Chapter 11

11

June

"With pleasure, Sir," Jeeves murmurs with the faintest note of relish entering his voice.

The man who insulted me tightens his lips. "You do realize this isn't the end. I'm Lord Foxley, and I promise, I will have my revenge."

"Please come with me, Sir." Jeeves escorts him out with a look that comes as close to gloating as I believe he's allowed to show on his face. If the Lord came with a plus one, they are nowhere to be seen. The crowds close behind him, and conversation resumes.

The woman with the cock-hat, looks from me to my boss. "Lucky today's bin day in the borough." She's referring to the fact that the garbage truck comes around normally every week on a day that's specific to the neighborhood. The people in our group laugh.

Another man in a black suit and tie nods in my boss' direction. "That's the second-best decision you made today, Davenport." He nods.

My boss arches an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll bite. What was the first one? "

The man smiles in my direction and his eyes twinkle. "Why, it's bringing your lovely companion to the event today and livening things up."

On the way back to my apartment, we're both quiet.

After that altercation with Lord Foxley, the rest of the event went smoothly. My boss didn't leave my side. Although, he didn't say more than a few words directly to me. The rest of his interactions were with heads of industry, and politicians, and even a few actors, all of whom he knew on a first-name basis. He kept me too busy taking notes on my phone for follow-ups for me to be awed by the company.

The silence stretches as the car glides through the night. When I shoot him a sidelong glance, it's to find his head bent as his fingers flick across his phone screen. The glow from the screen deepens the hollows under his cheekbones, and casts shadows under his eyes. It also blends the wicked scar on his cheek with the surrounding skin. For a second, I feel this is how he must have looked before he was injured in action. Perhaps, his features were softer, and he smiled more, and he believed in the future. Perhaps, he laughed more often then and had similar dreams and hopes and ambitions, the way the rest of us do. Perhaps, he was more approachable then. Only, I prefer him the way he is now. I like his coldness. I like his distance. I like how he's inaccessible when he glances at me or pays me a compliment, it means I've earned it.

Those long eyelashes hide his gaze, and his lips move as he reads something. That simple thing turns him from a god into someone more human—although, he's never looks more saturnine or more devilish than in this half-light.

"I can hear you thinking," he rumbles without lifting his gaze to mine.

Despite the distance between us—the entire width of the backseat stretches between us—the heat of his body reaches out to me. His presence is solid and larger-than-life. It's reassuring and yet, slightly threatening. If I gave an inch, he'd take over all of my thoughts and my dreams, I'm sure of that. And would that be a bad thing?

"How did you get your scar?"

He freezes. His body turns to concrete. He's so still that, but for the rise and fall of his chest and the vein that pops at his temple, he might have turned into a statue by Michelangelo—as beautiful, and as cold and unmoving. I'm sure he's going to shut me down, or perhaps even stop the car and ask me to get out, or rip into me for my temerity, but he does none of that. He simply sighs. And when his eyelashes flutter down for a few seconds, he looks vulnerable and tired, and so very weary. He lowers his hand with the phone to his side and leans his head into the back of the car.

"In Cyprus." He swallows. "I was part of the UN peacekeeping force stationed there." He lapses into silence.

I'm tempted to ask questions but perhaps, it's best to let him talk.

"It was an operation gone wrong, and then—" His phone buzzes.

It's so unexpected, I startle. He opens his eyes and raises his phone to his ear. "Bastard," he says in a mild voice.

When I wince, he flicks his gaze to my face and a look of surprise steals over him. It's as if, for a few seconds there, he forgot I was in the car with him. As if he was transported in his mind, back to the place where the incident where he'd been wounded had occurred.

"Yes, I'm headed back home. Yes, she's here with me."

I glance at him to find he's looking at me with a wary expression on his features. "That's none of your business."

The voice on the other side says something I don't quite catch. He sets his jaw. "She's my employee; I'll take care of her."

He listens then scowls. "I know what's right for her."

He listens to whatever the other person is saying, then cuts him off, "Goodnight, Connor." He tosses the phone on the seat next to him, then glowers at me. "Seems you've hypnotized my brother. He seems to think I need to be warned not to hurt you." He peers into my features. "What do you think, July?" His voice grows deeper, more commanding, "Would you hate it so much if I hurt you?"

What he's saying shouldn't make sense to me, but somehow, I know exactly what he's alluding to. It's as if he's flipped a switch and slipped into his Dom role.

"Would you, July?" In front of my eyes, he seems to grow even bigger. His shoulders seem to swell; the tendons of his throat stand out in relief. His gaze grows hooded. And when he drops his voice to a hush and murmurs, "Answer me," the power in his voice sparks a thrill in my lower belly. I shake my head.

"Say it," he orders.

"No. I wouldn't hate it," I murmur.

"In fact, you can't stop thinking of the sordid things I can do to you, am I right?" His lip curls.

A thousand tiny fires seem to light up under my skin. I don't dare reply. I don't need to, for he reads my desires and my cravings on my face.

"And if I were to ask you to sink down on your knees so I could use your mouth as an orifice for my cock, what would you do then?" He drags his gaze down my heaving chest to where I've squeezed my thighs together "Tell me, July." His bossy voice turns my nipples to bullets and sends a streak of need curling up my spine.

"I—" I swallow. "I would enjoy it."

"Good girl." His voice is gruff, and there's no mistaking the satisfaction in his eyes. I did that. I made him look at me with such approval. And it means so much to me that he's satisfied with me. It's as if I've passed some unwritten test, for his features soften. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

No one has called me beautiful before. No one. In fact, no one before this has given me as much attention as this man has. I have to earn it, but that's what makes it so special. I'll do anything to hear those words of appreciation from him, because it makes me feel so good. Only problem? Regardless of his compliments, he's made it clear that there's no possibility of a relationship between us.

I might be a damn good assistant, but ultimately, I don't mean anything to him. I need to protect my heart. I need to hold onto some iota of self-preservation. I glance away and out the window, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm your beautiful hole, I take it?"

I sense him stiffen.

"Are you being bratty, July?

"I wouldn't dream of it"—I flick him a sideways glance— "but sometimes, I do want to say and do things that make you give me your full attention... Sir ."

His blue eyes turn electric. His nostrils flare. Then he barks out a laugh. "You are my very beautiful hole."

I swallow. Heat courses under my skin. Damn. Only he can turn my thighs to jelly and my pussy into a melting, sloppy, mess. Only he can launch butterflies in my belly and make my heart skip a beat.

He must read my emotions on my face for he frowns. "Don't fall for me, July. I don't have anything to offer you. I'd only hurt you, and I don't want that to happen."

I widen my gaze. "It might be too late to stop that."

Silence follows my comment. His expression freezes. Poor man looks he's about to have a cardiac. Jeez, for a fearless, alpha male, he sure is scared of any kind of emotion. When I stay silent, panic flickers in his eyes. That's when I decide to take pity on him.

"Got you again." I pretend to chuckle.

He must take my words at face value, for an expression of relief crosses his features. "Just so long as we understand each other. You're my assistant, and we have a professional relationship. And, while you're clearly a submissive, there will be nothing between us." The groove between his eyebrows deepens. "We clear on that?"