One Bossy Offer (64)

I grab my coffee cup and take a swig.

It’s gone cold and gross, just like my life.

I’m about to sign out of the company chat and drag myself home when my chat window pings.

I don’t need to look at the message to know who it is.

Who else has to message me after nine?

My office. Now.

I bite my lip.

Who does he think he is?

I should just ignore it and escape while I can. The well-behaved Miles I spoke with earlier is gone, but tearing into him feels weirdly satisfying right now.

So I pack up, throw my bag over my shoulder, and march to the executive elevator.

This time, when the elevator stops, the floor is empty.

A couple of security lights are still on, illuminating the way to the brighter hazy glow of his office.

Onward I go, my knees pulsing with every step.

I swing open the door without knocking.

“What do you want?” I’m trying to sound brave, but the fight goes out of me the instant I step inside and he overwhelms my senses.

Everything about this office screams Miles Cromwell.

It’s imposing and sleek and it smells just like him.

Earth and pine and obscene masculinity. Testosterone so thick I feel the hairs on my neck standing up.

It may look like a lavish office, but it feels like walking into a cave bear’s den.

The floor-to-ceiling window dwarfs the one in my office. His desk dominates the center of the room, white marble and walnut, and the landscape paintings on the walls demand respect.

And at the center of this universe, standing too wide, is its ruler.

Silver-blue eyes razor through me.

His lip curls slightly and his nostrils flare. If you blink, you’d miss it, but I can practically hear him inhaling me.

Oh, God.

All that’s missing is his spear of a tongue flicking over his lips to complete the predator look.

“Well?” I force out, throwing my hands on my hips.

“We need to talk about the unprofessional turn this work relationship has taken.”

“Oh, is that all? It’s only like the hundredth time that’s happened. For a minute, I thought you might’ve summoned me here to talk about work.”

He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him time to fire back.

“Dude, if you want to give me a lecture, save it. Our relationship—work relationship—” Dammit. “—it’s never been professional. How could it be? You’re obsessed with my land and you think just because you’re a billionaire and you knew my grandmother, you’re somehow entitled to everything. But you aren’t. Everything you’ve done since we met was a calculated move to convince me to sell the place. The only thing you’ve succeeded in doing is making me hate you more.”

He’s quiet for a heavy second that shreds me.

“You hate me?” His question comes out raw.

Vulnerable.

Oh.

Maybe I’ve been too harsh, laying the sarcasm on thick.

“...well... how would you feel if every interaction with you was so mechanical? A means to an end, and nothing more.”

“That’s fucking absurd,” he growls, his eyes flaring. “Mechanical? Nothing could be further from the truth. Was it mechanical when you moaned in my mouth?”

Crap.

He just had to go there.

I want to laugh like the crazy woman he makes me, but there are tears in my eyes.

He kissed me—really kissed me—and that was still about the freaking inn.

...wasn’t it?

“But last time, when you ambushed me on the street... That was about Bee Harbor. You were afraid she’d buy it, or I’d find a way around this stupid rule giving you first dibs.”

With a low sound that’s more animalistic frustration than sigh, he steps around his desk, moving closer, cornering me.

“Goddammit, Jenn, that had nothing to do with your land and everything to do with the woman trying to sink her claws into it. If you won’t believe me, I’ll sign an amendment waiving my option on Bee Harbor now. I don’t care if you sell it to Paul fucking Bunyan the handyman for a dollar or even the fucking tooth fairy. That’s not what this is about anymore. I just can’t have you selling to her.”

I’m so blindsided it takes real effort to find words.

“No? I just... I don’t understand. If you’re not hellbent on buying it, what’s the problem? What are you keeping from me—or keeping me from?”

He stalks closer like the panther he is, his massive shoulders squared and his eyes riveted to me.

I swallow thickly.

He’s so tall, so broad, a boulder chiseled into manly elegance.

Something about the feral way he watches me brings me back to that messy, soul-branding kiss.

But that’s not what this is.

That’s not what I should care about.

That’s not what I’m aching for in my core, hollow and pleading, asking him with everything but words to let me feel him just one more time.

What the frick is wrong with me?

“Miles? What is this about?”

“You,” he answers. His steely eyes soften, and so does his voice. The tender edge leaves me bristling. “What else could it ever be about, Jenn? I still can’t get that kiss out of my head—and woman, I’ve tried.”