Page 31 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

“My turn for what?”

“To say something personal.” She arched an eyebrow, challenging me.

God help me, I couldn’t resist a challenge.

“My mother used to make me practice ballroom dance,” I said. “Every Saturday, from the time I was six. She said every gentleman knew how to dance.”

“Is that why you’re so good at it?” Her tone was teasing, but something in her eyes had gone very soft.

I shrugged. “I hated every minute. She’d correct my posture, my timing, the way I held my partner. She said I’d never be a gentleman if I couldn’t lead with confidence.”

“And did you ever-?”

“Become a gentleman?” I finished. “Doubtful.”

She shook her head, smiling widely now. “No, I was going to ask if you ever liked it.”

I paused, letting the question sit. “Not until recently.”

The room went very quiet.

She reached up and pulled her hair back, her skirt riding scandalously high. “I’m sorry if dancing with me brought all that back.”

I almost laughed. “You have it exactly backwards. Dancing with you made it all worthwhile.”

She didn’t respond, not verbally. But she stood, came around the desk and reached across the space between us to place her hand on my forearm. The contact was feather-light, but it might as well have been a lightning strike. I felt my entire body go hot, pulse doubling.

She squeezed, once, and whispered, “Thank you.”

I wasn’t sure what she was thanking me for, but I nodded anyway.

There was a moment, one long enough for the consequences to flash neon in my head, where I could have pulled away, reset the boundary. Instead, I let the urge win.

I turned my hand, catching hers, and tugged her gently forward. She moved toward me, a little unsteady, and stepped between my knees, gaze fixed on my mouth.

I tilted my head up. “You don’t have to-”

She cut me off, leaning down and kissing me. Soft, sweet, nothing like the desperate, hard fantasy that had kept me up last night. Her lips were warm, her breath fast, and for a moment I let myself believe I could have this. That she wanted this as much as I did.

I pulled her closer, hands on her hips, but didn’t force her down. She stayed in control, kissing me with the kind of restraint I’d never mastered. She tasted like sweet berries, sugar, and the wine we’d shared at dinner. When she finally broke away, her cheeks were flaming, her mouth parted in surprise.

“Sorry,” she said, but there was no apology in her eyes.

“Don’t be,” I said. My voice was rough, a little wild.

She smiled, and this time it was real. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me, too,” I said, and then, because I couldn’t help myself, “You have no idea.” Just like she had no idea I was standing at attention, ready for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her into my lap and release this ache within me by burying myself inside her.

She laughed, soft and low, and leaned in again. This time, I met her halfway.

The fire burned down, the room growing darker and more private.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t thinking about consequences.

I was just thinking about her.

She relaxed into my lap, her breath tickling my chin and chest where I’d unbuttoned the top three and removed my tie. And we sat there, until after the last log had gone to embers.