Avoiding Mr. Right (17 page)

He stumbled and fell against her. Whether on purpose or accident, the hand on her
waist made a bold move upward to her breast.

“Whoa there.” Her reaction was swift but futile. The man was strong and his hand determined.
A zing of desire shot through her when his fingers found her nipple through her jacket.
“We—uhhh.” His thumb pressed against her, drawing her to a tight peak. What had she
been going to say? With Herculean effort, she pushed his hand down to rest at her
waist. He stumbled again. “Are you drunk?”

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand into her hair. Of course he was drunk.
He'd just fondled his assistant. To prevent him from falling, she wrapped her arm
around his hips. If she could get him into his private elevator and upstairs, he should
be okay.

“We’re almost there.”

“Your hair smells good.” He nuzzled her ear and sniffed. “Like rain and sunshine.”

“Well, I did just switch shampoos.”

This night had shot from a four to a seven on her bizarre meter. He was so close and
felt entirely too good pressed against her.

She tilted her head away from him, trying to dislodge his face from her hair, but
he stuck to her like Velcro. As they stopped in front of the elevator, she had to
lean into him in order to press the button, which brought them face-to-face.

Eyes the color of toffee peered back at her. Oh man, he was so gorgeous he scattered
her thoughts.

Her finger flailed against the cool metal plate until she found the 'up' button. She
punched the up arrow but didn’t lower her hand because he stroked her arm. She should
protest but that would require coherent thought and the ability to form sentences.

His fingers slid from her wrist, along her forearm, and under her elbow, sending tingles
rippling across her shoulders. Her breath hitched as her arm hovered in the air, afraid
if she moved he’d stop touching her. His gaze caressed her face and heat blossomed
up her neck. Was he going to kiss her? He looked like he was going to kiss her. He
shouldn’t kiss her.
Please God, let him kiss me.

Her conscience shouted, “He’s your boss! And he might possibly be liquored up!”
from somewhere in the back of her mind. Screw that. Toreas Stephanos was feeling her
up finally and she was totally going with it. With a mental kick, she slammed the
door on her pesky scruples.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open just as he leaned in. Instead of giving
her the much-anticipated kiss, Tor wrapped his hands around her arms and backed her
into the confined space. His eyes never left hers and his mouth teased, lingering
an inch from her lips.

But he didn’t kiss her. Damn him.

He crowded her into the elevator until she bumped against the back wall. The sleek
handrail that ran around three sides of the car pressed into her back. The entire
length of his torso lay against her, and she could feel every curve, every dip…and
every bulge of his body. Even
she
couldn’t misread the message. He wanted her.

The doors shut, but the elevator didn’t move.

“I don’t have the spare keycard.” Her voice cracked. “Do you have yours?”

“It’s in my pocket.” A wicked smile spread across his mouth, and he placed a hand
on either side of her head against the wall. “Find it.”

Nikki swallowed hard. “Umm no. ”

He tilted his head, his gaze drilling into hers. “Yes.”

Since the day Tor had interviewed her for the job, she’d dreamed about fondling his
tight rear end, and now she’d been handed a
grope all you want
pass. But she really needed to resist the temptation. She shuddered to think what
this
morning after might look like, fairly certain it would include a pink slip for date
raping her drunk boss. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I do.”

This was getting her nowhere. Without his cooperation, she wouldn’t be able to get
him to the penthouse. No assistant should have to endure this much temptation. If
she got him in bed—unmolested—she’d deserve a raise.

Her touch was tentative at first, like finally trying on the thousand-dollar pair
of shoes in the store window she’d always admired but unsure if they’d be as awesome
as she imagined. She needn’t have worried.

Her hands glided across the firm plains of his backside. Sweet baby Jesus, he was
built. Her fingers itched to squeeze the tight cheeks and pull him against her, but
she only just remembered she was searching for his security card. “You don’t have
any back pockets.”

“Don’t I?” He ground his hips against her pelvis, and his voice rumbled against her
chest. “You’d best check the front ones.”

This was not happening. Her super hot boss who'd never shown an ounce of interest
in her before tonight was
not
urging her to feel up his merchandise in the company elevator. No way. But what if
he was? What was she going to do about it? She needed to find his key card and get
him to his suite of rooms upstairs, that's what. Clearly he had drunk more than she
remembered, and they'd both be embarrassed in the morning.

Her hands slid along his hips and into the front pockets of his pants. She squeezed
her eyes shut and leaned forward, bending her elbows in order to wedge her fingers
into the constricted compartments. The small space separating them shrunk. Their lips
brushed but didn’t fully make contact.

His topaz gaze caught hers again and wouldn't let go. Silently they both weighed what
was about to happen, his fist gripping her blouse and pulling her even closer.

She dove deeper, kind of searching for the keycard, but mainly hoping for a gratuitous
feel of his manhood, if she were being honest.

The man was pure perfection. Her hand bumped the rigid line of his erection, eliciting
a low growl from him, and all thoughts of resisting morphed in an all-consuming need
she couldn't fight any longer. She schooled the impulse to wrap her leg around his
waist and grind like a teenager at prom. If they were going to do this, and by now
she'd pretty much decided to hell with her job—she wanted this man more than her next
breath—and she didn’t want to be interrupted. With a mental shake, she swept her hands
along the inside of his pockets.

“There’s no key in your front pockets either,” she whispered against his mouth.

He leaned back a fraction, removing his creeping hand from her ribs, and extracted
the card from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Oh, here it is.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You knew it was there all the time.”

Without denying her accusation, he twisted to swipe the card along the security pad
and pressed P. The only time she’d ever been to his penthouse was to drop off dry
cleaning or files that needed to be signed. The visits had been brief, and she’d always
been alone. Not this time.

