Page 7 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
Sarah from Accounting once spent an entire lunch break critiquing his best features, while Jenny from HR claimed she'd dreamed about running her fingers through that perfectly styled hair.
But I'd never imagined being alone with him, never pictured him relaxed and smiling across from me while snow trapped us together in an intimate cocoon.
The wine had loosened my inhibitions, bringing to the surface thoughts I'd kept locked away for years.
Every time he reached for his cards, the movement caused his shirt to gap wider, offering glimpses of the tattoo that wound across his ribs.
The artwork was exquisite, all flowing lines and intricate detail that must have taken countless hours to complete. I found myself wondering what other surprises his expensive suits concealed.
"You're staring," he observed, arranging his cards with steady hands that bore no wedding ring—another observation I kept noticing.
Heat flooded my cheeks, but the wine made honesty easier than deflection. "Sorry. The wine's making me a little bold." I fought back a hiccup, but the dumb grin spread across my cheeks without permission.
"Bold how?" His question sent warmth spiraling through my chest.
I took another sip from my glass, liquid courage burning down my throat. The Bordeaux was magnificent, complex and full-bodied with hints of blackberry and tobacco that lingered on my tongue. "Bold enough to say you're incredibly attractive and I've spent the past few hours trying not to notice."
His eyebrows rose, but he didn't look uncomfortable or awkward. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face, transforming his stern features into something altogether more dangerous. "Are you always so forward, or is it just me?"
Mortification washed over me. Here I was, his assistant, making inappropriate comments while we were trapped together.
My mother would be horrified if she knew I was throwing myself at my boss while stranded in his penthouse. "I'm sorry, that was completely unprofessional. The wine made me?—"
"Don't apologize." He set down his cards, studying me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through my professional façade. "I'm flattered. And intrigued."
"Intrigued by…?"
"By this side of you I've never seen." He leaned back in his chair, the movement causing his shirt to fall open wider, revealing more of his chiseled torso. "How many years you've worked for me, and I'm discovering I don't know you at all."
His words made my head swim and my body warm to a balmy temperature. "What would you like to know?"
"Everything." His gaze dropped to my lips before returning to my eyes. "But first, tell me. Do you feel like taking a risk tonight?"
My pulse hammered against my throat, so hard I was certain he could see it beating beneath my skin. "What did you have in mind?"
"A different game. Twenty-one. Winner takes all." His voice had dropped to that rough whisper again, the one that made my toes curl inside my heels.
"Takes all of what?"
His smile turned predatory, all sharp edges and dangerous promise. "Whoever loses has to remove a piece of clothing." Andhis eyes drank in every minute inflection on my face as I fought to maintain composure.
The suggestion was scandalous. I laughed nervously as I thought about how I could make an excuse and flee to the guest room he offered earlier.
Instead, I found myself nodding, drawn by the heat in his gaze and the reckless abandon the wine had unleashed. "You're on."
He shuffled the cards like a dealer in Vegas while I tried to steady my breathing. This was insane, completely unprofessional.
But as he dealt the first hand with those long, elegant fingers, I couldn't bring myself to care about propriety or consequences.
"House rules," he said as he started to deal. "Jewelry counts as clothing. Shoes count separately."
I nodded, studying my cards while hyperaware of his every movement. The first hand went quickly—I busted at twenty-three while he sat smugly on twenty.
"Your necklace," he said, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The wine had made me clumsy, or maybe it was the intensity of his stare as I fumbled with the clasp and set it on the table.
The silk of my dress whispered against my thighs as I adjusted the way I was sitting.
