Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss. Maisey Yates

that is where we’ll be living. And you’re going to adopt Ana legally. Which is sort of … obvious but I didn’t think of it until now and … and I’m officially panicking a little bit.”

      “Don’t,” he said, standing from his position behind the desk, his large, masculine hands planted palms down on the pristine surface. He didn’t even have the decency to look surprised that she’d burst into his office. He just looked … smooth and calm and unaffected as ever.

      It was just unfair, because her cage was well and truly rattled.

      “Don’t panic?”

      “No. There’s no need. When we divorce I’ll sign custody of Ana over to you. You have my word on that.”

      “Oh.” She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in a rush. “That does make me feel better.”

      “I thought it might.”

      “Then there’s the home study.”

      “You and Ana should move in with me. Soon.” That he said with a kind of grim determination that let her know exactly what he thought of it.

      “I can see you’re completely thrilled at the idea.”

      “I value my own space,” he said.

      “Well, as you mentioned, it’s a big house. I’m sure we won’t be on top of each other.”

      He lifted one dark brow, and horror crept over her as she realized the double meaning of her words. As she pictured just what it might be like to be on top of him.

      Or to have him on top of her.

      Her entire face heated, prickling awareness spreading over her skin. Her heart was racing and she was … turned on. And it was obvious. She was certain it was.

      She was such a dork. A side effect of spending her school years as the funny one. She didn’t know how to be smooth; she knew how to go for a joke. Another side effect of that was that guys didn’t flirt with her.

      Well, that might have also been because of the time Michael Weston had tried to make out with her at a party and had ended up cutting his tongue on her braces. No one had wanted to kiss her after that. Kissing her became a running joke, and very firmly kept her in her place as school screwup.

      Well, after that someone had made her think he wanted to kiss her, and more than that. It had all been a gag, of course. Thinking about that reduced the horror of the situation a little bit, because nothing, nothing in the history of the world, was quite as bad as meeting a guy under the bleachers after prom to … to … and having the popular kids standing by, waiting for just the right moment, waiting for the top of her prom dress to come down, for her “date” to pull her out from beneath the bleachers onto the field so they could throw eggs at her. And laugh. And take pictures of her humiliation for posterity.

      Yes, that put a woman off dating for a while.

      As a result, she wasn’t great at handling men. Unless they were more like buddies. And Dante didn’t feel like a buddy. Not even a little.

      “You know what I mean,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

      “Like what?”

      “You know,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

      “As for the parent interview …” He neatly sidestepped the moment.

      “What about it?”

      “I don’t see how it will be a problem.”

      “You may have to grow a personality between now and then.”

      “And you may want to tone yours down.”

      “Why because a fun-loving, smiley person might not make a good parent? Do I need to be a bit more dour?”

      “Are you calling me … dour?” he asked.

      “If the scowl fits.”

      “You’re going to have to keep yourself from taking shots at me in the presence of the social worker. Actually, you should probably keep yourself from taking shots at me because I’m your boss.”

      She bit her lower lip. “Yeah. Okay, that could be …”

      “And don’t bite your lip like that.” He leaned forward and extended his hand, putting his thumb on her chin, just beneath her mouth.

      She slowly released her hold on her lip, her heart pounding heavily, butterflies taking flight in her stomach and crashing around, making her insides feel jittery.

      She could only stare at him, at his incredibly handsome face, his dark, compelling eyes.

      “I’ll try not to,” she said, not sure why she agreed with him. She should be annoyed that he was being so dictatorial, and yet she found she wasn’t. But that could be because he was touching her, and men didn’t make a habit of touching her.

      It didn’t mean she didn’t want them to. It just hadn’t really happened for her for many and varied reasons. A huge reason being she was too afraid to let a moment like that happen. Because she was afraid to acknowledge she wanted it, for fear of it all being a joke again.

      “Good. You’re also going to have to work on not blushing like a schoolgirl every time I get near you.”

      “I don’t blush.” She could feel the heat creeping into her face, calling her bluff.

      “You blush more than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

      “I’m very pale. It’s hard to hide when you have no pigment to disguise it.”

      “I imagine,” he said. “Even so, if we were truly engaged we would be well past the point where I could make you blush with just the casual brush of my hands. Unless…” he said, rounding the desk, coming to stand near her. “Unless you were thinking of all the things my hands have done for you.”

      His voice changed, became rougher, more ragged. Something in his expression changed, too. Hardened. Never, ever, ever had a man looked at her like that before. Not even close.

      She wanted to say something to defuse the tension. Something funny, or random, something to break the spell. But she couldn’t. A part of her didn’t want to. She wanted to stand there, and have Dante Romani look at her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. She wanted to get closer to him, see if he was as hot as he looked. To see if the fire smoldering in his eyes would burn her.

      “I … suppose that could be a possibility.” She looked down, trying to catch her breath. But her eyes connected with his hands, and that did not help her regulate her breathing. “Subtext, right? Like when you’re acting? You make sure that even your thoughts match those of your character. And … stuff.”

      “Something like that,” he said.

      Of course to really have good subtext she would have to know exactly what he could do with his hands, and frankly, some of that information was a little hazy for her. And she was in no position to change it. Not now, not with him. And, given that she was going to be single mother of a small child for quite a few years, maybe not anytime soon.

      That had never really been her plan. But she’d been too afraid to put herself out there after the way she’d been treated. Too afraid of rejection.

      Dante picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Trevor, I need you to hire some movers. Send them to Paige’s apartment. The address is on file. Personal items only, no furniture, all of the baby supplies. It needs to be done by the end of the day.” He hit the end button on the phone and put it back in the holder on his desk.

      “Did you just … evict me?”

      “You’ll keep the apartment, for later. I assume that’s the place you’ll go back to.”

      “Yeah, I think I’ll need my home. But what’s going to happen with it in the meantime?”