Page 29 of Boss of Me
“He’s home?” I say, sounding more hopeful than I intended.
“He is, ma’am. And he’s requesting your presence downstairs.”
I frown, wondering if he’s going to reprimand me for some minor infraction. Maybe I didn’t polish the silverware to his satisfaction. Or maybe he didn’t like the way I folded the guest towels, all gazillion of them.
“Miss Somerset?” the butler prompts.
I glance down at myself. I’m wearing a comfy T-shirt and gray yoga pants, and my hair is pulled up in a messy topknot. I consider changing my clothes, then decide against it. I’m off the clock. I can wear whatever I want on my own time.
The butler escorts me downstairs to the elegant dining room, where Gunner sits at the head of a long table sipping wine while listening to Vivaldi’s “Spring.” He looks darkly magneticin a black dress shirt, his thick black hair shining in the soft chandelier light.
At the sight of him, my stomach does a crazy flip-flop.
There are two place settings with two dinner plates covered by silver lids. An expensive bottle of wine breathes on the table.
Gunner puts his glass down and lets his gaze roam over my body, starting at my feet and slowly working his way up my thighs, stomach, breasts and lips. By the time he reaches my eyes, I feel flushed and stripped bare. Which was undoubtedly his intent.
“Evening.” That liquid sex voice slides through me, raising goose bumps along every inch of my skin that wasn’t already tingling. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” I mumble. “Yours?”
“Productive. I was just about to have dinner.” He motions toward the empty chair on his right. “Join me.”
My mouth goes dry. “I was going to eat in my room.”
“Not tonight.”
Bristling at the authority in his voice, I give him a defiant look. “I didn’t realize dining with the boss was a requirement.”
Those dark blue eyes glint at me. “Is it always going to be a power struggle with you?”
I smirk at him, ignoring the question. “Are you sure you should be eating with the help? It could send the wrong message.”
He raises an eyebrow. “This is my house. I eat with whomever I please.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t think of anything else to say.
“Have a seat, Marlowe.”
I grudgingly obey.
“Good girl.” His voice is deep and rumbly, and hearing him call me good girl sends a rush of heat straight to my core.
He picks up the wine bottle. “Montrachet?”
I hesitate, then nod.
He fills my glass with the white wine. “I trust your accommodations are to your satisfaction.”
I almost laugh. “You could say that.”
His lips twitch. “So you’re settling in okay? Sleeping comfortably?”
I think of my nocturnal cravings and blush. “I am.”
“Glad to hear it. Shall we?” He removes the lid from his plate, and I do the same. The food looks and smells delicious, and I’m hungrier than I thought. But I reach for my glass first to take a fortifying gulp of the rich wine.
Gunner’s eyes gleam as he watches me. “You don’t have to be nervous around me.”
