Entry-Level Mistress - By Sabrina Darby Page 0,15

my shoulder as I pushed open the glass door. He was still watching me with that inscrutably dark expression on his face. A flutter went through my abdomen as I realized again how little I knew this man.

I stumbled forward, letting the door fall shut behind me.

Despite everything, I had no doubt, that tonight … tonight I would sleep with him.

Chapter 5

His chauffeur picked me up. In the Bentley. I sat in the back, running my fingers over the seams of the leather, overwhelmed by memories of the last time I’d sat there. This was unreal.

This reckless girl in her black dress and high heels being driven to the house of her boss, her enemy, the man who had ruined her life … ruined her with a kiss.

With a look across the office.

This wasn’t me.

By the time the car stopped in front of a modest-looking brownstone on the quaint, brick-lined Charles Street, the bottom floor of which was taken up by an antique shop, I wanted to run. Toward him. Away from him.

Instead I slid my leg across the seat and placed my heel on the uneven brick. The night was warm, the first hint of Boston’s usual humid summers heavy in the air. I stood, straightened my dress, thanked the driver.

There was no past anymore, only the powerful present. And there were just a few feet between me and Daniel Hartmann.

The street echoed with the indulgent noise of people enjoying a good meal, and I glanced toward the sidewalk patio of a restaurant. Its patrons seemed to sense they were being watched and they, in turn, watched me.

Watched me walk the eight steps from curb to door, which then swung open.

And there he was. Completely and unfairly gorgeous. Casual in his dress shirt, slacks and bare feet.

Well-shaped, well-tended, masculine bare feet.

“Hello,” he murmured, stepping back.

“Hello,” I returned, moving past him into the narrow hall. There was a slight breeze as the door shut behind me. While he locked it, I looked up the steep, old staircase before me, the flights winding upward. I rested my left hand on the thick, round newel post. There was nothing at all extraordinary about this hall. It hadn’t been modernized or refinished. The only thing that distinguished it from any of the brick walkups my college friends had lived in was the clean, unchipped paint.

“I wasn’t entirely certain you’d come.”

“No?” I asked, and started to turn to face him. His hand snaked around my waist, pulling my back against him, so that my hand fell to my side, brushing against his thigh. Even the slightest sensation, skin against fabric, shot through me like electricity. I loved how he was taller than me, how he folded over and around me, how I could lose myself in his touch and trust that he would hold me up.

“I wasn’t entirely certain that you should come,” he amended. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But it was hard to pay attention to the thin shred of doubt when he was lifting my hair. The feel of his fingers on my scalp was exquisite. Then his mouth found the back of my neck.

I shivered under his lips, his tongue.

Three days ago, I could never have imagined this was where I’d be, with him of all people. Held by him.

I pushed the thoughts away. Focused on his other hand splayed across my midsection, holding me in place. I lifted my own hand to cover his. To cover part of his. Then to stroke his skin. My fingertips tingled with sensation.

“Let’s go up,” he whispered and I took a step backward, up the stairs, not breaking eye contact. I smiled. He laughed and moved quickly toward me. I stepped back and up again, and again, watching him stalk me. The moment exhilarated and every inch of my skin was alive with anticipation. My heart beat fast in my chest, as if this were really a chase, as if I didn’t want him to catch me. Then he was fast, a blur of motion, pushing me against the wall and filling up my world with him and his kiss.

He let go and stepped past me. I followed him up the stairs, swiftly, nearly pulling him back down, and we played that way, pushing and pulling, kissing and breathless up the rest of the flight of stairs until we reached the top.

We tumbled into the room and I gasped, pulling away from him. The walls were covered ceiling to floor in art. Not the