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Still, seeing that scruff day after day didn’t prepare me for the sensation of it against my palm. For a moment, I simply get lost in the feel of it prickling against my skin. Until he speaks.
“Savannah…” My name comes out like a prayer. His raspy voice pitched lower than normal.
I pull my gaze from his cheeks up to his eyes, but I say nothing, because it feels like anything I say will only break the spell.
And I don’t want to be the one to do that.
If the spell breaks, it’s going to have to be by him.
He clears his throat. “Savannah, this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?” I know all the reasons it’s a bad idea on my end and none of them are enough to keep me from wanting it, anyway.
“I’m your boss, for starters.”
“You’re not. Martin is my boss.”
“There’s still a power dynamic I’m not comfortable with.”
“Because of the money?”
He just nods.
“Bad news, buddy. As far as I can tell, you’re insanely rich. If you’re going to limit yourself to sleeping with women who have as much money as you do, your dating pool just got miniscule.”
His lips twitch. “That’s not what I meant. Even if I’m not your boss, you still depend on me for money. Your salary comes from my estate. And I know—”
He cuts himself off, and I get the feeling he’s on the verge of saying that he knows how desperately I need my salary. I don’t like the way that makes me feel or the resentment it stirs up in me. Not at him. None of this is his fault. But I still resent being this poor when I thought I was doing everything right.
Moreover, I don’t want to be thinking about my poverty or Blake or my fucked up finances right now.
It’s a splash of bitters in an otherwise perfectly balanced drink.
Besides I’m tired of letting Blake have any say in my life. Of letting what he did control my fate.
“However, badly you think I need the money, I need it less badly than I did six months ago. I could quit tomorrow and I would be so much better off than I was before I took this job. I could quit tonight if that’s what you need.”
His eyes flash at the phrase what you need. His gaze moves over my face, taking in every aspect of my expression, as if he’s searching for answers.
“That’s not what I meant,” he murmurs.
It’s not an answer. Not really. It’s not a yes. It’s not consent. But it’s enough for me. I shift on the sofa, swinging one leg over him to straddle his hips, slowly lowering myself down, giving him plenty of time to say no. He doesn’t.
His eyes flash again, but with something darker. He releases my hand to settle both of his palms on my hips. Pulling me forward just enough, so the apex of my thighs comes in contact with the long hard ridge of his cock.
“Savannah.”
He says it like it’s the beginning of a sentence, like there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t. I give him space to say more. When he doesn’t, I lower my mouth to his.
Chapter Seventeen
Ian
* * *
I like to think of myself as a logic man. A man of above average intelligence. A man who has at least a modicum of control over his actions.
Yeah. That’s what I like to think.
