by Olivia Myers
She wasn’t about to wallow. She’d known what kind of man Rhys Maddox was every step of the way. Cassandra O’Hare might have been terrified of dragons, but she was no fool.
Which was another thing to rejoice about. It seemed that her skin-t0-skin encounter with the sexy dragon CEO had cured her of her irrational fear of his kin. She’d had to interact with several other elders from Rhys’s clan over the last several weeks, and not one of them had caused that freezing panic she’d experienced on her first day in Rhys’s office.
Of course, being in his presence still made her go a bit quivery, but the fear was more that she’d let on how very much she still desired him and make him feel uneasy.
“Is everything set for the party tonight?”
He didn’t even bother with the intercom, standing instead in the doorway between their offices to glower at her. She smiled in response. Partly because it was her standard professional smile, and partly because even frowning and looming, he still made her mouth curl.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Maddox. The caterers will be arriving at six to begin prep. Melinda and her crew will be done cleaning by five-thirty at the latest.”
It had taken his housekeeper and her assistants almost two full days to clean his enormous home in the Catskills. Cassandra had been there the night before, watching the industrious older woman bustle around issuing orders, and knew it would gleam like the jewel that is was when his guests arrived tonight.
It was just a small soiree, dinner and drinks for about thirty people in celebration of BurningStone’s record first quarter profits. Tonight, Rhys and the rest of the board would begin discussing which charities would be receiving what he referred to as “the excess cash.”
“And you, Ms. O’Hare?”
Cassandra shivered a little, remembering how he’d called her his ‘little rabbit’ when he was inside of her. She kept her chin up, however, and met his gaze.
“I’ll be leaving here in two hours, Mr. Maddox, as planned.”
She’d take the company helicopter up to his estate to oversee the last minute preparations. She was actually quite excited to see them. She’d never gotten to plan anything quite so grand working for Mr. Stebbins.
Rhys only grunted, spun on his heel, and strode back into his office. The door thunked closed behind him.
It hadn’t been left open a single time since that day.
For a little while, she’d thought they’d moved past the initial awkwardness. He’d seemed to relax around her once again. For two whole weeks, they’d worked together easily and companionably; they’d even shared a few lunches while planning the first quarter dinner with no problems apart from a few lingering glances or sudden silences.
She was still attracted to him, of course. And it was nice to know he was attracted to her as well. But she respected his wishes and sought to maintain a friendly but professional demeanor. She’d succeeded brilliantly, too—at least, it felt that way to her.
Rhys didn’t seem to agree, though. After one particularly potent moment at lunch where their knees had brushed under the table and it was clear both of them were remembering exactly how it had felt to touch a lot more than knees, things had once again become difficult.
Cassandra had immediately apologized for the accidental touch, but Rhys had grown distant and cold, and that was how he’d remained for the last month.
He wasn’t mean or cruel. He didn’t treat her badly. Even being autocratic and barking orders, barely acknowledging her efforts with a nod, he was still a nicer boss than Mr. Stebbins.
Still, she wished for the relaxed atmosphere of those two weeks, when he’d joked with her about her love of kung-fu movies, and she’d teased him about his fear (yes, fear—the great dragon shifter was afraid!) of rats.
For that brief period of time, she’d not just liked her job, she’d loved it. She’d even kind of secretly hoped Rhys might ask Warren if he could keep her.
But then she realized how dangerous that type of thinking was and shut it down. Soon, he would find a permanent replacement for Bridget and Cassandra would go back to Chimera and the only time she would see Rhys Maddox’s face anymore would be in the Life & Style section of the newspaper.
It sucked, and she would miss him more than she’d like to admit, but she was a big girl and she’d decided to just live in the moment. Like their explosive encounter, her time as his assistant was a one-time thing. Golden and not to be forgotten, but not forever.
Two hours later, she packed up her things, called a brief, “See you later! Fly safe!” (to which she got only a grunt in response) and headed across town to the helipad.
There was a landing pad on the Chimera building’s roof, but since so many of the employees were shifters who could fly on their own power, it was rarely used. Cassandra didn’t mind either the crosstown cab ride or the bumpy, noisy flight upstate. Both gave her time to run over all the last minute details for the party.
As Rhys’s assistant, she would not actually be sitting down to the formal dinner, but she’d be on the premises the entire time to make sure everything went off without a hitch. He’d assured her that he didn’t expect that, but since it was her first real event, she’d insisted.
Cassandra stepped into the sweeping stone entryway of Rhys’s mansion, marveling at the beauty of it. She’d expected more opulence like what she’d seen at the BurningStone offices the first time she’d been to Rhys’s home, and was surprised.
Not that it wasn’t gorgeous. And there were definite touches of the lavish tastes of the dragon shifter in the gleaming crystal chandeliers and priceless artwork. But for a mansion, especially one owned by a disgustingly rich dragon, the décor was understated and comfortable with a lot of warm tones and inviting furniture groupings.
It was, without a doubt, the den of a man who enjoyed the finer things in life. But it was also apparent that he enjoyed sharing those things with company.