The elevator hummed and eased upward. He faced her, their eyes locking. This was it,
the moment she’d been dreaming about since the day she’d met Toraos Stephanos.

The million reasons why she shouldn’t make out with her boss now the furthest thought
from her mind. Screw it all. She'd start combing the want ads in the morning, but
tonight she was going to finally find out what it meant to be fucked by a god.

And right now she wanted that kiss. She rose onto her tiptoes to meet his lips halfway.

Imagination had nothing on the real thing.

At first touch, electricity ignited through her body, crackling along her skin and
making the hair on her arms tingle. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the recessed
lights above flicked. Wow, it was like Mardi Gras in her mouth.

She gasped and his tongue swept in, effectively driving every sane thought from her
head as an unbearable sweetness coated her tongue. No wonder Demetria hadn’t wanted
to share the wine from the golden bottle; it made the red she and Creed had been drinking
taste like vinegar.

A euphoric haze stole through her mind, lighting every nerve in her body. It was as
if Tor had morphed into one of those Hindu gods with all those arms. His hands were
everywhere, God bless him, fondling her breasts, stroking her back, and massaging
her butt, seemingly all at the same time.

She gripped his ass and pulled him against her. When that wasn’t satisfying enough,
she attempted a leg wrap, but the confining material of her skirt halted her vigorous
attack, snapping her leg back down. Damn her sensible work clothes.

Tor broke their kiss and twisted, smashing the emergency stop
button with his fist. The elevator lurched to a halt, throwing Nikki against him.
His fingers pulled at the pins in her hair and loosened the tight bun. She gave a
little shake of her head, sending the straight tresses cascading over her shoulders.

Next, Tor’s exploration moved to the buttons of her jacket, pulling until it fell
open to expose her clinging camisole to his touch. Cool air from the vent swept around
her but was instantly warmed by the heat of his body.

She knew she should stop this—they were making out in the company
elevator.
There might even be security cameras in here. But then he kissed her and all coherent
thoughts of propriety and modesty evaporated like a fog on a warm summer morning.
She couldn't care less right now if this moment ended up on YouTube tomorrow. Maybe
she'd become an internet sensation: How To Screw Your Boss Into Delirium. Totally
worth it.

His hands glided up her waist, over her breasts, and along her shoulders to push the
jacket off. The coat dropped to the floor, and she gave it a quick kick into the corner.
His lips found hers again, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. She threaded her fingers
through the strands of his thick hair, relishing the silkiness.

His sensual attack traveled downward, along her neck and collarbone. Moist kisses
were followed by the tickle of breath brushing against her sensitive skin. He traced
the top of her green camisole with his fingertips.

“I’ve always wondered what you hid under those proper jackets.” His finger hooked
he thin strap and pulled it over her shoulder to expose one of the bright-green lace
cups of her push-up bra. “Ah, more layers.”

“Really? You’ve always wondered?” She brushed the hair away from his face so she could
watch his movements. “Because you never seemed interested before tonight.”

“Then I was a fool.” He laid several kisses along the swell of her breast before dipping
his fingers beneath the delicate material to pull it down and expose her nipple. “That’s
what I’ve been looking for.”

“Are you sure you haven’t drunk too much? Maybe your wine was stronger than mine.”

He didn’t answer, only gave her a low moan of satisfaction.

Her breathing became labored, and her back arched toward him, needing to feel his
lips on her body. The moist drag of his tongue rasped across her nipple. She watched
him pull back and blow, the pink bud tightening into a painful nub, and a surge of
desire spiraled to her core.

He lowered his head again, drawing her nipple into his mouth. A moan mixed with panting
escaped her. When his hand drifted to remove the other shoulder strap, she reached
over and practically ripped the camisole off.

“Too slow,” she panted. Her head lolled against the smooth panel of the back wall
and her eyes closed.

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he continued his assault. With each tug of his
mouth, a delicious ache surged between her legs. His lips traveled to the other breast,
pulling away the lace and laving her nipple with equal attention. She tightened the
grip on his hair, guiding him, demanding more. He complied. “You taste like wine,”
he said, his voice vibrating against her breast.

“It’s the wine I spilled.”

“I like it.”

After several minutes of mindless bliss from his mouth, Tor knelt to caress her calves,
his fingers drifting up and under her skirt and gathering the material. His gaze captured
hers, burning into her. The beat of her heart quickened. He had a way of making her
feel like the sexiest woman on earth right now. All of this was almost too good to
believe—though she'd dreamed of it a million times.

"God, you smell good." He nuzzled against her stomach, drawing in a deep breath. "I
need you—need to touch all of you, Nikki."

Fine with her—no, not fine, but then he touched her again. She couldn't have brought
herself to stop him if she'd wanted to—which she didn't. The skirt hitched around
her upper thighs and she was suddenly very happy all her comfy cotton panties had
been in the laundry.

Tor leaned in and kissed her inner thigh. She brushed the hair away from his face
so she could see every sweet thing he did to her. His tongue swept upward, drawing
gloriously close to where she wanted him to focus his attention. She shifted and widened
her stance—just in case they had the same idea.

His fingers stroked up the back of her thighs and around the inside to lightly brush
the junction between her legs. Sweet mother of pearl, she was ready to jump out of
her skin. The worry of later consequences ghosted through her mind, but when Tor’s
hands slid over her rear end and hooked his fingers at the waistband of her lacy undies
to drag them down, the worries vanished. The garment pooled around her ankles and
she kicked it free, adding it to her jacket in the corner.