Those Three Words: A Single Dad, Billionaire Boss Romance(22)

He pushes himself off from the doorway and takes a step toward me. For some reason, I take a step backward. He notices and steps closer. I too step back again. We repeat this little dance till my back hits the shelves and I drop the box of crackers at my feet.

He stands centimeters apart from me, towering over me as he looks down. Slowly he reaches up his hooked finger, resting it just beneath my chin as he tips it upward.

“Why are you scared of me?” he finally says, barely above a whisper. I don’t dare speak—I don’t even blink or breathe.

He removes his finger from my chin, slowly dragging it down my neck as he wraps his fingers around the base of my throat.

“So delicate,” he says, but I don’t think he realizes he’s saying the words out loud. I don’t know what to do with my hands. My arms hang at my sides like dead fish.

I feel his other hand now as he slowly drags his fingertips up my bare thigh. My breath catches and I’m afraid it will ruin the moment, but he doesn’t stop. I don’t know what he’s doing but frankly I’m not about to refuse.

He grabs the hem of my shirt, lifting it just high enough to reveal my pale-pink panties. His eyes drop from where his hand rests around my throat to the top of my legs. His tongue darts out when he sees my panties and I can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows.

He fists my shirt in his hand, closing his eyes tightly like he’s in pain as his forehead gently rests against mine for a brief second.

“Fuck—the things I would do to you.”

He mutters the words just as he releases my shirt and throat and steps back, looking at me like I’ve somehow just burned him. He runs both hands through his hair and my eyes fall down to just below his waist where I see the outline of his growing manhood. I dart my eyes back upward, but he turns and walks out of the pantry without another word.

I slowly sink down to the floor, my mouth hanging open in confusion and shock as I absentmindedly grab the crackers and shove another handful into my mouth.

“What was that?” I whisper the words to myself as I try to make sense of what just happened.

I feel giddy, turned on, sexy—all of it. Instantly, I regret not making a move. What would he have done if I had reached out and touched him? If I’d reached up onto my tippy-toes and kissed him?

I put the box away and quietly make my way back up to my room, throwing myself on my bed as I lie back and let my mind fantasize how that interaction would have ended if things had gone further.

I slip my fingers into my panties and feel wetness already soaking through them just from the few seconds of that interaction.

This man just might completely and utterly destroy me.





8





GRAHAM





I should have kissed her.

No. I shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have even looked at her.

And what the hell was I thinking muttering those thoughts out loud. At least I didn’t actually let slip what was running through my head—images of dropping to my knees and burying my face in her sweet, wet pussy.

I’ve spent the better part of the last two days replaying that little moment in the pantry over and over again in my head. I made sure the next morning I was gone to the office downtown long before Margot was awake and I made sure when I came home, I shut myself in my office and tiptoed around my own damn house like a coward just to avoid her.

What the hell was I thinking?

Clearly, I wasn’t, but in that moment, I felt completely helpless and defenseless against my own desires to reach out and feel her. It’s like every little crumb of interaction between us fuels this burning desire in me to take her, to claim her.

I stare out the window of my high-rise office. The cars below me look like toys, the people scurrying through the streets of Chicago like ants.

I know that if I don’t get a handle on this craving, I’m going to snap and do something that will fuck everything up. Despite how much she might annoy me and despite now having a cat in my house because of her, I can’t risk losing her as a nanny. She’s good for Eleanor. Bridgette, the last nanny, was efficient, but she didn’t have the connection that Margot has. When I watch Margot with Eleanor, it’s like what I imagined it would have been like seeing her own mother with her.

I shove my hands in my pockets, lost in thought when I hear the buzzer on the intercom.

“Mr. Hayes, there’s a Mr. Dorsey on the line for you.”

I turn and walk back to my desk. “Thank you, Olivia,” I say into the intercom before picking up the receiver.

“Warren.”

“Haven’t heard from you, Graham. You avoiding me?” The raspy voice of Warren Dorsey instantly puts me in a bad mood. If I really were Bruce Wayne, Warren Dorsey would be the super villain in our version of Batman.

“Just busy, Warren. You know how business can be.” Not many—or really anyone for that matter—can intimidate me or make me uneasy, except Warren Dorsey. We’re both powerful men with more money than most, but unlike him, I’m not willing to wield my power and funds for evil. This man has no qualms whatsoever about destroying someone, even me.

“Thought you might be backing out of our dinner on Thursday.”

“Well, I never actually agreed to go to dinner if you recall. I said I’d consider it. I have to admit, your demanding text message made me bristle a little at the idea of actually attending.” The line is silent for a moment.