Chapter 7

7

Knox

She looks incredible. I take in the green dress with the fitted bodice that outlines her magnificent breasts. It has a slash neckline, sitting just below her collarbone, and long fitted sleeves extending to the wrists. It cinches in at the waist before it ends in a dramatic skirt, the front hitting just above the knee and the back extending to floor-length, to create a sweeping effect. It's modest, as befits a royal reception, yet the fitted tailoring highlights her luscious curves.

I bought this the first day she walked into my office. I barely knew her, but now that I know what kind of woman she is, I see my instincts were correct. She looks stunning, alluring, and sultry. With the towering heels she's wearing that showcase her shapely hips, she feels like a wet dream.

The way she climaxed when I spanked her was a thing of beauty. I smelled her arousal, felt the give of the skin over her shapely butt through her clothes, and almost tore them off her and mounted her right there. Good thing I stopped myself. The chemistry between is off-the-charts, and when it comes to matters of work, she doesn't hesitate to go toe-to-toe with me.

She's quick to comply with my wishes, eager to please, desirous of my approval, and loves it when I treat her as my plaything. I enjoyed it so much warning bells sounded in my head. It's why I didn't call her when I was away on my business trip. I kept our communication to a minimum, limited to official matters and only by email. What I didn't expect was to miss her while I was gone.

I missed her voice, her scent, her ability to solve any problems I lobbed at her. I forbade myself to call her, then found myself looking forward to her emails. I've fallen asleep thinking of her sweet smile, her angelic features, and jerked off to images of her bent over the boardroom table with her gorgeous, pear-shaped behind offered up for my perversions.

I'm going slightly out of my mind with wanting to ‘play' with her again, and that is wrong. She needs to protect herself from me, not be so ready to explore her own limits. The fact that she's so open with me makes me feel vulnerable in a way I haven't felt since... I was injured. It's pissing me off to the extent that I want to lash out at her.

It's why I circle my finger. "Let me see what my money's bought me for this evening."

A flash of hurt shivers across her face, followed by her eyes spiking with anger. Instantly I regret hurting her, and that's a surprise. I'm not someone who second-guesses myself. But the way my heart squeezes in my chest, and the way my groin tightens, has me questioning my motives in asking her to accompany me tonight.

She sets her chin, letting me see that glimmer of defiance that makes our interactions so interesting. That's my girl. Then, she reluctantly does a small turn, and the way her skin winks through the transparent fabric that constitutes the back of her dress turns my blood to lava. She turns to face me, and a look of anticipation steals across her features.

I want to tell her she looks like a goddess. Like she was made to wear designer clothes and go to society events. But when I open my mouth, what comes out is, "You'll do."

She gapes at me. Then looks me up and down. "I suppose, you will, too. "

For a second, I'm taken aback, then I bark out a laugh. This woman? I've underestimated her.

"We'd better be off." I hold the door open and indicate she should precede me.

She levels a look filled with suspicion at me, then picks up her tiny evening bag—I made sure to order a range of handbags for her for everyday use, so she won't have to carry around that tatty satchel—and heads toward me. She walks out without a second look in my direction. I wish I could say that I don't stare at her swaying arse, at the way the shelf of her butt seems to get a life of its own, thanks to the fit of her dress and the added inches to her height that make her push out her bottom as she walks. I thank the stars that made me take the initiative by ordering this dress for her.

I follow her to the elevator, reaching out to slap the button to summon the car before she can. The doors slide open, and once again, I allow her to precede me inside. I hit the button for the reception area, and we stand in silence as the numbers decrease on the indicator.

Her scent fills the space—rose and something else noticeably light, something like honeysuckle and…strawberries. She's everything that's lush, and rich, and abundant, and succulent. And so soft. So ripe. I want to take a bite out of her, just push my nose into the curve of her neck and taste her. Would the scent be more concentrated there? And in the cleavage between her luscious breasts? And in the dent between her fleshy thighs? My mouth waters. My cock extends. Thank fuck, I'm wearing a jacket that covers the tent that's sure to have formed between my legs.

As the seconds tick past, she shuffles her feet, then shifts her weight, and I know she's uncomfortable with the silence. Sure enough, she bursts out, "Why do you have to be so rude? Especially after you were nice enough to have a team come in to help me dress?"

