Like a Boss Box Set: Like a Boss Series Books 1-4

by Serenity Woods

  I want to ask, but there’s something private about Roxie that stops me from quizzing her. She’s naturally defensive and reserved, and I don’t want her to get annoyed with me for prying. But, we’ve just had sex and I think that allows me a little leeway.

  “You live here alone?” I ask, looking around the apartment. It’s tiny and I can only see one bedroom, so I’m guessing that’s the case. It’s a polite way of asking if she’s single. I hope she is—I’ve never cheated on a girl, and I wouldn’t like to be a party to helping a girl cheat on her partner. I probably should have asked her this before we had sex.

  But she says, “Yeah. All by my lonesome,” and the corner of her mouth quirks up.

  “So, no one special in your life then?” I ask.

  “Apart from you?” She wrinkles her nose. “No. Not for a long time. What about you? Tell me about Felicity.”

  I don’t miss that she’s diverting attention from herself, but I don’t mind. There’s no rule that says she has to tell me her life story just because we screwed. “What do you want to know?”

  “When she came, did she go ‘oh!’”

  I give her a wry look. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “Aw.” She grins, then cocks her head at me. “Did she break your heart?”

  I sigh and roll onto my back again. I’m not sure I can put the nature of our fucked-up relationship into words. “Kind of. We’d been dating for a year. She was high maintenance from the start, but I liked her. She was clever, and sometimes funny. She works in fashion—”

  “Of course she does.”

  I carry on as if she hasn’t interrupted. “—but despite having a top position with one of the big designers, she was often impatient with me because I work long hours. She took it as a personal slight that I didn’t want to spend more time with her.”

  “Was that the reason?”

  “No. I liked her, but I’m not going to have anyone dictate to me how much time I can spend on my career.” My voice comes out harder than I meant it to, surprising me. It’s been a few months since we broke up, and I’d half forgotten how angry I was at the time.

  “How did it end?”

  “Badly.” I don’t want to talk about the arguments, the accusations. It hurt then, and it still hurts now.

  “Did you end it, or did she?”

  “I did, although I think she knew it was over by then.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Sometimes. I miss the companionship. I don’t miss all the negative stuff that came with it. It’s a relief to be out of it, most of the time. It’s just hard to start over again, you know?”

  “Have you?” Roxie queries. “Dated again?”

  “No.”

  “So, I’m the first girl you’ve been with since Felicity?”

  I turn my head to look at her. “Yeah.”

  Her green eyes study my face. “Why me?”

  “Don’t know. You’re very different from most girls I know. I suppose I find that exciting.”

  “A change is as good as a rest,” she suggests.

  “Yeah.”

  She trails a finger down my arm, and when I lift it, we link fingers. She looks at my watch, rubbing a thumb across the glass. “Omega.”

  “Yep.”

  “You must be loaded.”

  I give a short laugh. “I’m not strapped for cash, true.” I stifle a flicker of wariness at her curiosity—she might be edgy but she’s a nice girl. I’m not going to turn my back and find she’s taken my watch and my wallet.

  “Were you rich before the company got successful?” She speaks as if she’s asking an African explorer to describe a crocodile or a hippo or another wild animal she’s never seen—as if she has no comprehension of what it must be like to have money.

  “More so than Stratton or Harry. My father is a top lawyer.”

  “And your mum?”

  “Plays tennis, wears twinsets, and raises money for charities.”

  “Ah.”

  I can see she has no understanding of this life except what she’s seen on TV. “So, they invested money in Hearktech?” she asks.

  That makes me laugh, although there’s little humor in it. “No. Dad’s the type who thinks his kids should make their own way in life. He doesn’t believe in helping out—he says it makes you weak.”

  “Ah, that explains a lot.”

  “Really?”

  She shrugs. “You seem very determined, and you work very hard. I’m guessing you want to show your old man you can do it. Gain his approval.”

