Page 4 of Under Fire

As he threw his cell phone across the couch, a sudden silence flushed over the room. It felt like all the air got sucked out, and they were in a private vacuum. And here she was—kneeling right in front of him in her little white shorts.

Why in God’s name didn’t I let Maria bring me a new outfit?

Quite the difference from when he’d met her at the door—his stone-cold face had turned fervent…fiery.A hot-headed man. It wasn’t hard to see it—between the color rising in his cheeks and looking at his gleaming auburn locks. He exuded intensity.

And he waswatchingher…with something growing in his eyes. Something flooded the air in between them. She could taste it.

It was too much for her.

Hewas too much for her.

Uneasy, Alisa quickly jumped up, spinning around. She found her way to his entertainment center, removing what little dust was there and shining the dark wood. She bent lower, polishing harder, working tirelessly—the only thing she’d come to know. She folded her legs underneath her and shifted to reach to the back of the furniture piece. She was usually pretty damn motivated to do an impeccable job, but that morning she felt an extra vigor that she couldn’t explain.

Trying to keep her eye on him, she could just barely see him through the reflection of his massive TV. Mr. Perfect was making her think of something she hadn’t thought of for a really long time. He was really throwing her off.

Through the reflection, she observed him leaning back on his couch, crossing his arms and watching her. She couldn’t tell if he was absently sitting there, stewing in anger, or actively studying her ass in those skimpy yoga shorts. What type of service did he need?

As she worked, she adjusted the seam of her shorts to cover more of her ass cheeks from his view. That proved to be a mistake—slowly running her finger along the back of her shorts gave him more of a show than she’d meant and was met by a low groan from the couch.

Then she heard him shifting again.

That fuckinggroan.

Masculine, heady, aroused.

Oh God.

He was making her dizzy.

Immediately, she felt a gush of wetness in her panties. There was something so damn erotic about him sitting there, watching her.I can make this man—this hulking, beastly man—squirm?Her attraction to him hit harder, and she found her provoked body taking her places her brain wasn’t sure she wanted to go. She was fully off plan, navigating blindly in uncharted territory.

Pleading with herself to stop, her libido refused to listen, like a man hadn’t so much as looked at her in four years. Polishing the wood harder, she bent over in front of him, her white shorts likely showcasing everything—every crease, every crevasse. She really needed to get out more.

Warren’s breathing intensified, and through the reflection, she observed that his eyes weren’t leaving her. Whatever she was doing, she had proven that it was clearly intentional—and a tease.

Through the corner of her eye, she caught him adjusting the waistband of his pants.It must be getting a little tight in there. A sly grin spanned her lips, which she subdued. She just needed to hear him groan one more time.

She’d never thought herself to get off on exhibition, but something about his reaction was so damn validating. She felt fuckinghotfor the very first time in…forever? And maybe that was what she needed in that exact moment, after what had been four insane years.

She rolled herself back up, as gracefully as possible, and reached for the upper cabinets. The way she moved had ridden her shorts up, and she felt like she was wearing nothing more than a wide white thong in front of him, her ass cheeks having fallen out for his viewing pleasure. As much as she wanted to adjust her shorts again, she didn’t. She kept cleaning, letting them stay ridden up—torturing and teasing the man.

And it was paying off in boatloads. He let out another lungful that sounded less restrained than the first. The sheer idea of a dominant man so turned on that he would claim her was a fantasy that had lingered for too long in the back of her mind and was only visited in the quiet dark of night when she was alone.

Maybe Maria had just wanted to remind her that she was still alive. It was no mystery that the matron didn’t approve of Alisa’s life choices.

Turning to fold a stray blanket, Alisa flickered her eyes back to Mr. Perfect, putting on her most innocent expression. His gaze locked with hers, his unquestionably furious, just shaking his head at her. That flush in his cheeks, the flex in his jaw, the hardening in his shoulders? It was clear what was happening. She was playing with fire.

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a cleaner,” she said.

“Or just one that works as hard asyou,” he retorted.

Calling her out.

Frozen, trying to think of something clever to say back, she didn’t miss how his teeth grazed his bottom lip, as he studied her up and down. He looked hungry as hell, and ready fordinnertime. That was when Alisa knew she had to back off. She was antagonizing the wolf, and she was going to get bitten.

“I should get to the basement.” She bit her lip, a little too giddy. Laying the folded blanket on the chair, she tried to get her head screwed back on.

“The basement’s not finished,” he countered in a low voice, his frozen eyes never leaving her.

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