Taking Over (Like a Boss Book 2) Read online

  “So,” he says, taking a swallow from his Coke. “Why are you nervous?”

  Because you’re gorgeous. Because I don’t know where this is going. Because you might want to have sex with me, and I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I’m terrified.

  “Big game tonight,” I tell him, gesturing at the TV.

  He grins, and we talk for a while about various sports. I confess that I was a champion swimmer at high school. Harrison tells me he was a keen sportsman at school and a great sprinter until he broke his leg in a car accident.

  “So that was that,” he says. He smiles, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Who was driving?” I ask.

  He studies his glass. “My dad.”

  “Was he…?”

  “Oh, he’s still going strong,” he says flatly. “As far as I know.” He swigs the Coke and looks away, out into the dark night.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “He was drunk.” Harrison looks surprised at his confession. His gaze comes back to me, then returns to his glass. Maybe driving home isn’t the only reason he’s not drinking. “He was always drunk. And violent. Mum finally left him after the accident and took me and my brothers with her. I’ve only seen him twice since then.”

  It’s difficult to know what to say to that. “That must have been hard for you,” I opt for.

  He sits back, an arm hooked over the back of the chair, and tips his head at me. “I don’t tell many people that.” He gives me a curious look.

  “I have that kind of face.”

  “Hmm.” He sips his Coke. “Have you seen the new Bond movie?”

  He wants to change the subject. I’m touched enough that he’s told me something so personal—I’m not going to push it. “I have. Great opening scene, I thought, with the fight on top of the building.”

  We start talking about other action movies, and soon the food arrives. I tell him the chili sauce with the wedges could be hotter, and he agrees. “You like cooking?” he asks.

  I grin. “I love cooking. I only really discovered it after I left home.”

  “Your mum didn’t cook?”

  “She did, but she’s the sort of person who sticks rigidly to a recipe, and I wasn’t allowed to experiment. I’m not that sort of cook—I make it up as I go along.”

  “Me too,” he admits, surprising me.

  “You cook?”

  “Yeah, all the time. I find it relaxing.”

  Thrilled, I start asking him about his favorite recipes, and I’m delighted to discover that his passion for food is on a similar level to mine. We eat the wedges, and I buy us another drink in spite of his protests, and the more I talk, the more I relax. He’s not at all what I thought he’d be like. He’s not arrogant or patronizing or superior; he’s funny and clever and interesting. And best of all, he makes me feel interesting. That takes some doing, the way I’ve been feeling.

  At one point, we come to the end of a line of conversation, and I sit back in my chair and give him a puzzled look.

  “What?” He dips his last potato wedge into the remains of the sauce before eating it.

  “I’m having a good time,” I tell him.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am.”

  “You didn’t think you would?”

  “I thought…” I don’t know what to say without insulting him, but then decide I might as well be honest. “I thought you’d chat me up and fill the conversation with sexual innuendo, and then tell me you’d booked a motel room or something. You haven’t, have you?”

  “No.” He looks as if he doesn’t know whether to be amused or insulted.

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” I say hastily. “I’ve not done this before, that’s all.”

  His expression softens. “I know. Colette said as much.”

  “She did?” I feel my cheeks burn. Did she tell him I’ve only ever slept with one other guy?

  “I’m flattered,” he says. “That you’re here with me tonight. Whatever happens, I’ve had a good time.” His eyes are honest. He means it.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He pushes his empty glass away. “Want to go for a walk along the river?”

  Surprised, I say, “Sure,” and I rise and slip on my jacket. We head out of the bar, and cross the street toward the waterfront.

  Without asking, Harrison takes my hand. His large, warm fingers close around mine, and I find myself suddenly breathless. It’s the first time he’s touched me, and even this innocent gesture sends shivers skittering up my spine.

  I don’t know where this is going. Ultimately, nowhere, is the answer. In a few weeks’ time, I’ll be putting this city behind me, and whatever happens tonight will become a distant memory.