  “I don’t need his approval, or anything else from him.” My voice has turned cold.

  She sucks her bottom lip. “Okay.” She rolls onto her front and jumps up. “I’m having another whiskey. You want one?”

  I tuck myself back into my boxers, zip up my jeans, and sit up. “I snapped at you, I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault.”

  “Caleb, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I can tell she’s cursing herself under her breath, telling herself not to get involved, to remain detached. I can almost hear her words, You fucking idiot, what did you have to go and say that for? Other people don’t care about you—stop caring about other people.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “You want me to go?”

  We study each other for a moment. Then she turns and walks into the kitchen. I hear the clink of ice and the splosh of liquid.

  I stand and go over to the window and look out at the uninspiring view for a moment. My gaze drifts down to a small table bearing a laptop and a small pile of books. The top one is Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, the second is Tom Bingham’s The Rule of Law. Roxie’s light reading? Puzzled, I open one to see the pages covered in small handwriting, but before I can read them, she comes back into the room. I’m distracted by the fact that she’s still naked, and my body stirs again at the sight of her full breasts, her creamy skin.

  She hands me a glass without saying anything, even though she must have seen me looking at the books. She swallows a large mouthful of her whiskey, and moves close to me. “None of it matters,” she whispers. “Not the past, not the future, not other people, nothing. This is right here, right now, and there’s only me and you in the room.” She lifts up and stops with her lips right near mine. “You want to fuck me again before you go?”

  My heart thuds, but I turn my head and sip my drink slowly. Then I look back at her. “At least once,” I tell her, before lowering my lips to hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Roxie

  I’m so relieved he didn’t walk out the door. I could see I’d struck a nerve—clearly, there’s an issue between him and his father, and my well-meaning comment hit him right where it hurts. But the promise of more sex seems to have done the trick. When he slides his arm around me and pulls me close, I can feel him already erect and hard for me, and he kisses me with passion, plunging his tongue into my mouth and eliciting a moan from me over which I have no control.

  Mmm… what a wonderful evening. I don’t care about his father, or his ex, or my exes, or anything except being here right now with a man who is such an expert in the bedroom.

  “Where did you learn your moves?” I murmur when he leaves my lips to kiss up my jaw.

  “School for Gigolos. I aced the course.”

  I laugh and then shiver as he touches his tongue to my neck. “I believe you.”

  He lifts his head and gives me an amused look. “I’m nothing special, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe not in the circles you move in, but from my experience, you are extremely talented.”

  He studies me, and I can see he’s bemused.

  “Caleb,” I tell him, “most guys don’t care about foreplay. If I want an orgasm, I normally have to do it myself.”

  Now his eyes turn sultry, and he brushes his lips against mine. �
��I could still do with some training. Maybe you could give me some tips.”

  My eyebrows rise. “You mean you want me to…”

  He slides his tongue into my mouth for a deep kiss, then moves back and says, “Oh yeah.” He takes my hand. His pupils have dilated so much that his eyes look black. “Come on.”

  I follow him through to my bedroom, not sure what to say. I would never have called myself inexperienced, but I’m beginning to understand that a person’s level of sexual experience isn’t necessarily related to how many people they’ve slept with. All the guys I’ve been with have been the same—cardboard cutouts of each other, young, hot, arrogant, and mostly uncaring of the woman’s pleasure. It’s all been hard and fast, like a drag race, trying to see who can get to the finish line first. More often than not, it’s been the guy.

  We enter the bedroom, and I glance around, relieved to see I’d left it tidy. I hadn’t expected to get lucky tonight.

  My heart judders to a stop as my gaze falls on a children’s picture book lying beside the bed. I sidle across and kick it under. He turns, but just smiles—he didn’t see it. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly.

  Caleb places his glass on the bedside table, and beside it a condom he must have taken out of his wallet. He unbuttons his jeans and slides them off, and follows with his underwear. Jeez, the man is delicious, he looks like a boxer, all powerful muscles and flat stomach. Mmm. Yum. What have I done to be this lucky?

