started—pressed against Sebastian Caine’s long, lithe, lethal body. Only this time it’s not a little brush of chest to chest, hand to hand. No, it’s full-on body contact—my back to his front—and I’m not sure if I’m startled or aroused by how good he feels.
Maybe both.
At least that’s the excuse I’m giving myself about why I don’t immediately leap away. Why I stay there, pressed against him—sheltered by him—for far longer than I should.
Not that he seems in any hurry to let me go. No, his hand is curved around my hip, his thumb stroking my waist. My nerve endings spark at his touch, heat sizzling through me with every back and forth brush of his thumb.
“Are you all right?” His voice is low, primal, with just enough gravel in it to send shivers down my spine. It’s a strange, new feeling, one that calls to mind tangled sheets and long, sweat-drenched nights. With him.
He’s intense, powerful, and so darkly sexual that I find myself reacting physically to him. To the authority he exudes simply by breathing. My pulse speeds up, my nipples tighten, and my breath comes in short, harsh pants that I desperately try—and fail—to control.
“I—I’m okay,” I tell him finally, my voice much shakier than I’d like it to be.
I feel him nod, his chin brushing the top of my head as he uncurls his arm slowly—almost reluctantly—from around me.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” he tells me, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk.
It’s the reminder I need to shock my brain back into focus. Finally. Sticking my chin in the air, I make sure I sound firm—or as firm as any woman can after she’s just been caught, held and caressed by her boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m just here to pick up my paycheck.”
He lifts his brows then, a quick up and down motion that makes my belly flutter. “Sit down, Aria.” He sounds accommodating but at the same time, I know an order when I hear one. I want to object on general principle—the woman I am now doesn’t follow orders well at all, but I need that money. And a not terrible evaluation. Which is why I bend my knees and sink slowly, painfully into the chair.
He closes the door and I expect him to circle his desk, to sit in the huge, imposing chair that faces the one I’m currently sitting in. But instead, he drops down onto the chair next to me before reaching into his pocket and handing me an envelope.
“I believe this is what you came for.”
I nod without bothering to open it. Instead, I slide it into my purse and move to stand. His hand flashes out, rests gently on my arm as he applies just enough pressure to keep me in my seat.
Heat rushes through me from the contact, my nipples peaking despite my determination to keep this professional. He smiles then, a dark curving of his lips that sends shivers of electricity through me. That makes my body tremble and my breathing erratic.
I shrink back against the chair—a move that’s totally not me—and try to figure out what the hell is going on. He’s not threatening me, there’s nothing predatory or particularly sexual in the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s touching me. And yet my body is lit up like the Strip at midnight, my every cell sparking at nothing more than a casual touch from him.
I don’t get it. I don’t understand why I’m responding like this to Sebastian Caine when I’ve never responded anywhere near this quickly or strongly to another man. Oh, I’ve dated some. I was even engaged, and spent six months of that engagement trying to convince myself that I loved Carlo. And still I never responded like this, so quickly and desperately. Breasts aching, skin burning, sex growing wet.
The oddity of it is enough to keep me in my seat for long seconds, my eyes pinned to his as he stares back. But then fear sets in and I go to stand up again.
Again, he presses me gently but firmly back into the chair.