  But the next few hours… Anticipation surrounds us like glitter tossed in the air. What’s he going to do? Will he ask me to go back to his place? I don’t know if I can go through with it, but the excitement of having the option, of pretending that I’m brave enough to spend the night with this man, is enough to make me glad I came tonight.

  Chapter Six

  Harrison

  The spring evening air runs light fingers over us as we approach the river, and Gabriella shivers. Or is it caused by the touch of my skin on hers? I held her hand without thinking, and she didn’t protest, but I suppose it could have been interpreted as possessive or forward considering we’re only out for a drink.

  She still doesn’t say anything, though, so I make the most of the contact. Her hand is slim-boned and feels small in mine. Strange how such an innocuous touch can feel so intimate when it’s the first. And maybe the only. Gabriella is shy and clearly nervous, and I can’t imagine this evening is going to end in anything more than a goodbye kiss on the cheek. But that’s okay. I’ve actually had an enjoyable evening. She’s spirited and funny, and she has a brain in her head, so she has an opinion on most subjects, as well as being happy to listen to others.

  It’s a shame, though, that a passing friendship is probably all that will come out of tonight. She looks stunning. I’ve only ever seen her in smart work clothes, but she looks younger and even sexier, surprisingly, in tight jeans and a pale pink sweater that clings in all the right places. Her long, chocolate-brown hair lifts in the breeze, and I imagine it would feel like a handful of silk ribbons if I were to run my fingers through it. She’s wearing a dark-gray eyeshadow smudged over her lids, her lashes are long and dark, her lips bear a pale pink lipstick that matches her sweater, and she looks sultry and sexy. I want to push her up against the railings, press my body against hers, and kiss her, hard. I don’t, though. I’m far too polite for that.

  She’s talking about her upcoming trip, and I drag my attention away from her lips and concentrate on what she’s saying. She’s starting in London and travelling around Europe. She talks about all the different food she’s going to try. She loves pasta, and is looking forward to going to Italy.

  “Me too,” I tell her. “I bought a great Italian cookbook a few years ago that has some superb pasta recipes in. I don’t follow them, of course, but they’re a great starting point. You’ll have to come and see my kitchen one day.”

  I genuinely mean it—I love my kitchen, but it makes her laugh. “What a great chat up line!”

  I feel embarrassed. “It wasn’t supposed to be…”

  “I mean it, Harry. If anything’s going to convince me to go back to a guy’s place, it’s food!”

  I’m not sure whether she’s joking, so I just smile.

  We walk quietly for a while. Usually, I’m too caught up in getting from A to B to take notice of my surroundings, but the scene before me is playing a great backdrop to the drama unfolding between us. The moon is nearly full, shining just above the cherry trees in the park, and its reflection lies on the surface of the river like a silver coin. Even though it’s dark, there are plenty of people around, sitting outside the bars and restaurants, cycling along the river path,
or just walking, like us, enjoying each other’s company.

  It’s been a nice evening, but it can’t last forever. We’re not far from where I parked my car, and I think maybe it’s time I headed to my apartment.

  “How did you get here tonight?” I ask her. “Want a lift home? My car’s just around the corner.”

  She looks across the river and presses her lips together. The moon highlights a silver strip along the edge of her nose.

  “I’ve had a lovely time,” I say gently, sensing her awkwardness. “Thank you for coming out for a drink. I hope you enjoyed yourself, too.”

  “I did.” She blinks a few times, looking around. Then she turns her face up to mine. The color has been bleached from her eyes, and the pale discs send a shiver down my spine.

  I wait for her to say goodbye and walk off in the other direction. But she doesn’t.

  She takes the edges of my jacket in her hands. Moves closer. Then lifts onto her tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine.

  I wasn’t expecting it, and for a moment I don’t move. I’m completely shocked. Her lips are cool, and she gives me four or five soft kisses, maybe waiting to see if I’ll respond.

  When I don’t, she moves back. “Crap,” she says, and releases my jacket. She looks terrified. “Star anise,” she mumbles.