Cassandra tried not to think of Rhys having private company of the female variety here. It sent a distressing pang through her belly. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the short, bony woman who hurried forward with a broad grin on her face.
“Melinda,” Cassandra said with a genuine smile. “Let’s see how things are going, shall we?”
***
“To the best quarter at BurningStone yet!” Miles Dearden raised his glass of port in a toast. “And many more to come.”
Rhys clinked his glass against Miles’s, the smile on his face faint, though his satisfaction with their quarterly earnings was genuine.
“Hear, hear.”
Chelsea Thomas, one of his most trusted Senior Analysts, twirled her glass in her jewel-bedecked fingers. “Speaking of best yet, Rhys, I really must commend you on this little shindig. I might just need to steal the name of your caterer.”
Several other people chimed in with their praise as well. The tight feeling that had been living in his chest for nearly two months grew sudden teeth. He tried not to let it show on his face.
“Same caterer as always, Chels.”
Her penciled brows bobbed up. “Really?”
“Mm-hm.”
Miles’s wife tilted her head, long silver lashes fluttering in surprise. “They remembered I’m lactose intolerant this time.”
More likely, Cassandra had remembered it.
“It’s probably down to that Ms. O’Hare,” Franklin, one of the board members, said, echoing Rhys’s thoughts. How did Franklin even know about Cassandra?
Again, several people added their praise of her, and Rhys realized she’d dealt with all of them at one point or another in her capacity as his assistant. Still, it was surprising to hear them refer to her that way. He doubted most of them remembered Bridget’s name, and she’d been with him for six years, and only gone two months.
What was it about his little rabbit that made her so… memorable?
If he could answer that question, maybe he could have caught up on some of the sleep that had been eludi
ng him since that day in the office. Fuck, his body still throbbed faintly with the memory of how good it had felt to be inside her.
Only a month ago, they’d brushed knees accidentally under a table at lunch and his cock had leapt to attention, still eager for her. She’d apologized, though. Keeping it professional. As he’d asked.
He hated it.
He’d tried, he really had. Once he’d realized she really meant she was okay with the arrangement, he’d felt relief only slightly tempered with disappointment. Which was ridiculous, because he didn’t do relationships.
Still, he’d kept his physical distance from her, treating her like he would any other employee.
Except, it turned out, Cassandra wasn’t any other employee. She was his little rabbit, damn it.
He enjoyed being around her, watching her handle problems, hearing her laugh. He loved sharing lunch with her and listening to her stories. He was pretty sure he’d talked to her more in the two weeks things had been comfortable and casual between them that he had anyone — male or female — ever. With the possible exception of Warren, who was his best friend.
He loved how she could be both timid and take charge by turns, and how she always unrolled her silverware and arranged the knife, fork, and spoon precisely beside her plate before she began to eat.
And god, how he still wanted her! He craved her worse than he’d ever desired Annette. Not just the lush, welcoming heat of her body or her peaches and cream scent, either. He craved all of it.
It terrified him.
So, he’d attempted to keep his distance. For the last month, he’d been strictly business with her from the moment she walked into his office every morning to the moment she went home. He kept her from his thoughts when he was alone in his big bed, despite the ache of his almost constantly hard cock.
The only place he hadn’t managed to keep her out of was his dreams.
And now she was here, in his house, saturating every stick of furniture with her mouth-watering scent.
She’d been there once or twice, running errands for him, over the last few months. But those had been brief, there-and-gone visits. Still the fragrance of her skin had lingered like perfume in his hallways when he got home, driving him nuts. He had to fly every night, his dragon restless to hunt his little rabbit.
“Well?” Chelsea asked, drawing him out of his reverie, her brows still arched. Rhys realized he’d missed some question. He tilted his head.
“Pardon?”
Chelsea grinned as if she could read his thoughts. “Franklin asked if you were going to keep her, your Ms. O’Hare.”
Rhys knew what she meant by ‘keep her.’ Or what Franklin had no doubt meant, anyway. But that wasn’t how the words struck him. And strike him they did, like a blow to the sternum.
Under his skin, his beast trumpeted, shaking him down to his bones.
Keep her.
The color of the crackling flames Cassandra had lit in his parlor to warm his guests after the slight spring chill suddenly deepened to vivid scarlet and canary yellow as his eyes shifted to dragon.
Rhys’s fingers bit into the wood of the mantle.
“Yes,” he said through a throat gone rough with his beast. “I am. If you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen? I bid you goodnight.”
It was all he could do to observe the formalities as the refrain pounded in his blood in time with the accelerating beat of his heart.
Keep HER, keep HER, keep HER, keep HER. KEEP HER.
He followed her scent to the sunroom off the side of the kitchen. The moon had risen above the mountains, full and silver, painting the landscape of his yard in eerily bright shadows.
She stood staring out at them, still wearing the light, floaty blue dress she’d been wearing earlier in the day. Her arms were wrapped around herself, her elbows in the opposite palms, light gooseflesh pebbling her bare skin.
He wanted to move up behind her and scoop her up without a word, carry her to his bedroom and not let her leave for a month.
But…
“Everything went perfectly tonight,” he said instead. Despite the fact that he’d kept his still rough voice soft, Cassandra jumped and spun around.