"Nothing to do with being nice. I was making sure your appearance doesn't let me down." My words elicit a stricken look on her face. Once again, my rib cage tightens. Goddam, every step with this woman is akin to walking across enemy territory, littered with land mines. I never know what might detonate.

When the elevator comes to a halt, I follow her out, then lead the way to the doorway of the office building where my Bentley limousine is waiting. The valet opens the door, and she slides into the back seat. I climb in after her. The limo slides forward. For a few minutes, we drive in silence, then I turn to her.

"That was uncalled for." I hold out my hand. "Let's start again. We were never formally introduced, were we? I'm Knox Davenport."

She folds her arms across her chest. "That wasn't an apology."

I tilt my head and consider her words. "It wasn't. And I understand I hurt your feelings, but I was speaking the truth."

Her eyebrows knit, then she lowers her head. "I suppose, I should be grateful you don't pretend repentance when you're not."

"You'll always get the truth from me. And I expect the same from you."

I glance at my outstretched hand, then back at her. She slowly slides her hand in mine. I squeeze her delicate fingers, and goosebumps pepper her décolletage. A quiver of heat sizzles to my belly, tightening my gut further. She seems as surprised as I am by the reaction.

When I don't release her hand right way, she laughs, the sound uncomfortable. "Truth, huh?" She looks away, then back at me. "The truth is, I'm attracted to you."

I stiffen. I hadn't been expecting that. Once more, she's taken me by surprise, and I'm unsure what to make of her confession. Me and unsure? Another first .

"You sound like you don't believe me. For that matter, you don't seem surprised that I said it aloud," she muses.

"On the first, you're right." No way, can an unsullied angel like her want what someone like me, someone with a damaged, grotesque visage, can offer. Besides, I don't deserve to be happy. And the fact that she's attracted to me doesn't mean anything. She may have enjoyed the spanking, but when she finds what my inclination for dirty, filthy kink extends to, it'll undoubtedly shock her and send her running.

"On the second"—I narrow my gaze on her— "I'm getting used to the fact that there's a lot about you that's going to continue to catch me unawares. And it's the truth that I haven't said that to anyone else before."

Her features soften. Her eyes shine with something like respect and appreciation. An uncomfortable feeling lodges under my ribcage. I release her hand and look away.

"It's also true that I don't want this chemistry between us to spoil things. As I mentioned in the conference room, what happened between us didn't mean anything."

The light in her eyes dims. Her shoulders droop. She looks like someone who lost their pet. Once again, my goddamn heart contracts. Boundaries. I need to stick to the boundaries I decided on when it comes to any emotional entanglement with her. That's what's best for both of us.

In a bid to soften the blow, I offer, "In the weeks that you've been with me, my productivity levels have shot up."

"Is that a compliment I hear?" She mock-gasps.

My neck heats. Another bloody first. Can't remember the last time I felt this shamefaced.

I turn and meet her gaze again. "You fielded a lot of the queries from my team and conveyed my directions with enough accuracy that no one has reached out to me directly. You've proven you can take care of a lot of the day-to-day operations, which is what I need. You've functioned more as an executive assistant than an administrative assistant. I'd like to change your title to reflect that. What do you say?"

Once again, her gaze widens. "E-executive Assistant?" she squeaks.

"With the commensurate pay rise."

She shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, you've already offered me a salary increase. I can't accept anything more."

I lean back into the seat. "One thing you should learn, dear assistant—never turn down money. Especially not when you deserve it and it's being offered in exchange for your services, and your time. And trust me, I only plan to offload more of the daily workload onto you."

"You do?"

"It's what I'm paying you for."

"Right." She squirms around, trying to find a more comfortable position. "So, Executive Assistant to the CEO and a second pay rise. I guess that should work."

"Good." I pull back my sleeve and glance at the time on my watch. I'm sure this event is going to be deathly boring, but at least I'll have her by my side for entertainment. Not that I plan on telling her that. "Are you comfortable?"

"C-comfortable?" Her voice shakes a little .

I allow myself an inward smile. "I notice you've been fidgeting in your seat."

She freezes. "It's just, uh… I'm not used to wearing such nice clothes, and this is the first time I've been in a limo."

"Oh?" I knit my brows. "You deserve beautiful clothes and to ride in a luxury car."

Her cheeks flush. "That's very nice of you to say. I suppose, you must be used to this?" She waves a hand in the air. "Given your background, and all?"

"I wasn't riding in an executive car when I was on my tours of duty. And I wasn't surrounded by such lavishness when the bomb that took out my brother's-in-arms went off next to me."

