Ruthless Greek Boss, Secretary Mistress. ABBY GREEN

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Aristotle sat down on a springy couch under the window and watched as Lucy went to the phone on the other side of the room and made the call, turning her back firmly to him. He tried to bank down the intense surge of desire even her back was igniting within him and thought back to the function.

      She’d been a surprisingly pleasurable and easy date, offering intelligently insightful comments on more than one person, showing snippets of dry humour. At one point she’d caught him off-guard entirely, when she’d seamlessly switched to accentless and fluent French. He’d become accustomed to people saying they were multi-lingual and meaning they had the basics, like hello and goodbye. Something dark lodged in his chest. He’d also been inordinately aware of the keen male interest she’d generated and how seemingly oblivious she’d been to it. He wasn’t used to that.

      Fighting the sudden surge of something very primal, he let his eyes drift down over her body and long legs; a vivid image exploded into his head of the moment her dress had split. He wondered how those legs might feel wrapped around his waist as he thrust deeper and deeper into her slick heat. Arousal was immediate and uncomfortable. He shifted on the seat, and even the evident relief in Lucy’s voice when she got through to the cab company did little to dampen it.

      When Lucy put the phone down, she could finally turn and look her boss in the eye. Escape was imminent. She just had to make some small talk. ‘Ten minutes for the cab.’ She sat down gratefully in the chair beside the phone, relief making her feel weak. She was still clutching the torn dress over her legs, hanging on to it like a lifeline.

      Aristotle leant forward and put down his coffee cup. He had an intense gleam in his green eyes. ‘We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in Athens.’ He looked around her apartment, and then back to her. ‘I thought this might be a good opportunity to get to know each other a little better.’

      Something treacherously like disappointment rushed through Lucy, but everything within her rejected it. Had she been so blind? Had she truly suspected for a moment that Aristotle had been rushing her up here to try and make love to her? She felt very brittle all of a sudden.

      ‘Of course. I mean, I could…’ She racked her brain. Evidently she had to find some way of giving some information to Aristotle, so he didn’t feel as if he had to follow her up to her apartment to talk to her. ‘I could fill out a questionnaire…?’

      He arched a brow.

      ‘A personal questionnaire…if you want to get to know more…about my history.’ A leaden weight made her feel heavy inside. She’d become an expert at putting a glamorous spin on her life with her mother. On her history. Glossing over the reality.

      But Aristotle was shaking his head and standing up, coming towards her. He came and stood right in front of her, and Lucy realised that she was in a very vulnerable position, her eye level at his crotch. She stood too, so suddenly that she swayed, and Aristotle put out his hands to steady her. They were on her waist. Immediately it was an invasion of her space—especially when she was so self-conscious about her body.

      With one hand she tried to knock him away but his hands were immovable. Her other hand was still clinging onto her dress with a death grip. She looked at him and her brain felt hot, fuzzy. He was too close. She could smell his fresh citrusy scent, mixed in with something much more male, elemental. All she could see were his eyes; all she could feel were those hands, like a brand on her body.

      He was talking. She tried to concentrate on his words.

      ‘…more along the lines of this…’

      And then, as realisation exploded inside her, Aristotle’s head was coming down, closer and closer. Everything went dark as his mouth covered hers, warm and firm and so exotic that she couldn’t move.

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