  That makes me laugh, and my brain shudders into gear. Before she can move away, I take her hands in mine. I turn her, gently, so she’s resting against the waist-high railings, her back to the river. I cup her face with my hands, and note the way she inhales deeply, her eyes widening. And then, before she can escape, I lower my lips to hers.

  Gabriella exhales, and it comes out as a delightful moan that sends all the hairs on the back of my neck—as well as other pieces of my anatomy—rising. I remind myself that we’re in public, in full view of those strolling by the river, but nobody seems to be paying us any attention, and anyway I don’t want to stop, so I decide not to.

  I touch my tongue to her bottom lip, and she parts them and allows me access, sighing again as I sweep my tongue into her mouth. I thread my hands through her hair—I was right, it does feel like silk ribbons, such a sensual feeling that it sends all my senses spinning. I feel all-consumed by this girl, overwhelmed by the taste of her, the subtle smell of her perfume, the warmth of her skin, the feel of her hands sliding around my waist and splaying on my back.

  I like her, and in an alternate dimension, this could have been something more permanent and lasting, but in this reality, it’s not possible. There’s only here and now, but fortunately that’s more than enough to keep me interested.

  Ahhh, the bliss of kissing a woman, of the first touch, of sharing that intimacy with the anticipation of more to come. And I want more. Hunger is rising in me. I want to take her back to my place. I want to peel each piece of clothing from her until she’s naked before me, then press my lips to every inch of her, until she’s gasping for breath, and she’s begging me to take her. And then I want to make love to her, slowly, drawing out our pleasure until she’s crying out for relief.

  I want her. The question is… is that what she wants, too?

  Chapter Seven

  Gabriella

  Harrison’s kissing me like there’s no tomorrow—actually like the world’s going to end in about five minutes. I’ve never been kissed like it. It makes me feel like a movie star and a sex goddess and like the most desirable woman on earth, which isn’t bad considering I’m pretty ordinary really.

  It’s only now that I’m beginning to realize how much the spark had gone out of my relationship with Alex. I loved him, and I think he loved me, but we’d been together for ten years, and, somewhere along the way, we’d taken each other for granted. Sex had gone from every night to three times a week to once a week if we were lucky. Life had taken us over, and I don’t think either of us had realized it until someone else showed him how different it could be.

  Until now, I’ve been blaming Alex for cheating on me, and that hasn’t changed. But it’s only as Harrison kisses me that I accept that maybe, just maybe, a little bit of it was my fault too.

  He moves back, and as I stare up at him, I’m sure the stars that are popping out across the night sky must be reflected in my eyes.

  “Mmm,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. “Nice.”

  “I’ll second that.” I feel shivery and tingly and throbby in all the right places. Christ, my old relationship was so dull. It’s been so long since being with Alex made me feel like this. When we were teens, I used to idolize him, but as we moved through our twenties, I grew frustrated because he wouldn’t pick up his socks or be bothered to shave or scrub the toilet after he’d been in there, and gradually, the magic died.

  As Harrison touches his lips to mine again, as if we’re two strong magnets and he can’t keep away, I remind myself that this is only exciting because it’s new. No doubt if I lived with him for ten years, he’d also wind me up in a dozen different ways.

  But I don’t have to worry about that. This relationship has all the benefits without any of the disadvantages. It’s all about the zing—the initial contact, the electricity. Screw the issues that come with living with someone—who needs that? Suddenly, I see the appeal in having a one-night stand. No wonder some people do this all the time. You could easily get addicted to this sort of buzz.

  Harrison’s kissing me leisurely now, dipping his tongue into my mouth, making me shiver and shudder. My nipples feel tight and sensitive in my bra. When he eventually lifts his head again to look at me, I know the unspoken question he wants to ask.

  I’d already prepared myself for the reply, or I wouldn’t have kissed him in the first place—I’m not a prick tease. But now I give it without hesitation.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He looks into my eyes, apparently surprised by that.

