fling? With… Benedict?

  Of course she wanted it. The real question was, did she dare say yes to him?

  She looked him up and down, dark brown hair falling into his face, his tanned skin and the lines etched there speaking to a life spent as much out of doors as in an office. The open collar of his plain white button-down shirt, exposing a hint of his lean chest. And the rest of it she could imagine only too well—hard belly under that shirt, the long legs stretched out under the table, his boots crossed at the ankle. She’d had five years to look at him—and now she wanted to look at him.

  She licked her lips. “How can we keep working together if we’re…?”

  If we’re fucking. They really shouldn’t do this. Really, really shouldn’t.

  But wasn’t forbidden fruit the sweetest of all? She couldn’t say, never having bitten into something as forbidden as banging the boss.

  “If you think it’s a bad idea,” Benedict said, back to his usual seriousness, “you can say no. If you don’t want to do it, say no. And we’ll forget this ever happened.” His hand tightened on hers. “If you say yes… Well, no matter what we do in private, we’ll carry on just as before in the office.”

  He would do it too—she’d never seen so much as a hint of his personal life. No girlfriends, no orders for her to buy presents when he had no time—it was almost as if he had no intimate life.

  Of course he had a personal life. It was clear he loved his siblings and parents. He was no corporate robot. He’d just never seemed to be dating anyone.

  “Would we be dating?” she asked. “Or would this be secret?”

  “It’ll be whatever you want it to be, especially considering your situation with Javier.”

  Tempting. It was so tempting her mouth was watering. There had been encounters over the years—nothing serious since her brother occupied most of her life—but to have Benedict Merrill at her beck and call… her intimate, sexual beck and call…

  It sounded amazing. “Have you been attracted to me this entire time?” she asked weakly.

  “Yep.”

  Not even a hint of hesitation. And he didn’t lie.

  All of her went tight and hot and she had to squirm, just to rub some of the edge off. Way to knock me on my ass.

  The entire time she’d been mentally lusting after him, he’d been mentally lusting after her. The two of them stewing together in unconscious sexual tension. It gave her the shivers, thinking on it.

  “What’ll it be, Pilar?” Low and rough. Just like the sex would probably be.

  She’d be gone in three months no matter what, off to start her new life, to carve out something just for herself.

  If she said yes to him, she could snatch a little something that was all her own before she even left. Could scratch that yearlong itch she’d had for him with no danger of an awkward aftermath.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  He started to laugh, and she couldn’t help but to join in. She’d just accepted her boss’s offer of a torrid affair with Sure, why not?

  It was ridiculous—even she could see that.

  “Do you want to keep it quiet?” he asked.

  “It’s probably for the best. There’s Javier, and I’m—well, I’m not what you usually go out with.”

  The temperature of his gaze dropped several degrees. “And what do I usually go out with?”

  She pulled back, thought on it. “Nobody. You usually go out with nobody.” She gave voice to her last horrid suspicion. “This isn’t about convincing me to stay, is it?”

  He made a scoffing kind of growl. “I don’t want you to leave, but give me a little more credit than to use sex to keep you around.”


  “But if it’s really good sex?”

  He started laughing again, then sobered after a moment. “I’m going to miss you.”

  She swallowed, shook off the grayness of his words. This was meant to be fun. A fling, a joyous tossing off. Not heavy and entangled and sad. “I’m not leaving tomorrow,” she said lightly. “And we’ll, uh, be seeing more of each other in the future.”

  His mouth stretched in a smile that made her want to melt into her chair. “Yes, we will,” he agreed. “How do you want to work this? I’m guessing you can’t stay the night.”

  She’d bet he had a California king with sheets made from handwoven silk. And his bathroom… his bathroom was probably palatial. She sighed. “No, I can’t spend the night. Let me think of something.” Of course, if Javier kept to his routine of not coming home most nights, she wouldn’t need to be home either.

  Which wouldn’t stop her from waiting up for him. On that note, she flicked on her phone, checked the text messages.