When she saw him, she smiled, though. “I’m glad. Has everyone gone?”
He shrugged, not really caring if his guests had managed to find their way out yet or not.
“Everything was perfect,” he repeated. “Except for one thing.”
Her brow furrowed, as he’d known it would, the little line appearing just above the smooth slope of her nose. It was her “thinking” expression, and he loved it. Rhys felt the corner of his mouth curl.
“They didn’t forget to serve Assam tea for after the meal, did they?” She caught her pink lower lip between her white teeth. “I told Mrs. Norris at least three hundred forty seven times that he doesn’t drink alcohol.”
Rhys chuckled. “She didn’t forget. Assam got his tea and was appreciative.” He took another step onto the sun porch, closing the distance between them. Cassandra’s shoulders relaxed a bit and her brow smoothed.
“Oh. Good. What was it then? Whatever it was, I swear I’ll have it fixed for next time. It’s just, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with something like this all by myself and I thought for sure —”
He pressed a finger against her lips, swallowing the automatic groan that sprang to his own at the feel of the warm silk of them against his skin once again.
“Promise?”
She blinked up at him but didn’t attempt to step away from the point of contact.
“Promise what?” Her breath tickled his hand as she spoke.
“You promise you will fix it for next time.” He could feel the grin stretching his mouth, the deep dimples in either cheek showing. Cassandra’s brow crinkled again.
“Of course. What was it?”
Rhys slid his fingertip down, outlining her lips quickly before sliding down to stroke along her throat. He felt her swallow, felt her pulse kick up, her warmth flooding the air with more of her scent.
And it was there again, that faint tinge of electric fear.
He thought he understood now. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore than he feared her. She did, however, fear the intensity of what he made her feel every bit as much as he did. The thought was comforting. He wasn’t alone in his feelings.
Well, maybe one.
Because her tense, wide-eyed, quivering stillness still spoke to his beast in a very singular way. It no longer said prey, not exactly.
It said MINE.
Under his skin, his dragon stretched.
“The only thing missing that would have made this entire evening perfect, my little rabbit, was you by my side.”
Cassandra’s mouth fell open. A pink flush crept up her neck.
“W-what?”
It was almost a squeak of surprise. Rhys slid his hand under the silken fall of her hair to caress her vulnerable nape.
“Next time,” he clarified, “I want you by my side.”
He brushed his lips gently across her parted ones, waiting to see if she offered resistance. She didn’t, so he did it again.
“And the time after that too.” Another butterfly quick, teasing press of his mouth. “And the next. Are you sensing a pattern yet, Ms. O’Hare?”
She laughed a little breathlessly, and nodded. “Y-yes. But…” She trailed off, moaning and sliding her lips over his.
“But what?”
They both got lost for a moment in the play of tongues and lips and teeth. When he pulled away, his brain spun more than the glass and a half of wine and sip of port could account for. He was almost a little miffed when she answered him, though her voice was gratifyingly shaky.
“It’s not exactly customary for assistants to attend stuff like that.”
Rhys could hear the edge of teasing in her words and gave her neck a light squeeze in reprimand.
“You don’t have to be my assistant, then.”
He’d mean
t that when she attended functions with him, she’d be there as his date, not his employee. But she misunderstood. She jerked back a little, eyes narrowing.
“Hey! I happen to like being your assistant! You can’t just fire me so we can date! That’s ridiculous.”
He raised both brows at her vehemence and enjoyed watching the flush grow even pinker on her pretty, round cheeks. His own cheeks ached from smiling. He slid his arms around the deep curve of her waist.
“I like that you like being my assistant. I like it too. But perhaps we could work out the particulars some other time…like, tomorrow morning?”
Cassandra trembled in his arms, her tongue darting out to wet already damp lips.
“What will we discuss tonight then?” Her eyes glittered with desire.
In answer, he gave her a wide, toothy grin and swept her up into his arms.
***
Cassandra’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest as Rhys strode through rooms, up the wide staircase, and down a long hall. Her arms shook where they wrapped around his neck.
The last few minutes had been so sudden, turning everything she’d thought topsy-turvy. Rhys wanted her. Not just once. Not even just twice.
Are you sensing a pattern here, Ms. O’Hare? he’d said, his obsidian eyes flickering with inner fire.
Rhys Maddox, The Dragon, wanted to date her. He’d wanted her by his side tonight as he wined and dined his colleagues and cronies. She’d been there, behind the scenes, making sure Andy Rosenberg’s pork medallion was kosher and that the soft music playing in the background throughout dinner wasn’t Bach (because that reminded Chelsea Thomas of her father, a concert pianist, who’d passed away only six months earlier from cancer), or making sure his tablet was beside his favorite chair in the parlor so he could refer to it when they discussed charities.
But he’d wanted her there with him.
She couldn’t quite believe it, despite the fact that the words still rang in her ears and his arms were solid and warm under her.
He had no trouble pushing open the door to his bedroom. She’d been there before, collecting fresh clothes for him or dropping off dry cleaning, but it looked different from the vantage point of his arms.