  “I want you,” I tell him honestly. “And I know I’m nervous and I’ll probably make a fool of myself more than once, and I appreciate how you’ve been tonight, going slow for me, but I want you to know that if we go back to your place, I know what I’m going there for. You don’t have to serenade me to get me into bed, Harrison. Your kisses and your touch are incentive enough.”

  A wide, sexy grin spreads across his face. He takes my hand. And without another word, he leads me away from the river toward the road.

  His car is parked around the corner, and we’re lucky it’s a nice part of town because it’s a gorgeous BMW M4 convertible, which would easily have lost its wheels in other, less salubrious, areas.

  Harrison unlocks it with a click of a button, and opens the passenger door for me. I slide inside, my heart beating like a bass drum as he circles the car and gets in beside me.

  He shuts the door, then blows out a breath and looks across at me. This close to him, in the intimate atmosphere of the car, I feel a surge of nerves and excitement as his sparkling eyes meet mine.

  “Sure about this?” he asks.

  Am I sure? Do I really want to go home with this man, to let him kiss me, take off my clothes, touch my body with his warm hands? Let him move inside me?

  Hell, yeah.

  “Yes, please,” I answer, somewhat tamely.

  He smiles. “My place okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He nods, starts the engine, puts the car into drive, and pulls away.

  We slide into the dark night. Harrison navigates the still-busy streets with ease. He’s a competent guy, at work and at leisure, and I have no doubt he’ll be great in the sack.

  I swallow down my nerves. There’s no point in worrying about my own performance. As Colette says, I’m sure he’ll enjoy showing me what he likes. After all, if it was a pro he was after, he’d have run a mile when Colette told him I’d only been with one guy.

  He reaches out and takes my hand. “Are you okay? You’ve gone quiet.”

  “Just… thinking,” I murmur.

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “No! I swear. Just…” I de
cide to be honest. “A bit nervous, that’s all. It’s not every day a girl like me gets propositioned by gorgeous sexy guys.”

  “Then there’s something wrong with the rest of the male population. You should be receiving at least twenty propositions a day.”

  I nudge his arm with my elbow. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “I’m counting on it.” He signals and takes the next left. “I’m serious, though. I find it difficult to believe I’m the first who’s asked you out since you broke up with your boyfriend.”

  “Well, you are.”

  “I’m amazed.”

  “I don’t know, Colette says it’s all about signals. Everyone’s sending them, and when we’re single, the signals are open invites, and when we don’t want a partner, it’s like having a neon sign on your forehead flashing ‘Get lost.’ I wasn’t looking for a partner, so I suppose I had the neon sign.”

  “Didn’t put me off,” he says.

  “Yeah. Strange, that.”

  He grins, turns the car into an underground car park, and parks in the corner. “Come on,” he says when the engine goes quiet. “Come and see my kitchen.”

  We take the elevator up, and although he’s not in the penthouse, we walk out into a huge apartment with a perfect view of the city. He flicks on a few lights, and I’m surprised to find it homey in spite of its size. There’s a large cream rug in front of a gas fire, a stylish cream suite, and what looks like antique oak furniture scattered around the place, including a large oak dining table and eight chairs.

  “Do you entertain much here?” I ask him. I’m rewarded with a wry smile. “I meant guests,” I clarify, “not women.”

  “Sometimes. The four of us take turns entertaining clients from time to time.”

  It’s funny to think of Harrison and the others having lives outside the office. When you see someone day in, day out, it’s the same as seeing your teachers at school—you can’t imagine them relaxing, or meeting friends.

  He leads the way over to the huge kitchen. It has every mod con available, and although it’s clean, it looks well used, with jars of herbs scattered across the worktop, and what must be his favorite cooking utensils piled at the end rather than laid neatly in a drawer. He opens the fridge, and I see all kinds of exotic foodstuffs in there—ten different cheeses, six kinds of mushrooms, some fruit I don’t even know the names of. I love it.