Misadventures with the Boss (Misadventures #12)(25)

“Are you always going to be so clandestine about this?” he teased. “Should I call you by another name when I see you?”

Ignoring that, I said, “See you there.”

Then, turning on my heel, I made for his door, but not before he added, “When I see you there, you’d better not be wearing panties under that skirt.”

An ache of need rose between my thighs and I gave him a brief nod before striding past my desk and practically sprinting into the elevator.

Suddenly I felt like a runner racing toward the finish line, and as people shuffled in and out of the elevator car with me, I barely noticed them. All I could think was how I was going to find the nearest bathroom to slide off my tiny black thong…and what he was going to do when he found out I’d followed his instructions.

In a flash of memory, I thought of the way he’d used my skirt as an anchor, pulling himself deeper and deeper into me. Maybe he’d do that again?

But no. Jackson didn’t seem like the sort of man who followed a routine. So far, he’d blown my mind on so many levels, my head was spinning.

The elevator dinged, and I realized I’d finally reached the ground level of the office building. Trying to act natural, I squared my shoulders and rushed toward the revolving glass doors, my heels clicking on the marble floor.

Logically, I knew nobody knew what was happening—that nobody would even blink an eye when they saw Jackson down here ten minutes from now—but somehow it all still felt illicit. Like their eyes followed me, knowing what I was about to do.

But even with the weight of all those imaginary eyes on me, I couldn’t bring myself to feel ashamed or embarrassed. Instead, I felt…well, sexy. Empowered. I held my head a little higher, imagining Jackson as he walked across the hotel lobby toward me, that hunger in his eyes.

All for me.

It was crazy. Nuts, really. Completely out of character, yet somehow it felt so right.

Luckily, the walk to the hotel was a short one—it was just around the corner, so close that it was likely a happy hour favorite for the people who worked in the business district. As I walked into the lobby, though, it was clear that it wasn’t a favorite lunch spot. The hotel bar was nearly empty save a few older gentlemen sipping amber liquid from highball glasses on the edge of the bar. Briefly I debated heading over but instead settled into a booth in the far corner of the room.

Jackson wasn’t even here yet, but my heart was already racing. At this rate, I was going to drop dead of anticipation before he walked in. I was just about to head to the ladies’ room to take off my underwear and pat my hot cheeks with cool water when, too soon, I spotted him. He was striding toward me, his hands tucked lazily in his pockets, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes.

I stared at him, shaking my head in rueful disbelief. He hadn’t waited the ten minutes. In fact, it seemed like he hadn’t even waited two. But then, how could I have ever expected him to do something that was completely and totally his idea?

I should’ve been irritated. Instead, another sizzle shot through me. He was a man who marched to his own beat. Did what he wanted and took charge. The feminist in me should be totally turned off, but instead, my knees started to shake with excitement.

This guy was turning me into some sort of sexual deviant, and I had to admit, I kind of liked it.

Wordlessly, he slid into the booth beside me and then dropped one warm palm on my naked knee, searing me with the heat of his skin. The waiter approached, and Jackson ordered for us—two glasses of Cabernet. He waited until the other man’s back was turned before leaning in close to me.

“Did you follow my instructions?” he asked, though before I could reply, his fingers were snaking up the inside of my thigh, gently spreading my legs apart until he felt the rough lace of my thong.

“Oh, Piper,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“You didn’t exactly give me time,” I hissed. “What happened to waiting ten minutes?”

“I wanted to, but then I saw your ass in that skirt while you were getting on the elevator and…well, a man has needs.” He offered me his wolf’s grin, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Well, now you have to pay the price. I’m still wearing my panties, and you’re just going to have to live with it.”

He looked about ready to answer, but then the waiter reappeared with our beverages.

“Thanks so much. And we’re only here for the one, so we’ll take the check,” Jackson said with a smile.

The waiter disappeared, and so did Jackson’s smile. His heated gaze locked on to my mouth, and I could feel my nipples tighten beneath my blouse.

“Now, where were we?” he asked silkily. “Ah, I remember now. We were talking about punishment.”

“Exactly,” I said, pausing to gulp down a swallow of wine to soothe my dry throat. “The underwear is your punishment for not waiting—”

“Nope. I mean your punishment. For not doing as I asked.”

“Ridiculous,” I murmured, but I could already feel my body responding to the threat that felt way more like a promise.

“It’s an option. That’s all I’m saying,” he said with a casual shrug that belied the tension in his muscles. Dear Lord, was this man sexy. Like a tiger, all sleek, hard muscle and barely restrained power.

“And the other option?” I pressed, my voice breathy and thin.