Page 12 of Jealous Boss

“You think I work eighteen-hour days and live on takeout?”

She shrugs. “You seem like the type.”

“The type?”

“Ambitious. Too focused to eat. Or sleep. Or—” She cuts herself off.

My head snaps toward her. “Or what?”

She flushes, her mouth parting, and I can see her scrambling for a safer answer. But she doesn’t give it.Smart girl.

I push the pan off the heat. The scent of garlic and butter hangs in the air like another temptation. One Icancontrol.

Unlike her.

“Eat,” I say, sliding the plate in front of her. Risotto. Chicken. Greens I barely cooked right but needed on the plate to pretend this wasn’t what it really is.

She takes a bite. Her eyes flutter shut.Moan.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She chews. Swallows.

Her alluring eyes widen. “This is amazing,” she says.

I fold my arms, leaning against the counter, watching her like I’ve already given up trying not to. “It’s basic. And you’re just hungry. Contrary to what you tried to tell me.”

“Oui…yes, I was. But you didn’t have to do this,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

She looks up at me then, and it’s all innocence but there’s…somethinglurking in her eyes. Something that makes my insides flip. Then my cock jerk in the lounge bottoms I threw on after guilt and compulsion drove me to check on her.

“Merci. Thanks anyway.” She licks her lips.

I wish she would stop. I hope she never does.

What the fuck is happening? Is it the forbidden fruit of it all?

The last temptation to see whether I’d risk it all, burn it down at this crucial stage?

Hell, is Philip Hyde testing me? Did he know his niece was a walking, talking temptation that might send me over the edge?

The air shifts. Tightens.

I’m around the island before I know it, stopping just inches from her chair. Close enough to feel the warmth rolling off her skin.

“Is this some fucking honey trap?” I grate out.

She’s just forked another bite into her mouth and she’s staring up at me mid-chew. “Hmm?” She blushes, holds one hand in front of her mouth and hurries through chewing, adorably, before she swallows. “Excusez-moi, what are you talking about?”

“Did your uncle tell you I’d be living here? That he’d asked me to check in on you? Both here and at the firm?”

She blinks a few times, then her face falls.

Something punches me in the gut at the wounded look.

“No. He barely mentioned the change of plans. He just told me not to worry, that everything would be taken care of. As if…”

---