LUCY flushed even hotter, mortified heat drenching her in an upward sweep. Much to her utter humiliation she knew it wasn’t all mortification. Some of it was pure…thrill. This man was doing nothing short of creating a nuclear reaction within her, comprehensively threatening everything she’d protected herself with for years.
She dropped her outstretched hand without even realising what she was doing and shook her head, finally taking a step back, pretending she wasn’t as affected as she was as if her life depended on it.
‘You mean the part where you mauled me? That wasn’t mutual attraction.’
Immediately he tensed, and his eyes flashed dangerously. Lucy swallowed. She knew she’d just said the worst thing possible. Most bosses in this situation would sense the potential danger of having a sexual harassment suit landed against them and back off. But Aristotle Levakis was not most bosses, and Lucy guessed belatedly that no woman, ever, had accused him of mauling them. Certainly her dreams over the weekend hadn’t been of someone mauling her—quite the opposite, in fact.
Aristotle stood to his full height, power and pure sexual charisma bouncing off him in affronted waves. He arched a brow, his arms still folded tightly across his chest, the biceps of his arms bunching even through the material of his silk shirt.
‘Mauled?’ he repeated softly, dangerously.
Lucy swallowed again, her throat suddenly as dry as parchment. She nodded, but felt herself curling up inside with humiliation.
Aristotle came and stood very close Lucy had to tip her head back and look up. She clenched her jaw. He was looking down at her with an expressionless face, those light green eyes glittering. Dark slashes of colour highlighted his cheekbones. He was livid, she recognised, and a flutter of fear came low in her belly, along with another flutter of something much more dangerous.
He started to walk around her. Lucy held herself rigid.
From behind her she heard him say, ‘When I put my hands on your waist you didn’t stop me or push me away.’
‘I—’ She began, but stopped as the memory of his hands on her waist speared through her. How his fingers had dug into her soft flesh. How she’d wanted them to dig harder.
‘Then, when I kissed you, you also didn’t pull away.’ His voice was low and sultry. ‘I know when a woman is enjoying being kissed, moro mou, believe me.’
He was still behind her, and Lucy was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. His voice was so hypnotic, resonating with something that pulled on her insides and left her weak.
‘I…I…didn’t like it.’
‘Liar.’ It came so softly from close behind her head that she jumped minutely, her skin breaking into goosebumps.
He moved to her side. Lucy fought against closing her eyes and wondered dimly why she just didn’t walk away, but she knew on some level that she was afraid if she moved she might fall down. She stayed rigid.
‘You did like it…when my tongue touched yours…when you let me explore the sweetness of that mouth. Did I tell you that I’m fascinated by the gap in your teeth? Right now all I want to do is kiss you again until you’re so boneless in my arms that all I’d have to do is carry you to the couch over there…’
Lucy’s breath had stopped. Her brain had certainly stopped functioning. The couch was in her peripheral vision, and Aristotle was right in front of her again. For a big man, he moved as silently as a panther.
She closed her eyes in a childish gesture to block him out, but quickly realised what a mistake that was when he continued, ‘I’d lay you down and remove those glasses and let your hair out of its tight confinement…’
At that moment Lucy’s head throbbed unmercifully, as if in league with him.
‘Then I’d start to undo your buttons, one by one, but I probably wouldn’t be able to resist kissing you again, coaxing you to bite down on me too, so you could feel how I might
taste.’
The sensation of what it might be like to bite into the sensual curve of his lower lip was shockingly vivid. Lucy was starting to quiver badly now. Her eyes still closed tight, she felt hot and flushed all over, and between her legs…Her mind seized.
‘Stop…’ she said threadily. ‘Please…’
‘But you see you wouldn’t want me to stop, as your shirt fell apart, baring those gorgeous breasts to my gaze…Is the lace of your bra chafing you now, Lucy? Are your nipples tight and tingling? Aching for my touch? Aching for my mouth? I would take those peaks and suck them into my mouth, hard, until they’re aroused to the point of pain. And then I’d cover your body with mine, so that you could feel how turned-on I am. Even right now I’d lift up your leg and let my hand slide over the silk of your stocking, all the way to the soft pale flesh of your thigh. You’d be moaning softly, willing my hand even higher, to that secret place between your legs where you’re aching for me to find the silk of your pants drenched with desire. You’d beg for me to slide them aside so that I could feel for myself—’
‘Stop!’ Lucy’s eyes flew open and in an instant she was jerking away—only realising at the last second that he wasn’t even holding her. He held up his hands to prove the point. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, her breasts felt heavy, their tips tight and tingling, exactly as he’d described, and between her legs seemed to burn a molten pool of something dangerous and unwelcome…It was that that had finally woken her out of this awful, delicious dream.
But it wasn’t delicious—it wasn’t, she told herself desperately as she looked anywhere but at Aristotle. She felt disorientated, dizzy, as if she could almost believe she had been on that couch. Her upper lip felt moist. Her hands clenched and she realised that she no longer held the envelope. In that instant she saw that it was in one of his hands and he was ripping it in two.
She put out a hand. ‘Wait! What are you doing?’
Lucy also realised, along with everything else in that moment, that contrary to her own state of near collapse Aristotle looked cool, calm and collected—a million miles away from the man who had been just whispering in her ear how aroused he was. She was a quivering wreck and he hadn’t even touched her.
His cool voice cut through her like a knife as she watched him turn on his heel and walk back around his desk. ‘I’m putting this letter of resignation where it belongs—in the bin.’ And he promptly did just that.