Page 58 of All the Drama from New York

This was dangerous. Reckless. It could all end in heart break and disaster. But apart from breathing, the only thing she needed right now was him.

“Just tell me no, and that will be the end of it,” she said.

A pulse began between her legs as he moved closer. “And what if I don’t want it to be a no, Camille? What if it’s been yes since the very first day we met? What if despite all the sensible words and thoughts in the world, it will always be yes between you and me.”

“Then kiss me.”

A warm hand brushed over her cheek, followed by his soft lips. She trembled at his gentle yet manly touch. Ryan cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers. Camille let out a groan of unsated need.

And then he claimed her mouth. A deep kiss which had her arching her back, pressing her body against his. Their mouths tangled together, messy, greedy. Weeks of pent up desire threatened to engulf her.

Oh god, please. Let this be happening.

His hand gripped her ass as he pulled her hard to him. His firm erection pressed into her belly. Any moment now, and the last shreds of her sanity would be ripped away and Camillewould beg Ryan to take her. To lower her to the bed and claim every inch of her body.

A loud bash on the front door broke the haze of lust between them. Ryan pulled back from the kiss. Whoever was downstairs was mighty keen to get their attention.

“Wait here,” said Ryan.

He disappeared out the bedroom door, and his footsteps echoed in the hallway as he headed downstairs to answer the door.

Male voices drifted up from down below. Whoever had been knocking was now coming into the house.

Camille took a moment to gather her scattered thoughts. The visitor had interrupted her and Ryan’s passionate kiss. And maybe, despite her aching unsated need, that wasn’t a bad thing. Because if they hadn’t been interrupted, there was every chance that right now she’d be tearing at Ryan’s clothes and telling him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to fuck him.

After that he’d be getting a lesson in all the filthiest sexy French words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Grabbing her suitcase, Camille dropped it onto the bed, then unzipped the top. A pretty dress with miniature apples and oranges printed on the fabric caught her eye. After selecting the dress, along with a pair of tan sandals, she quickly changed.

Making her way down to the first floor a few minutes later, she could hear Ryan and what must have been a delivery man engaged in conversation. They were out of sight in the living room.

What appeared to be two small catering boxes were stacked on the kitchen counter—boxes which hadn’t been there when they’d arrived.

“I’m sorry that the delivery was so late. I can’t drive all the way to your front door, so I had to park a little ways up the street, and carry the boxes.”

If she remained near the front door, there was every chance she’d be forced to make polite conversation with the stranger. Camille’s heart and head were in too much of a mess to handle any form of social interaction.

Ryan had kissed her. She’d kissed Ryan. They had kissed. Camille stood at the bottom of the stairs staring at a beachpainting on the wall, waiting for the rush of regret to come and overwhelm her. This was wrong. She was his boss. They had crossed a line. But not an ounce of remorse stirred.

You’ve been moving the line for him ever since that first day he set foot in your studio.

The little voice of her conscience kindly reminded her that everything she’d done with regard to Ryan Collins had been leading to that moment just now in the bedroom. To them breaking the boundaries of employer-employee relations.

She’d taken the first big step when she’d asked him to come and stay at her apartment.

What would a judge say about that if this ever became a sexual harassment case?

She was the one in the position of power in their relationship, and as such she should know better. A fling with an employee could come at the cost of her entire career.

I need some fresh air, and to get my head straight.

If she didn’t, the next step would be picking up the phone, calling the helicopter service, and asking them to send the chopper back. Day one of their stay on the island and she was fast losing all sense of propriety. If that delivery guy hadn’t knocked on the front door, heaven knows what they would be doing right now.

I know exactly what we would be doing.

Why did something that felt so damn right have to be so wrong?

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