Engaging the Boss (Heirs of Damon) (13 page)

“Don’t
tell him anything. It’s a madhouse down there. No one will know we’ve gone to
look.”

“You’ll
come with me?”

“Sure.
Why not? Besides, it’s dark and the gates are open. You shouldn’t wander alone
by yourself.”

Feeling
better, she and Ben went downstairs and, instead of heading to the ballroom, they
turned into another hall. Ben had put his hand on her back as they got to the
bottom of the stairs, but it didn’t feel nice and protective like when Jonathan
did it. It felt like he was discreetly hurrying her along.

She
didn’t care. It was nice that Ben was helping her at all. She was particularly
glad because he paused to grab something from a utility closet. A flashlight.

She
wouldn’t have even thought about that.

The
several minutes it took to walk to the garden only made Sarah more urgent and
impatient. And the minutes it took to search the grass and beds around the
hammock she’d been sleeping on yesterday were even worse.

They
didn’t find the ring immediately, and in the dark it was hard to see anything
at all. Ben aimed the flashlight, but it only lit up a limited section of
ground.

Getting
more and more nervous, Sarah hiked up her skirt and knelt on the ground beneath
the hammock. It had to be here somewhere.

“There!”
she exclaimed, catching a glint as Ben moved the flashlight across the grass. “Point
back here.”

Ben
knelt on the grass too and aimed the flashlight where she’d indicated.

The
ring was there, mostly hidden in the soft grass.

She
leaned over to grab it, ignoring how inelegant she must look on her hands and
knees in the grass.

The
hand she was bracing herself with slipped on the grass as she grabbed the ring,
and she almost fell on her face. She would have fallen had Ben not reached out
to grab her waist.

They
were trying to extricate themselves from the awkward tangle when lights suddenly
went on all around them.

They
both blinked in surprise. Evidently there were landscape lights in the garden,
which neither of them had even thought to look for.

Sarah
was squinting toward the entrance to discover who’d turned them on when a
familiar voice bellowed in a very unfamiliar tone. “
What the hell are you
doing
?”

Ben
managed to stand up, and he helped Sarah to her feet as well before he turned
toward his cousin. “No need to overreact,” he began, in a bland voice that
would be like a slap in the face to someone who was angry.

Jonathan
was definitely angry. He strode over to where they stood, practically shaking
with pent rage. “Overreact?
Overreact
?”

Sarah
was flabberghasted. She’d never seen Jonathan openly express anger before, and
she’d certainly never seen him on the verge of implosion as he was now.

Ridiculously,
something about the raw power of his anger stirred a response inside her. An
emotional one. And a physical one.

She
felt shaky so she reached out to grab something. It happened to be Ben’s arm.

Evidently,
this was a mistake. Jonathan made a sound in his throat—one that sounded
strangely like a growl—and he grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away from his
cousin’s arm.

Sarah
gaped at him.

“If
you’re going to sneak away to fuck, you could at least try to be more
discreet,” Jonathan gritted out. “If I saw you leave, others could see too.”

Suddenly,
Sarah realized what Jonathan had thought, why he was so angry. Maybe it had
looked bad, she and Ben slipping away in the dark together. They’d both been on
their knees in the grass, his arm around her waist.

Jonathan’s
assumption wasn’t an entirely unreasonable one.

But
still…

“Damn,
man, you’re an idiot,” Ben muttered.

Jonathan
stiffened visibly, his dark eyes glinting in the soothing landscape lighting.
“I shouldn’t be angry that you’re here screwing my fiancée?”

“We
both know she’s not your fiancée.”

“Ben,”
Sarah said reproachfully. He was saying exactly the wrong thing to calm Jonathan
down. She had to assume he wasn’t trying to. “Jonathan, I can see how you
misinterpreted it, but we weren’t—”

“What
do you mean you know she’s not my fiancée?” Jonathan interrupted, glaring
between Sarah and Ben. He must have decided who to fix his anger on because he
turned to Sarah. “You told him?”

“No,”
she insisted, her voice wobbly. Not because she was scared of Jonathan but
because she was so affected by his angry intensity. “I didn’t tell him. He
figured it out on his own. But would you please listen? We weren’t doing
anything.”

“You
weren’t on your hands and knees in the dark with your dress pushed up?”
Jonathan’s words were curt, bitter. He was obviously trying to control his
eruption of anger. Not to calm himself down but to ensure he remained in
control of this encounter.

Ben
had obviously had enough. He made a gesture of surrender. “Look, I think you’re
a fucking idiot, but this is between you and her. If you want to come find me
and beat me to a pulp later, I’ll be around.”

Then
he just walked away.

“Ben,”
she called after him, not even sure why she did. He didn’t really need to be
here, since the main issue, as he’d said, was between her and Jonathan. But now
she was alone with Jonathan.

A
Jonathan whose coiled tension and endless patience had finally snapped.

She
turned to look at him. He’d still been holding her wrist, but now he moved his
hand up to grip her upper arm.

“He
can leave,” Jonathan gritted out. “You’re the one who betrayed me.”

She
gasped in indignation, her shakiness and anxiety transforming to hot resentment
in an instant. “
What
? You think I betrayed you?”

“What
would you call it then? You’re supposed to be my fiancée and, at the first
opportunity, you run off to screw my cousin?”

“I’m
not your fiancée,” she practically screamed, trying to get through to his
infuriating, pigheaded brain. “We aren’t in a relationship. I can screw
whomever I want.”

This
was really beside the point and not the best way to calm Jonathan down either. She
knew that instinctively, but she was so frustrated she didn’t even care.

