Page 23 of His Temptation
I grab the bottom of my shirt and lift it to my forehead, wiping off the sweat dripping down my face. “Watch it,” I warn.
Colton comes up and slaps me on the back. “Don’t be embarrassed. But it’s totally obvious. You’ve got that look going on right now.”
I call a time-out and grab my water bottle. “What look are you referring to?”
“You know,” he replies breathlessly, “the one that says,I can’t stop thinking about her in all different kinds of dirty scenarios even though I don’t want to.”
“You are totally off base,” I reply sharply.
“Are we?” Colton jumps in. “You nearly bit my head off for just talking to her the other day.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s because you were being obnoxious and overly friendly. I didn’t want you to scare her.”
“Oh, so you were being protective of her,” he replies with a mischievous smirk.
“I was not being protective of her. I was just trying to make sure you didn’t chase off the only assistant I actually …” I stop myself before the words can leave my mouth.
Fear clutches my throat as I realize what I was about to say.
“The only assistant you actually what?” Walker pushes me. “The only assistant you actually like?”
I toss my water bottle on the ground and walk onto the court. I’m done listening to their bullshit. They’re getting in my head now. So, I like my assistant. Not in any sexual way. It’s just nice that she doesn’t seem to be after my money or impressed by my looks. I’m just a regular asshole boss in her mind.
I play like total shit the rest of the game. My guys have completely distracted me. We still manage to come out with a win, but no thanks to me.
Even on my ride home, my mind wanders off to thoughts of my assistant.
When I close my eyes, I see her in that damn black bodysuit, which has haunted my thoughts for weeks now. Her breasts are perfect. They are enough to fill my hands. I wonder what her nipples look like. What color are they? Are they a darker brown or a pale pink?
My dick stirs in my pants.
This is not my fault. This is the guys getting in my head and my assistant being too defiant.
That’s it. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to demand she stay in line, like my other assistants. Her boldness is messing with me, and I can’t have any of it.
11
KYLIE
Iactually have the full weekend off. It’s Sunday, and Mr. Monroe hasn’t texted me or called me into the office at all.
It’s been so nice to spend time with Benny. We went to Eataly in downtown Manhattan. For the first time ever, I could afford to splurge on groceries at their market.
My parents were both Italian. Not off the boat—that was their parents. Both sets of grandparents died rather young from health complications. My mom was great in the kitchen. I remember watching her make so many of her favorite childhood dishes.
But those meats and cheeses aren’t cheap. I haven’t been able to give Benny the same experiences I had.
With a renewed sense of self-discovery, I pulled out my mother’s recipe cards and am going to give some of the recipes a shot.
I’m not great in the kitchen. That’s what happens when all you’ve made for the last five years are spaghetti with sauce from a jar and boxed mac and cheese.
I’m standing in the kitchen, listening to music, with a glass of red wine in my hand while I look over the recipe card for homemade lasagna.
“Are y-y-y-y-y-you sure you c-c-c-c-can make it?” Benny asks while he stands next to me in our kitchen, which is the size of a bathtub.
I chuckle at how concerned he sounds. “I don’t think it can be that hard. Mom did it all the time. She never had a hard time with it.”
I hear his sigh behind me. “M-M-M-M-Ma knew how to cook.”
