Caite Fox knows just what her boss, Jamison Wolfe, needs, even if he doesn’t – or won’t admit it. He’s never been good at giving up control, but when passion flares between them, it becomes clear that both of them like it when she’s on top.
As Caite and Jamison explore their newfound desires, each must determine the extent of their boundaries. When Caite asks something of Jamison he’s not prepared to give, it seems like it’s the end of them before they’ve had a chance to really even begin.
Can Jamison get over his fear of crossing the line, or will he lose Caite forever?
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Nellie Bower, Paxton France and Tommy Sanders were going to put Wolfe and Baron on the map.
And Caite intended to be part of that. She eyed Jamison now. “I can handle them.”
Jamison narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think so?”
“Because I’m good at what I do. I told you. Because I think outside the box. Because I’m young and hip.” She paused with a smile. “Because I’ve actually watched Treasure House, unlike you.”
“Piece of shit show.”
“Oh, it’s a shit show, all right, which is why it gets the ratings, and why those three are so popular right now.” Caite shrugged. “Look, it’s no Doctor Who, but there’ve been some decent episodes.”
“You watch Doctor Who?”
Should she be offended at his surprise? “Um, duh. Yes.”
“I used to love that show as a kid.”
“Well, here’s some news for you, gramps, it’s been updated since then.”
He looked startled at first, then gave her a grudging laugh that sent a thrill all through her. A laugh from her curmudgeonly boss was as rare as icicles in a Texas July. “Some people have lives, Ms. Fox. Like we do things other than watch television.”
Somehow, she doubted that he had much of a life. It was all work with him. Hours in the office, hours outside the office. She didn’t know much about his personal life, other than that he had no wife, no kids and seemingly no family. Maybe he’d sprung full grown from a trumpet, like in that old Greek myth she could never remember — and that would make sense, because he sure had the body of a Greek god.
Hold it in girl, she counseled herself. He’s your boss and a little too bossy for you, even if he didn’t sign your paycheck.
“I have a life,” she said instead, like a challenge.
He took it. She’d known he would. It was in the glint of his eyes and lift of his chin, and something in the way his breath shifted. She’d watched him go head to head with too many people not to know what sorts of things got him going, but had she deliberately chosen this tone of voice, those words? Caite thought that maybe she had.
“Yeah,” she said in a lower voice, meeting his eyes without looking away. “A rich, full life that includes time for television, along with lots of other…things.”
Jamison pinned her with his gaze, his teeth bared a little in a predatory smile. “And you think I don’t have a rich, full life? Why? Because I don’t rot my brain with shitty reality television shows?”
“No,” she said on a low breath. “Because you don’t make time for those other things.”
For a moment, she thought he’d reach across the table and take her by the chin. Or, oh, God, fist his fingers in her hair. But of course he didn’t, and wouldn’t, even if he was suddenly looking at her as though she were Little Red Riding Hood and he a different sort of wolf. Still, the look made Caite shift in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, watching him look her over.
“Like what other things,” Jamison asked.
“When’s the last time you went dancing, for example?”
He frowned. “I don’t like to dance.”
She laughed. “I’m not surprised.”
For a moment, it was his turn to look offended. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re not patient enough to be a good dancer.”
“The hell does that mean?” His frown didn’t break his face the way it would’ve on another man. It only emphasized his intense good looks. “Not patient enough?”
Caite shrugged. “It means that even though you’re athletic and in good shape, you don’t have the patience to learn any sort of coordinated dancing. And freestyle would annoy you, trying to keep up with someone who wasn’t zigging left when you wanted to go right. You’d need a partner who understood you better than you know yourself, in order to keep up with you.”
His mouth opened, as though he meant to speak, but Caite kept up before he could.
“You don’t like crowds with loud music, and though you like to drink, you don’t like being around people who are out-of-control drunk. That’s why you don’t like the new clients, isn’t it? At least part of it?”
“They’re disgusting,” Jamison muttered, cutting his gaze from hers. He wiped at his mouth with his fingertips before looking back at her. “You seem to think you know an awful lot about me.”
“Sorry if I overstepped,” she said, not sorry at all.
Jamison wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “You really think you can handle those three?”
“Yes. I really do.” Confidence was everything; Caite had learned that a long time ago. She smiled at him, hoping to get at least the hint of a grin in return, but Jamison only stared at her steadily. For a long time.
He broke first, finally. “Fine. You’re on it.”
“Hooray!” Caite cried.
He looked taken aback, then shook his head and sighed. “Hooray.”