Temptation In The Boardroom. Paula Roe

      When he deposited her on the sidewalk outside Harrison’s building once more, she thanked him and told him to go home. “I may be a while.”

      Derrick nodded. “Call me if you change your mind.”

      She was out of her mind. Setting her jaw, she entered the building through the side entrance. The door required a thumb scan to get in but Harrison had taken care of that for her last week when she’d had to come collect some documents for him. She rode the whisper-quiet elevator to the penthouse, heart pounding in her ears.

      The doors of the elevator swished open. The apartment was eerily silent as she moved through the entrance way and into the living room. The precious artwork glowed silently on its perfect cream backdrop. No Harrison.

      His study was in darkness. A glow from the terrace suggested he was there. She walked through the living room and stepped outside. Harrison was standing at the railing, looking out at the skyline. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she walked toward him. He turned around, frowning. “Did I forget to give you something?”

      “No.” Her knees betrayed just the slightest wobble as she took the last few steps toward him. “I just—” Her voice trailed off. Just what? What the heck was she doing here?

      She came to a stop in front of him. Her gaze rose to his. He was as tall and commanding as ever, as stomach-clenchingly beautiful, but the tormented look dominated now. It emanated from every pore of him, blanketing her in his desperation. She pulled in a breath.

      “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

      The shadows in his face darkened. “I told you I was fine. Go home, Francesca.”

      “But you aren’t.” The words spilled from her mouth. “Ever since Leonid agreed to the deal, you’ve been off.”

      “I’m fine.”

      She frowned. “It’s what we’ve been working toward. I thought you would be happy.”

      “I am happy.” The emotion vibrating in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. He turned to look at the skyline again. “It’s none of your concern, Francesca. Go home. I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

      She stood her ground, legs shaking now. For a man who claimed to feel little emotion it was written in every taut muscle of his body. In the rigid column of his back, his neck. In the barely leashed confusion that surrounded him. It reached out and wrapped itself around her, pulling her toward him.

      “Sometimes,” she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm, “the things we want the most, the things we think are going to make us feel better, don’t. Can’t because they were never the solution in the first place.”

      He spun to face her, dislodging her hand. Antagonism poured off him in waves. “Nailing Anton Markovic to the ground is going to make me feel better, Francesca. Much better. Make no mistake about it.”

      Her heart thudded against her rib cage. “Then why? Why are you like this?”

      “Because I have too much going on in my head.” He practically yelled the words at her. “This is not another case of you saving the day, Francesca. It’s far more complex than one of your little sermons can fix.”

      Her stomach lurched. “I didn’t suggest that.”

      His mouth curled. “Go.”

      “I won’t leave you like this.”

      The deliberate way he looked at her made her pulse buzz in her ears. “You would be very wise to do so,” he suggested in a low, deep voice that made her insides liquefy. He lifted a finger and dragged it across her cheek, watching as she shivered in reaction. “Otherwise I will do what I was aching to do in the car and drown myself in this. And I think we’ve both agreed it’s an unacceptable result.”

      His touch felt like fire on her skin. The kiss from London sizzled through her head, beckoning her on to sure destruction. They were like hot and cold fronts converging in a storm it seemed impossible to outrun.

      But he was her boss. She loved her job. She really must go.

      He slid his thumb down to her lips, his gaze holding hers as he traced the trembling outline of her mouth. “Go, Francesca. You’re the only thing making me feel alive right now. If you don’t, I can’t be responsible for what happens next.”

      Run, her sensible side commanded, hurting man or not. But the other side of her, the one pulsing with an awareness of him so strong it made her mouth dry, wanted him to drown himself in her. Wanted to experience that type of passion. Because he made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt in her life. Being the center of his attention was hypnotizing.

      The tremor in his hand as he stroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip made her heart turn over. She couldn’t go.

      His dark gaze glittered. “Out. Now.”

      “No.”

      The word hung on the air between them, defiant and crystal clear. She watched the control fizzle in his eyes at the same time he reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth. He pressed his lips to her palm in an openmouthed kiss, as if tasting her very essence. Her pulse ran wild.

      “You have five seconds to leave,” he murmured. “Or you don’t.”

      She closed her eyes as he pressed another kiss to her palm. Counted out the seconds in her head. His soft curse split the night air.

       “Francesca.”

      She brought his hand to her mouth. Found his palm with her lips. He tasted hot, salty and hedonistically male. She wondered if he’d experienced the same stomach-churning intensity of it. The way he went completely still said he might have.

      He let her play for a while, to know him. Then he curled his fingers around her wrist and brought her the two steps forward he needed to let her feel the heat his tall frame emanated.

      “You’re sure?”

      She nodded. His fiery, conflicted gaze scoured her face. “I won’t take an innocent.”

      “I’m not.” She didn’t need to tell him there had only ever been one, awkward and disappointing as the sex had been.

      The warm night air heated up around them, like it was catching fire, too. He slid his fingers into her French twist and started pulling pins out. The buzz in her ears was so loud she couldn’t hear them hit the concrete, one by one. She should have been terrified with what little she had to bring to this insanity. Instead she trusted him on a level she didn’t understand.

      He pulled out the final pin. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. He lifted a hand and fingered a silky strand, a curious look on his face.

      “What?”

      “I can’t figure you out,” he murmured. “Honest, fearless, unsure of yourself at times yet so sure of so many things on a bigger life level.” He wrapped a chunk of her hair around his finger and let it slide through his hand. “It’s why Leonid asked you that question tonight. Because the essence of you is good. It emanates from you.”

      Her lips pursed. “It’s the way I was brought up. I don’t know any different.”

      “I do.” He bent his head and put his mouth to the hollow between her neck and shoulder. “You don’t seem real to me.”

      She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. But then it didn’t matter as she abandoned herself to the sensations his lips were evoking on her skin, the warm slide of his mouth across her heated flesh sending sparks to every inch of her body. He savored the hollow he’d found, pulled every reaction out of her with his lips and teeth. The arch of her neck, her soft sighs, guided him. More. He set his hand to her jaw, moved it to the other side and did the same masterful job to the matching sweet spot between her left shoulder and