THIS WAS SO fucking stupid. Like beyond stupid. Like making-a-pass-up-the-middle-and-getting-it-picked-off stupid.
But damn did it feel good.
Becca had the most incredible mouth, perfect and pink with a pouty bottom lip and a precise cupid’s bow at the top.
Devon knew it was called a cupid’s bow because he’d fantasized about her enough to Google it.
Pathetic.
But there was nothing pathetic about finally being able to kiss Becca. Her mouth had been stiff in surprise, but the moment he gentled his lips, she softened and let him kiss the hell out of that pout.
She let him in.
Just like he knew she would.
Becca was all softness, sweet kind eyes, and empathy to her core.
But she was also heat. And temper.
Which was a side of her he hadn’t seen before.
A side that threatened to ruin everything.
Which is why he needed to stop this. He was going to ruin everything for her.
Becca needed this job, and he needed to keep it in his pants.
Devon pulled back. It took every bit of his tenacity to drop his hands to her shoulders and set her away from him, every bit of strength to not kiss her again when he saw the flush on her cheeks… her reddened lips… the glaze of pleasure in her eyes…
He wanted her so fucking bad.
And he was her boss.
No. Glutton for fucking punishment, that’s what he was.
He got out of the car, let the cool air soak into his overheated body, and thought about stats and contracts and granny panties until his erection subsided.
Only then did he grab his coat from the back seat then walk around the car to open Becca’s door.
She was staring straight ahead, trembling fingers pressed to her mouth.
“You’re hired.”
Her stare flashed up to his, that hint of her temper sparking to life all over again. He was rock hard in an instant. This woman killed him.
“You can’t just—”
He had no resistance, not when it came to Becca.
Devon slanted his mouth to hers. “I can and I will,” he said when he managed to break away, heart pounding, body aching.
He reached across her and unbuckled her seat belt, barely resisting the urge to nuzzle against her breasts, which just so happened to be a hairsbreadth away from his nose.
The shirts she wore, buttons from top to bottom, always made him want to tear the two halves apart then bury his face into the exposed skin beneath… or better yet, to unbutton it, one by one, kissing, licking, worshiping every inch below.
Which was so not helping his problem.
“Let’s eat,” he said. “I promise I won’t kiss you again.”
It was a promise he didn’t want to make — fuck no — but one he felt he had to. Becca was his employee, and their relationship held an inherent uneven distribution of power.
Not only would the media have a heyday with the whole forbidden love, secretary-boss scenario, his HR lead would have his head.
Devon followed the rules. It was one of the reasons his business was so successful. He didn’t compromise, didn’t flake out on commitments, and he certainly didn’t screw over his clients or employees.
Which, of course, meant that he would be screwed in this case… and not in the way he was desperate for.
“What if I want you to?”
The air froze in his lungs, locking him down tight, making everything hard. He studied Becca, saw the heat in her expression, the flush on her cheeks.
She was in as bad a way as he was.
Curse words blared through his mind but not his mouth because… because he knew she didn’t like it. Instead, Devon snagged her hand and helped her from the car, closing her door behind her.
“Wait,” she told him when he started tugging her in the direction of the restaurant.
She pulled her hand free, went back to the car, and bent over — sweet Christ — to retrieve her files from the back seat.
A strangled noise escaped his throat; he couldn’t help it.
Becca turned, held up the stack of manila, and smiled. “Didn’t want to risk leaving these in the car.”
He nodded, his voice gone somewhere in the direction of his sanity.
What he really wanted to do was shove her back into the car, drive them back to his house, and park in the garage.
Then show her just how much he appreciated the way her ass looked in that tight skirt.
“Devon?”
He blinked, realized she was staring at him with concern. Which tended to happen when people zoned out in the middle of parking lots while mentally acting out their fantasies about curvy, blonde bombshells who seemed intent on torturing them.
“Food. Inside,” he said, pushing the other stuff away and focusing on Becca. Pascal would have dropped her car off at the repair shop by now. Then his bodyguard was supposed to get her apartment fitted up with the best security system Devon’s money could buy.
And Devon’s money could buy a lot.
“Okay, caveman,” she said and strode in front of him, shaking her head and muttering something about men and idiots.
No argument there, he thought, especially when he caught his eyes drifting down again.
He forced them heavenward and prayed he’d have the strength to resist.
And then he trailed after her, not holding his breath that his prayers would make one lick of difference.