  Still nothing from her brother. Typical.

  “I suppose I should head home,” she said. Javier better be there waiting for her or…

  Or what? You’ll ground him?

  Why had God made teenage boys so difficult? It was almost as if Javier wanted her to kick him out of the house. She grabbed her purse, glanced at Benedict.

  What was she supposed to do now? Did she just say good-bye and walk out? Did she give him a kiss? They were on company property.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” He rose, and she had to appreciate just how tall he was. She knew of course, but if things went where they were supposed to, she’d be entwined with the length of him soon.

  Get it together, Pilar. You’re the one making this weird. He’s totally cool.

  He really was totally cool, holding the door for her as if this were nothing, as if he propositioned his assistant all the time.

  All right, she could be cool too. Composed, professional, completely in control of the situation. She kept her eyes straight ahead, two feet of space between them. Her heels went click-click-click along the asphalt, in time with the deeper thunk of his boot heels.

  “What happened to your old car?” he demanded when she stopped at her battered compact and shook out her keys.

  Damn. She never had told him what happened. Likely because he was only her boss then. “Someone made an illegal turn in front of me, and the car was totaled. The insurance money would only pay for this.”

  “Jesus,” he breathed. “Are you okay? Are you having nightmares?”

  She heard what he left unsaid. Because of what happened to your parents.

  “No. Like, I mean, I had a few, but I’m fine now.” And she’d flinched for months whenever someone had turned left in front of her, but she’d sucked it up and kept on driving. It was that or walk.

  “If you need to talk with someone, I’m happy to pay for it,” he said gently.

  “I have excellent mental health benefits, remember?”

  He took the keys from her, opening the door for her as if he did it all the time. “If you need to see someone, promise me you’ll do it.”

  Ha. After all the counselors she’d had to deal with in the foster care system as Javier’s guardian, she had no desire to talk about her feelings ever again. “Oh, don’t worry, I will. If I need it. See you tomorrow.”

  And then she waited. She couldn’t say why—he wasn’t going to kiss her. Anyone might see them if they did.

  He leaned in, a hint of his aftershave touching her nose, sweetly tart. She licked her lips, wondering if his skin tasted the same.

  They remained like that for a moment, nose to nose, the night and their wants heavy on them.

  “We’re on company property,” she reminded him softly.

  “Parking lot doesn’t count.”

  His lips brushed hers, soft and slow, no hurry there. Only savoring as he did it again and again, as if he’d been dreaming of just their lips touching for forever. It was really… romantic.

  No, this wasn’t supposed to be romantic. He was already welching on the deal. She parted her lips and touched her tongue to his.

  It was like she’d struck a match. His mouth grew greedy, demanding, and he grabbed two handfuls of her ass, pulling her hard against him. He growled or moaned—or growl-moaned—and pulled her up to cling to him, her skirt sliding up as her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms hanging around his neck as if he were her lifeline.

  Oh God, with his mouth hungry on hers and her pussy rubbed up against his lower belly—and goddamn, he was growling again—it was the hottest kiss of her entire life. With her boss. In the parking lot at work.

  His hands slid under her skirt, palms rough even through her tights. Her skirt gave a rather ominous rip.

  “Careful,” she muttered against his mouth. “My skirt.”

  “Fuck it. I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you fifty.”

  His hand kept sliding around, past her ass, along her inner thigh, and then—holy crap, he found her clit on the very first try. Through her panties and her tights.

  The man was a god.

  Now she was moaning and his finger began to circle—just right, oh just right—soon enough she’d be sobbing…

  “I want to taste you so badly,” he rasped into her ear. “I’ve dreamed about it.”

  She could imagine it, her lying on the seat of her car, him on his knees in this parking lot, his head between her thighs.

  Crazy hot, that image. Or maybe just crazy.

