Page 2 of Spiral Lies

Stop staring.

My brain gives the command, but my eyes refuse to move away from him. He's sex on legs with his shirt on. Without it, I'm pretty sure there are entire volumes of poetry written about his physique.

Jesus Christ.

"I need a new shirt," he growls.

"Clearly." I make no move to go find him one. I'm busy not ogling him. "Uh, why do you need a new shirt?"

"Spilled my goddamn coffee," he grunts, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. His cerulean eyes lock on me. "Can you find me something suitable for this meeting with the athletic department?"

"Uh-huh. Sure can." My feet aren't moving.

"Now, Seraphina," he says, his eyes boring into me like he can drill the command into my brain.

I move so fast, I lose my balance, tripping into the side of his desk. A stack of files topples over, sliding toward the floor.

"Shit. I'm so sorry." I immediately hit my knees in front of him to scoop them up, my cheeks burning. Why am I always such a mess around him? He looks at me, and I turn into a one-woman tornado.

I refuse to consider precisely why he makes me feel so out of sorts. I'd rather choke myself out with his whistle.

"Shirt," he growls, jerking away when my hand bumps his rock-hard thigh. His jaw pulses again. "Now, Seraphina. Just leave the fucking files."

My shoulders droop, frustration churning through me. I swear, everything I do pisses him off.

The feeling is entirely mutual, though probably not for the same reasons. Mine is equal parts sexual frustration and pure annoyance. His is all annoyance. I've gotten on his last damn nerve since I started as his executive assistant six months ago, for reasons that still remain a mystery to me.

"Shirt, right," I mutter, scrambling to my feet. I bump into the desk again, sending another file raining down to the floor.

His sigh is loud enough to vibrate my bones.

I hurry out into the main office without looking back. I do not need to see the irritation carving grooves around his mouth. I can feel it burning holes in my back, thank you very much.

I find a shirt for him in the supply closet, wedged between extra uniforms and a jock strap that looks like it's probably been used. There's a suspicious stain right in the center of the crotch. Could be sweat. Might be jizz. Who knows?

I carry the shirt back to his office, mentally steeling myself for the sight of him without one again.

It hits just as hard the second time.

I swear to God, it should be illegal for a man as grouchy as him to be that damn hot.

"Here." I shove the shirt toward him, already turning on my heel. "And your schedule is…" I freeze, my gaze darting toward the mess of files he's trying to reorganize. His schedule is in there. Somewhere. There's no stopping the heavy sigh that removes every atom of air from my lungs. "I'll reprint it."

"Already got it." He holds it up between two fingers.

"Oh. Cool. Um…then I'm going back to my desk."

"Wait."

I stop, twitching where I stand.

He grabs another sheet of paper, lifting it. "What the fuck is MASH?"

No.

No, no, no.

"What?" I ask like I don't already know, my mouth suddenly bone-dry.