Page 9 of Staking His Claim
“Clear my calendar for the rest of the day.” He paused, his eyes lingering on me. “And tomorrow morning. I'll be in around lunchtime.”
“Oh,” the surprised PA started, “Okay?—”
“And you can go ahead and take the afternoon off too.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll…see you tomorrow then.”
He lifted his finger off the button and carried on toward the liquor cabinet. I heard him crack open the bottle and pour two shots into the glasses.
He turned.
Sunshine slashed onto him, highlighting his every breathtaking feature.
I had long ago given up on deciding which part of Fletcher Knight thrilled me the most.
His brain, definitely.
But the outer package was insanely hot too. His hands. His eyes.
His mouth.Dear God, his mouth.
I realized I was staring at it as he slowly walked back to me, but for the life of me I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I abstractly registered that he had placed the glass in my hand, that I’d raised it a fraction so he could clink his against it.
But my eyes never left his face.
Not when he slowly lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, his eyes boring into mine. Not when he nudged his chin at my glass and like an automaton, I too sipped my drink, felt the wash of warmth tunnel through me, to add to the crazy hot sensations sizzling my insides.
“What shall we drink to?” he drawled, his voice barely audible.
“It's your celebration. You should say what you want,” I responded.
A slow husky laugh left his lips. “I should, shouldn't I? But then I will get into all sorts of trouble if I do.”
My heart lurched steeply, before sprinting around my chest. “Why? Is it a bad wish?” I whispered.
His eyes turned molten. “So very, very bad and yet I want it so very much,” he said.
I stepped closer to the fire. “Say it anyway. I think you probably get a pass today of all days.”
His eyes searched my face almost frantically. “Today maybe. But what about all the days that follow when I want to keep doing the bad thing?”
I couldn't breathe, my every sense hung on to his every word. Because we were back to speaking in deep subtext again with the feral look in his eyes telling me thosevery, very bad thingsinvolved me.Please, God.
“Maybe you will be given passes then too.”
He shook his head, a mutinous light gleaming at the back of his eyes. “What if I want—” He stopped as the phone on his desk rang. Lips pursed in annoyance, he took two long strides and snatched it up. “Yes?”
My breath froze as he listened for a moment, his fingers tightening around the phone.
“It's done? You're sure?” Silence throbbed as he listened and then he inhaled. With brisk movements he opened his laptop, clicked a few keys and exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping for a moment. “Yes, I have it,” he said with a hoarse voice. “Thanks. I owe you big, my friend.”
He slammed the phone down and his head snapped towards me. My breath strangled in my lungs at the look in his eyes.
Every time I’d imagined how this moment would play out—and I had imagineda lot—there’d always been a little kernel of doubt as to whether I would succeed in gaining Fletcher Knight’s attention.
Whether I was deluding myself in this mad crush I had on my boss.
No more.
