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"Looks like you're already making yourself at home," a voice says, breaking my thoughts.
My heart nearly leaps through my throat as I hear a voice coming from directly behind me. I look up and whip my head around to see who it is, and I come face to face with him.
It's Ethan Kane.
Ethan
She's up to something. You don't stay in someone's office uninvited, and look through their things unless you have a reason.
Look at her. Standing there nose deep in my family pictures. What's she looking for, and what was she expecting? I'm sure she's guessed those are my parents. Women always want me to bring them home—to meet mom, and maybe shake hands with dad. Maybe that's what Brittney was hoping for too. What she doesn't fucking know is that they died years ago.
I can't help but notice the angle of her body. She's bent over ever so slightly, her firm and fuckable heart-shaped ass taunting me in that dress. My eyes travel further down to her legs, toned and slender, they seem to go forever. I definitely have a thing for heels, and hers seem to be a solid five inches.
For some fucking reason the fact that she's here doesn't even bother me. If I had caught any other person snooping around my office uninvited, I would've thrown them out—in fact, no one at this company would've been caught dead doing that.
But Brittney is different.
There's something about her that draws me in and keeps me there. I swear I'm like a paperclip flying into a magnet when I'm around this woman.
What the fuck is wrong me? I'm Ethan fucking Kane, and I definitely don't keep women. I fuck 'em. Move on. Repeat. So what is it about this one that keeps me coming back?
"Looks like you're already making yourself at home," I say, breaking her concentration. She's so into these pictures that she doesn't even realize that I'm standing directly behind her.
I swear she jumps about six fucking inches in the air. I'm pretty sure I saw her heels lift up off the floor. She whips her head back to see me and she stumbles into my chest. A tinge of embarrassment flushes across her cheeks.
By instinct, I reach out to steady her and my hands rest on her waist. Why is it that's the first thing I grab on a woman? There's a thrill of electricity that goe
s through me when I realize I'm touching her. I'm literally holding her in my hands. It takes me right back to her audition—her on my lap—my hands on her hips, her ass, her breasts.
I'm so distracted by the fact that I have her hips in each of my hands that I forget what I even wanted to say. My mind's erased everything prior to this moment.
"I—uh—I was hoping to find you," she says. "These are great photos."
"Those are my parents. They're dead."
"I'm so sorry," she says.
"Don't be. It happened years ago."
The way she's looking at me right now makes me want to press my lips to hers. I want to take her over my shoulder in animalistic lust. I'm already mentally undressing her. Can you blame me?
It takes me a moment to remember that we're both standing here in my office. Her hand is on my chest, and she keeps it there. My heartbeat increases with anticipation.
I should let go of her hips—I should walk away—maybe help her out of the building and into her car or something. I'm now her employer. This should be the one woman I don't go for—she's an Illicit Entertainment employee now. I have enough of those women around here. And yet …
But I don't move. For some reason, I remain in that position. I can't seem to help myself. There's a moment of silence before I speak.
"I see you like the parents, but what about this mug shot?" I ask with a smile, pointing to my face.
"Not bad, I suppose," she says with a smirk. "Those lips of yours are looking especially delicious right now." As she says this, she brings one hand up to my face and brushes her fingers across my bottom lip, tracing its edges. My cock twitches at her advancement. I'm already growing hard under her slight touches.
"You'd be surprised what these lips can do," I say.
"You think so?"
"I know so," I reply, my eyes locked on hers. Our gaze intensifies, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next. The room feels at least ten degrees hotter.
"Are you flirting with me?" she asks. It's a loaded question. I can tell by the smile on her face.