  “Wait,” she muttered. “We can’t… someone might come by.” She unwrapped her legs from his hips, pushed against his shoulders, and he slid her down the length of him until her feet hit the pavement. With a wriggle and a shimmy, she jerked her skirt back into place.

  It was going to take more than a wriggle and a shimmy to return him to respectability, judging by the hard bulge in the front of his Wranglers.

  He watched her with an intent gaze. Then he did that romantic business again—he cupped her face in his hands and brushed another of those sweet kisses across her lips. “Will you be all right getting home?”

  “Of course.” She pulled out of his grasp, the gentleness of it somehow hurtful. “I do it every night.”

  He helped her into the car, bracing his arm against the door and leaning over her as she snapped on her seat belt. For a moment she feared he’d give her another kiss—feared it because she felt close to tears in a way she didn’t like and didn’t understand.

  “Drive safely,” he said. “Because I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

  He shut the door. She watched him in the rearview mirror until the night and distance swallowed him, as he watched back, unmoving.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two eggs or four?

  Pilar pondered that question for the ages as she stared at the open egg carton, the local morning DJs laughing like tinny hyenas from the radio on the sill above the kitchen sink.

  If was just her, it would be two. If Javier deigned to eat, then it would be four.

  Better go see what his breakfast plans were.

  It hadn’t been like this right after their parents had died—they’d clung to each other in the aftermath, her never wanting to leave Javier, him never wanting to leave her. He’d been thirteen; she’d been twenty-one. Way too young to suddenly be responsible for a teenager. Or to be an orphan. She’d called him Javi back then. She hadn’t done that in a while now.

  The call had come during finals week of her last quarter at UCR. She’d been in her apartment just off campus, studying for some final—she didn’t remember which one.

  But she remembered the trill of the phone breaking into her concentration, the way she’d flinched at the interruption. The long, long moments of Lupe simply sobbing into the phone after Pilar had answered.

  The rest was blurred, jumpy. Getting home, taking charge of Javier, the funerals… so much she’d had to do and worry over in those first few weeks. No wonder her memory hadn’t bee
n able to hold on to most of it.

  But there had been help. Their community had rallied around them, providing food and companionship and contacting relatives in Mexico. She and Javier had been orphans, but they’d never really been alone, thanks to her parents’ friends.

  She did remember Benedict taking charge of a lot of the official stuff in those terrible early weeks, his siblings helping. Somehow the funeral home was contacted, the Mass was scheduled, the flowers appeared—the cemetery plots had even been prescreened for her. She only had to pick out of two or three choices. And the lawyer who’d handled the settlement from the accident and the probate mess had been paid by the Merrills, thank God. She couldn’t have afforded it and wasn’t clear enough in her head then to pick a good lawyer anyway.

  Marching into Benedict’s office to beg for a job was her first real impression after the blur of her parents’ deaths.

  Things had come into sharp, clear focus that first Dia de los Muertos, when she’d laid Abuela Rosa’s favorite bolillos on the ofrenda, followed by Tio Luis’s favorite candies, just like her mother had. Then with shaking hands she’d set a jar of atole there for her father and some pink pan dulce for her mother, nestling them among the marigolds and candles, Javier watching silently as she had.

  She’d kept a practiced smile on her face as the neighbors had come, bearing sugar skulls and pan de muerto, and reminiscing with her and Javier. But she’d only managed one bite of the pan de muerto, that bit sliding down her throat hard as a rock, because it hadn’t tasted exactly like her mother’s.

  Her job, caring for Javier, keeping herself together… she’d survived that first year, thought maybe things were even going well the second year. She’d even managed several bites of pan de muerto on Dia de los Muertos that second year. But slowly she and Javier had moved forward into their present state of delightful noncommunication, despite her best efforts.

  Her brother wasn’t in his room, although he had come home last night—she’d heard him moving around when she’d come home, although he hadn’t come out to greet her. It was the usual mess of clothes and papers and car magazines. And the smell. He showered every day—she had the water bill to prove it—so why did his room smell like this?