Think Outside the Boss - Olivia Hayle Page 0,6

a hypothetical.”

His lips quirk again. “A hypothetical? Sure.”

“Considering you approached me, and considering what you usually do at these parties, I—”

“What you think I usually do at these parties,” he interjects. “I have the feeling a lot of it is conjecture.”

“You’re telling me you don’t participate?”

His smile turns wolfish, an eyebrow raised. “I participate.”

Nerves mixed with heady, dizzying want sweep through my stomach. What would his hand feel like higher up my leg? His lips on mine?

Am I brave enough to do this?

“Of course you do,” I say. “You’re probably in high demand.”

He reaches up with a free hand to run it through short, dark hair, thick through his fingers. “I’m rarely complimented by women.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he takes my champagne glass out of my hand and lifts it to his lips. There’s amusement in his eyes as he takes a large sip.

“Stealing my drink?”

“I think I need it more than you do.”

“I’m that challenging?”

“No,” he says, his thumb moving in a circle on my knee. “And yes. This conversation isn’t anything like the ones I’ve had at the Gilded Room before.”

“Oh.” I narrow my eyes at him. Are they all discussions about sex, then? Although I suppose that’s what we’re talking about as well, but not very directly.

“I can see you thinking again,” he says. “Strait-laced.”

I frown. “That can’t be the nickname you’re giving me.”

“Oh? What would you like me to call you?” Seeing my expression, he chuckles again. It’s just as dark as the other times. “I’ll surprise you, then.”

I clear my throat. “I still haven’t asked you my hypothetical question.”

“You were wondering if I wanted to sleep with you,” he says. “And the answer is yes.”

My throat goes dry, but I don’t look away from his steady gaze on mine. “Oh. Right. Okay.”

“I saw you across the room, the way you smiled at me, and I knew I wanted you beneath me.”

I wet my lips. “Is this more similar to how your conversations with women usually go here?”

He shakes his head. “No, they’re far more clinical.”

“Well, I suppose you rarely have to seduce anyone here,” I murmur, still reeling from his earlier words. His hand slides higher, settling around the curve of my outer thigh.

“I’m finding it enjoyable.”

“So that’s what we’re doing, then.” I trace my finger along the edge of the champagne glass, and his eyes track the movement. “Seducing one another.”

“Isn’t all conversation a form of seduction?”

“Definitely a mafia boss,” I breathe.

His surprised chuckle feels hot against my skin. “You’re welcome to think whatever you like about me.”

I put a hand on his broad chest and watch it there, my fingers flat against the strength beneath his shirt. He’s more tangibly male than the men I usually interact with, as if he’s been baked and hardened into steel. If this is what men in their thirties are like, I’ve been missing out. Or maybe it’s just the kind of men who frequent places like the Gilded Room?

“I don’t know if I’m daring enough for this,” I admit.

His smile is reassuring. “We’ll just have to try and see. Another rule of the Gilded Room is that there are no expectations.”

I slide my hand up to his neck, tentatively running my fingers across the rough, five-o’clock shadow that coats his square jaw. “There are some things we can try from the comfort of this couch.”

“I agree. But let’s get rid of this first…” He reaches up slowly, giving me time to object. I don’t, holding still as he unties the mask and slips it off my face. “There,” he murmurs. “Much better.”

We hover, nearly touching, as the sweet sensation of closeness washes over me. My eyes flutter closed as he braves the distance between us and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is competent and warm, and my body reacts to it like a flower to the sun. Heat spreads through my limbs and my mouth opens to him on a soft exhale.

His tongue sweeps across my lower lip, his hand curving around my thigh in a tight grip. My nerves melt away in the face of this, no match at all against his skill, his heat, the way my body warms.

This is the easiest thing in the world.

He lifts his head, just enough to speak. “I don’t think kissing will be an issue,” he murmurs.

I reply by kissing him again, capturing his answering chuckle against my lips. My hand slides up into his hair, the thick strands silky through my