I never experienced the rush of shattering self-control until I met Carter Hughes. I never knew what it was like to see resistance snap like an elastic band under too much pressure. I never thought I would… Not now.

He changed that. He’s like a magnet with his own intimidating pull, and no matter what, I’m finding myself more and more drawn to him.

I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be drawn to him. I don’t want to be the fly he catches in his web or the debris he pulls into his orbit with his gravitational pull.

Because that’s what it is… Carter Hughes has his own universe. One I know nothing about except for the fact he’s at the very center of it.

He just… commands everything. That’s perhaps the best way to say it. He commands anything and everything around him, and it seems that simple. I’m sure it isn’t. Nothing is ever simple once you scratch beneath the surface.

More and more, I’m feeling like I want to do that. I want to tear apart the layers that make him, him, and I want to scratch away the seemingly perfectness of his life.

No one’s life is that great. Or maybe he’s just one of the lucky ones. I don’t know.

I do know that I’m pretty mad at him for talking to my mother. Seriously—I don’t care how damn rich he is. I don’t care how many restaurants he owns or who the hell he thinks he is. He shouldn’t have done that.

Now I all but have my mother’s blessing to screw the ever loving fuck out of the man once this contract is up. I’m sure she’d feel very differently if she’d walked into my office instead of knocking, but hey ho…

I click on the email tab on my Internet browser and on a new message. I type ‘Carter’ into the ‘To’ bar and his email address comes up immediately. I click on it and type ‘Important meeting needed’ into the subject bar, hit shift, and start my email.

Dear Mr. Hughes,

An urgent matter has just come to my attention. Please let me know when you arrive back to New York so we can schedule a meeting as soon as possible.

Best wishes,

Bee Donnelly.

 

I send it and reach for the Sour Patch Kids sitting on my desk. The packet crinkles as I open it and grab two or three candies. My computer pings as a new email hits my inbox.

From: Carter Hughes ([email protected])

To: Bee Donnelly ([email protected])

 

Ms. Donnelly,

I expect to arrive back around midday. Can I interest you in a late lunch? I know a place that does great salads if tomorrow is your designated takeout pizza night.

Hope you’re well.

Carter Hughes

 

I smack my lips together as I hit reply. God… I really shouldn’t agree to this, but okay. He twisted my arm the second he said ‘takeout pizza.’

From: Bee Donnelly ([email protected])

To: Carter Hughes ([email protected])

 

Mr. Hughes,

I’m free for a working lunch at two p.m. Is this suitable for you?

 

From: Carter Hughes ([email protected])

To: Bee Donnelly ([email protected])

 

Ms. Donnelly,

That sounds perfect. I’ll collect you from your office at one forty-five. I’ll call ahead.

Also, consider bringing a change of underwear, otherwise I can’t promise you’ll be leaving with any on.

Actually, I know you won’t be.

Have a good day.

 

My jaw drops open at his audacity. What the hell?! Who does this man think he is?

I can’t even respond to that. More to the point, I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to respond to that.

I click the ‘x’ in the top corner of my screen and slam my laptop shut.

Arrogant fuckwad.

Chapter Ten

I run the brush through my hair one last time and put it back in my desk drawer. I’ve been watching the clock all morning like I’m some kind of freaked out teenage girl waiting for her first date.

I want to know why he told my mom. It’s been three days since she and I had that conversation, and I’m still as mad as I was then. Hell, I’m fuming. I want to take my eyelash curlers and close them around the end of his cock kind of fuming.

Fact is, I had a plan.

Get this contract.

Do the design.

Get paid.

Never. See. Him. Again.

Ergo, my mom never would have found out about our night together. Carter made it clear during our consultation that it wouldn’t influence matters. He admitted he didn’t want to see me again. Fuck, I didn’t want to see him again. I don’t. I still don’t.

I want to erase every memory of him from my mind. If only memories were drawn in pencil, life would be so much easier.

I want to forget the sound of his voice. The dirty words that fall from his lips. The easy touches. His powerful influence. The way he treats my body like it’s more than just a tool for his own pleasure… The way he treats his as it’s a tool for mine.

I want to forget the way his tie felt wrapped around my wrists and the way his wicked tongue felt as it flicked across my clit.

I want to forget the way it felt to be perched on my desk with his fingers inside as I all but rode his hand to my own orgasm.

More than anything… I want to forget how badly I wanted those things the second I was presented with them.

I have Carter Hughes on the brain, and it’s deadly.

My phone buzzes with a new message, and I type in my unlock code. It’s from Carter telling me he’s waiting outside, so I take a deep breath and slide my feet back into my beloved heels. My pencil skirt is tight, and I picked it deliberately this morning to hamper the efforts of wayward body parts.

Not that I truly believe a bit of black fabric will stop him if that’s where he ultimately wants to be, but I’ll definitely make it harder than it needs to be.

Harder than it needs to be. It’s taking all my self-restraint not to giggle at myself right now.

God, I need food.

And wine. Definitely wine.

Wine is what I think about as I travel down in the elevator. It settles the butterflies in my tummy and stops my adrenaline kicking in too much.

My heels click across the lobby as I head for the door. I can already see him leaning against another sleek black car, wearing his trademark white shirt and black pants. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie nowhere to be seen, and his top two buttons undone.

I wish he didn’t look so fucking hot like that.

He turns his face and our eyes meet. His seem even greener than I remember, if that’s possible, and a shiver teases its way through my body. The hairs on my body stand on end as he pushes off of the car and walks to the door. He beats me to it by a split second and pulls it open with a smile that would drop the panties of a nun. “Ms. Donnelly,” he greets me in a low voice.

“Mr. Hughes,” I respond in kind, my voice stronger than I feel.

“Shall we?” He releases the door and motions toward the car.

I suppose we must. “Please.” I follow him toward the vehicle where he once again gets the door for me.

I hate the way my heart beats double-time for the few seconds it takes me to get in.

“How was your trip?” I ask politely when the car starts moving.

“It was… hot.” He smiles. “It went well, thank you. It’s due to open next month and everything seems to be on track. Well, if you don’t count the fact we need to find a new chef, but I’ll send Julia out there next week to do that.”

“Sounds like you have everything under control.”

His eyes flash. “I’m always in control.”

“Ah, yes. You’re a control freak.”

“Takes one to know one.” He winks, grinning.