How
dare he confront her like this, acting as though she’d done something wrong,
when all she’d ever done was be faithful to him?

“You’re
at least supposed to
pretend
you’re my fiancée this week. That was our
agreement.” His voice was thick now with a new kind of emotion. “And you’ve
done a pitifully poor job of keeping it.” His hand tightened on her arm
bruisingly, although she could tell it was unintentional.

“You’re
hurting me,” she said, shaking her arm in his grip.

He
dropped it like she’d burned him. “Sorry.”

“I
didn’t screw Ben,” she said, rubbing her arm where he’d grabbed her. “I had no
intention of screwing Ben. He was helping me find my ring.” She showed him the
ring she’d had in her fist the whole time. “
Your
ring,” she corrected.

He
stared down at it, panting, intensity still radiating off him in waves.

“But
I could screw Ben if I wanted to. You have no claim on me.”

“I
have no claim on you?” he repeated, his raspy tone making it a question.

“You’re
my boss,” she said, the truth in the words aching. She said them anyway.
“You’re my boss. Nothing else. I can screw whomever I want.”

He
could counter the words if he wanted. He could say she was wrong, that she was
more to him than an assistant. She desperately wanted him say something, to
pick up the gauntlet her words had thrown down.

 He
stared at her for a long time, his dark eyes smoldering with something she
didn’t understand. Then, before she could prepare herself, he took her face in
both of his hands and kissed her.

The
kiss was hard, urgent, passionate—nothing gentle or patient about it. And she
was so stunned that at first she couldn’t even respond. Her hands fisted in the
jacket of his tux as his mouth moved against hers roughly, and she just hung
on.

He
broke off the kiss suddenly, panting even harder as he stared down at her face
again. Then he took a clumsy step back, as if he’d just realized what he’d
done.

“Jonathan?”
she asked, her voice breaking on the word.

Something
was shuddering inside her now—something other than the anger, anxiety, and
confusion that were also present.

Something
that felt like hope.

Jonathan
wasn’t indifferent to her. He couldn’t be. If he was, he wouldn’t have snapped
for the first time in years because he thought she was screwing his cousin.

He
cared about her as a person. She’d always known that. He fixed the wheels on
her chair and stocked her supply of peppermint balls.

But
he must feel even more than that. He
must
.

Maybe
he wanted her the same way she wanted him.

“Jonathan?”
she asked again, reaching out to grip the lapels of his jacket. Then her
question turned into a demand. “Tell me what you want.”

He
didn’t tell her. He didn’t say anything. But he reached out and pulled her into
another kiss.

This
time, she responded.

***

As Jonathan felt Sarah
respond to his kiss, he was slammed with waves of desire and primal
possessiveness. She was his. It felt like she was
his
.

He
slid his fingers into her hair, accidentally dislodging the pins and causing
her hair to spill down over his hand. He made a guttural sound of satisfaction
and tangled his hand in her loose waves.

Her
body had softened against his, her mouth had opened to the advance of his
tongue. Her fingers were clawing eager lines into his back and shoulders as he
deepened the kiss.

Her
responsiveness thrilled him, and his mind turned into a hot buzz of excitement,
pleasure, and lust.

“Jon-athan,”
she gasped, as they finally broke the kiss. He couldn’t let her go, though. He
trailed a hungry line of kisses along her jaw and then down her neck. He sucked
on the throbbing pulse in her throat.

She
cried out softly in pleasure, squirming against him now. She wanted him. He
could feel how much she wanted him in her body, in her hands, in her
intensifying vocal responses.

He
wanted to tell her how much he wanted her, but the only word that came out was
her name, muffled by his lips on her skin.

She
whimpered in response, as if she’d understood him.

He
tried to caress her all over, feeling the thin silk over all her lush curves,
but their embrace faltered and then her knees buckled, and they both ended up
on the ground.

He
didn’t care. He moved over her, pulling one of her breasts out of her neckline
so he could take it between his lips.

She
arched up into his mouth, gasping raggedly and gripping his hair with both
hands. “Yes. Please!”

Her
obvious desire fueled his own urgency. He was almost painfully aroused now,
trying not to grind himself too hard against her thigh. He mouthed and fondled
her breasts for as long as he could bear, until she was writhing beneath him
and begging him for more.

He
reared up, panting as he stared down at her, flushed, tousled, and decadent in
her vintage choker and discomposed dress. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was
real, alive, passionate, Sarah.  He couldn’t believe he’d been so angry
with her just a few minutes ago. He had no idea what he’d ever do without her.

She
must have seen something on his face because her wriggling stilled and her eyes
were suddenly soft and thoughtful. “You okay?”

He
nodded, reaching out to cup her cheek with one hand.

She
covered his hand on her cheek with one of her own, in a strangely intimate
gesture of affection. Then she pumped her hips up to rub her groin against his.
“Good. Then hurry up.”

He
choked on a huff of laughter and pushed her skirt up even more, his erection
pulsing dangerously when he saw she wore only the flimsiest of white lace
thongs beneath it. She was wearing another pair of the lace-topped stockings,
and the effect was so sexy he was afraid he might embarrass himself.

Incongruously,
she blushed an even deeper shade of red as he stared down at her, but her mouth
twitched with amusement as she explained, “It’s not my normal underwear. Had to
avoid pantyline.”

“Naturally,”
he agreed soberly, making her laugh again.

She
pulled him down into another kiss, which quickly grew urgent. She clawed at his
jacket, but it was too much of a pain to take off, so he didn’t bother.
Evidently realizing it wasn’t worth the trouble, her hands moved down to the
front of his pants. They were still kissing, their tongues thrusting against
each other with the same rhythm of their rocking together.