She inhales sharply.

I'm not sure why I say that. I don't normally flaunt my background, preferring to keep my past to myself. But with her, apparently, I'm enough at ease to speak my mind. Also, a part of me wants her to see me as more than the spoiled, billionaire CEO she, has pegged me for. And perhaps, I feel threatened by how romantic it feels to be in this car with her, all dressed up for an evening out. I want to break the mood. And when she winces, I know I've succeeded.

She lowers her chin. "That's not what I meant."

I sigh. "I'm aware. And it's not your fault. While I was born into the Davenport name, I spent the first thirty-three years of my life running from it."

I glance out my window again. I haven't spoken about what happened on that last tour with anyone in my family. I'm shocked I opened up to her.

Confessing the sins of my past is not the kind of conversation I anticipated having with my employee. The car rolls to a stop then, providing me with a natural stop to the conversation. "We're here." I push the door open and step out.

Then, because I was brought up to be a gentleman, and no other reason—definitely not because I want to torture myself again by feeling her soft fingers in mine and experiencing that rush of awareness when my skin touches hers—I hold out my hand.

She places her palm in mine, and I help her to her feet. I'm rewarded by the pinpricks of heat that squeeze my nerve-endings, the sensations that course through my veins, the tightness that coils in my belly, and the twitches that course up my cock. I lead her up the steps of Dalton Hall, the stately home in Regents Park that's been in the bridegroom's family for generations, where the reception is being held. The paparazzi begin clicking away, the flashbulbs exploding.

Then we're inside, and she heaves a sigh of relief. "I was expecting attention from the press, but talking about it and being at the receiving end of those flashbulbs is something else altogether."

"Ignore them." I nod toward the hostess who welcomes us, then follow her into the grand foyer. Light slants through the stained-glass windows that adorn the top half of the walls. Ahead of us is a sweeping staircase that ascends to the second floor.

"Wow." Her steps slow to a halt. "This is incredible."

I glance down to see the amazement on her features, those big eyes, with the brown irises which have turned almost golden, reflecting her surprise. Her red lips are slightly parted, and God help me, but she looks delectable. And so young. Not in terms of the years between us; it's the undisguised astonishment on her face that makes me feel much older and jaded.

I realize, at some point in my life, I allowed my experiences to get the better of me. I forgot to believe in the joy of living. Forgot about looking forward to what the future would bring. Forgot how idealistic I was when I joined the Marines. I've allowed my life to be filled with pain and regret, and the pursuit of power. And it's taken just a few weeks of knowing this woman to remind me that I could have a different future. One in which I'm not running from my feelings.

When I noticed my Finance Director disparaging her, it brought my protective instincts to the fore. It enraged me and made me feel emotions I've buried inside myself for so long. It made me realize I could have a life where I'm not merely surviving, but engaged and forging meaningful connections with the world around me, only...

I don't deserve that. I do not deserve to be happy. Not when I couldn't protect my best mate, and the rest of my platoon, from being massacred. It's why I'm going to step away from her and ensure I keep my distance. It's the only way to ensure I don't taint her further. I increase the pace of my steps. The faster I get this evening over with, the faster I can drop her home and be on my way to a place where I can find some relief from this constant hurt that has hooked its claws into my belly.

She's forced to hurry to keep pace with me. I slow down enough for her to navigate the flight of stairs safely. When we reach the entrance to the ballroom, I release my hold on her.

She stumbles a little. My fingers twitch to reach out and right her, but I resist. I need to keep away from her. Need to find my equilibrium again. I snap my fingers, and a steward appears next to me. No, not any steward; it's my friend Sinclair Sterling's butler Jeeves. It's not a well-known fact that when the Royalty and quasi-Royalty in this country attend events, they bring their butlers along.

My stint with the Marines made me frown at this tradition, but I gotta admit, I appreciate it now. If I'm going to leave her with anyone, I'd rather it be with Jeeves. I can trust him to take care of her. And why should that matter? You don't have any claim on her, no matter that you spanked her, and she enjoyed it . But she's also my employee. She's an asset to my company, and her safety is important to me. I wouldn't leave her with any man. But Jeeves? He's all right.

Yep, it's her safety that's prompted this flurry of thoughts. I'm being a considerate employer, is all.

I nod in Jeeves' direction, then at her. "Please introduce my assistant around, will you?"