  I finish off my whiskey and put the glass next to his, and then accept the hand he’s holding out and climb onto the bed with him. It squeaks—it’s old and not particularly comfortable, but I don’t think Caleb’s noticed. His eyes are fixed on me, and the heat in them is making my blood sizzle.

  He lays back and gives my hand a tug, and I fall on top of him, laughing. We kiss, and he slides his hands down my body, skating light fingers over my ribs, my back, my butt. I sigh, and our tongues tangle, my nipples peaking against his chest. I want him again. I want him so much it hurts.

  After a while, he rolls so I’m under him, and kisses me until I’m aching for more. Then he lifts his head, takes my hand, and moves it between my legs.

  “Show me,” he murmurs.

  I feel suddenly, idiotically shy. Stimulating yourself while having sex is one thing, especially when the guy is so busy thrusting away he hardly notices. Doing it while you’re being watched by a gorgeous fella is something else. But I don’t want to admit this, so I slip my fingers down over my soft skin and into my swollen, slippery folds.

  Propped on an elbow, Caleb leans over to pick up the condom he’d left on the bedside table, tears off the wrapper, and rolls it on. Then he settles beside me, his hot gaze sliding down my body to where my fingers are moving between my legs.

  I close my eyes, concentrating on the sensations rippling through me as I circle a finger over my clit. Mmm, that feels good, and now Caleb’s hands are on me, trailing over my skin, his thumbs brushing my nipples, and it’s as if his touch sends an electric shock straight through to where my fingers are. I give a sigh that turns into a moan, and he leans over and kisses me, continuing to tease a nipple with his thumb.

  His kisses make me melt—I’ve never been kissed with such tenderness and passion. Ohhh, it’s not going to take me long to come like this. Already I can feel my muscles starting to tighten, and I moan again, causing him to lift his head and watch me.

  “Oh yeah,” he says with satisfaction, “make yourself come for me. I want to watch you.”

  I bite my bottom lip, thinking that I can’t do it to order in front of this man, but it’s too late, I’m climaxing, and I gasp as muscles deep inside me contract in thick, fast pulses. I can feel his eyes on me while it’s happening, and I burn under the heat of his gaze.

  Even before I’ve finished, I feel him move, and I wait for him to mount me and take his pleasure—which I’d welcome with every cell in my body. But he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses down me, over my breasts, my stomach, then he shifts between my legs and lowers himself there. I’m still quivering from my orgasm, and I stare up at the ceiling in disbelief as he kisses up my thigh and then strokes his tongue through my folds.

  I groan and cover my face with my hands. This is unbelievable. Maybe he really is a gigolo, and my fairy godmother has decided I need a treat and has paid him to visit me. Because he can’t be for real. Surely?

  I’m sensitive down there, and he obviously understands that, because he brushes his tongue against my skin gently, avoiding my clit and instead sliding his tongue down. I slip my hand into his hair and let my thighs fall wide, abandoning myself to his ministrations. Mmm, it feels warm and so pleasurable, like taking a bath, and I lie there for ages as he takes his time exploring me with his mouth and fingers, until I’m sighing, pleasure building inside me once again.

  Finally, he lifts up, moves over me, and presses the tip of his erection through my folds. I’m so wet and swollen that he has no problem sliding inside me, and he settles down and kisses me while he starts moving slowly.

  I wish I could describe to him how different this is for me, but I know he’ll never understand. I can only gaze into his eyes and let him carry me to the edge, where we both eventually tip over within moments of each other, sighing and shuddering and clenching, and drinking in our sighs as we kiss and our tongues continue to play until our bodies go limp.

  Caleb stays there for ages, kissing me, but eventually he has to withdraw, and he lifts off and curls around me, pulling me back into his arms. We lie like that for a while, not saying much, just reveling in the other’s warmth, listening to the sounds of the city at night, and watching the moon rise through the gap in the curtains.

  “What does this mean?” he asks at one point, tracing the tattoo on my arm with his fingers.

  “It’s Sanskrit—it’s the word ‘Bhakti’. It means devotion.”

  I don’t want to say to what or to whom, and he doesn’t ask. I’m glad in one way, but in another it makes me sad. We’re not confidantes. We’re not lovers, in the traditional sense of the word. We came together—literally and metaphorically—for physical release, and beyond that, we have no connection that will last once he sets foot outside the door.

  I’m not going to complain, though. When I asked him back, I knew what was going to happen. I wasn’t expecting flowers and proposals, and he was fantastic in bed, so it’s a win-win situation.

  He stirs, checks his phone, and then sighs and sits up. “I’d better get going.”

  “Sure.” Nothing lasts forever, I tell myself, pushing away my disappointment.

  We rise, dress, and go into the living room, and he picks up his wallet and jacket. At the door he pauses, turns, and wraps his arms around me, taking me by surprise. “Mmm,” he murmurs, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating through me. “That was a fucking fantastic evening.”

  I laugh. “It was.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you. You were amazing.”

  He laughs again. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He moves back, slides a finger beneath my chin, and lifts it so he can kiss me, long and lingering.

  Then he drops his hand and studies me. What’s he waiting for?

  He’s not going to ask to see you again, I tell myself. We’re not right for each other at all, and we both know that. This was never going to be a long-term thing.

  His gaze slides down me, then returns to my face. His eyes glimmer with something like amusement.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

  I stare at him. “Um… Nothing.”

  “Wanna come to a party?”

  I blink. “Harry and Gaby’s?”

  “Yeah. It’s a plus-one invitation, but I was going alone.” His gaze slips to my mouth. “I’d love you to come with me, though.”

  I can’t believe it. He’s asking me on a date?

  “I…”

  His gaze returns to mine, and he smiles. “Please?”

  Well, ho
w the hell can I say no to that? “Okay.”

  His smile spreads to a grin. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty?”

  “Sure.” My heart hammers, but I put a hand on my hip and act as if gorgeous classy guys like him ask me to posh parties all the time.

  Caleb’s lips twitch, but he just says, “See you then,” and he opens the door and walks out, giving me one final glance over his shoulder.

  I close the door. I stand there for a moment, then walk into the center of the room and stand there instead.

  I look at the sofa, then down at where Caleb and I had sex on the carpet. I glance at the bedroom, and think about how he went down on me, treating me as if I were a princess, taking all the time in the world to arouse me.

  Oh my God, I’m going on a date.

  I squash a wave of panic. I’m as good as any of the people who are going to be there, and I’m not going to let them intimidate me. The people at Hearktech are all lovely and friendly—I have nothing to worry about.

  I rub my face, overwhelmed by all these conflicting emotions. It’s late, and I’m tired, and really I should get to bed. But I have a hundred words left to write on my latest assignment, and I wanted to get it done tonight. I cross over to where my laptop rests on the small table against the wall, and I sit in the wonky chair, press the button, and study the screen when it lights up.

  I think of Caleb’s mouth on mine, the beautiful way he kisses.

  Smiling, I start to type.

  Chapter Nine

  Caleb

  Sebastian calls me mid-afternoon the next day. I’m lying on my couch in a rare moment of inaction, eating a sandwich and daydreaming about last night while I watch an episode of Mad Men.

  “Just checking whether you need a lift to Harry’s,” Seb says.

  “Nah,” I tell him, “I’m good. I’m picking up my date on the way.”

  “Date? Did you get back with Felicity again?”

  “Fuck, no. I’m bringing Roxie.”

  Seb laughs. “The chick with the black spiky hair? Wow, you move fast.”

  “Seems to be a theme at Hearktech.”

  “Yeah, point taken. So… you’re bringing her to the party. Are you sure about this?”