Tangled Up Read online

  “If you want to make sure something’s done right, you have to do it yourself.”

  “You like to take care of people.”

  He had to think about that. His anger had faded in the face of her continued calm. She was like Elise in that way, a foil to his easily ignited fury. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You made sure I got home safe. You didn’t have to.”

  “Of course I did. You’re mine…. You’re my employee. It would’ve been irresponsible of me to just dump you off in that neighborhood at that time of night.” He didn’t miss the way his stumbled words had made her smile.

  Caite studied him a little longer. “Let me ask you a question, Jamison. Don’t you ever get…tired?”

  He did. Oh, God, did he ever. Not of things in the office, not of being on top of things there. He thrived on that stuff. But in the rest of his life…the never-ending parade of dinner reservations that didn’t please women who didn’t like to eat, the flowers for others who’d rather have chocolate. The concerts of bands he loved and they’d never heard of and hated.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  Caite resettled herself on the edge of the desk, uncrossing her legs. Her fingers curled into the hem of her skirt, inching it higher while Jamison could only sit there like an idiot, watching. “I dreamed about you. What we did. Kissing you. I dreamed about your kiss, Jamison.”

  His mouth went dry. His cock, hard. His heart pounded.

  Higher, higher, she eased the fabric over her thighs, exposing the sexy-as-hell gartered stockings he’d already glimpsed. He’d never been with a woman who wore stockings like that outside the bedroom and not as part of a costume. He wanted to look away from the promise being revealed between her legs and had to force himself to meet her eyes.

  “You’re going to get on your knees for me,” Caite whispered. “You’re going to put your mouth on me, right here. And make me come with that delicious mouth of yours. Now.”

  Everything about it screamed wrong. The office setting, her place in the company. The fact that she was the one telling him what to do. And still, Jamison slid from his chair to kneel in front of her, his hands already skimming up the backs of her legs, his mouth already seeking her heat. No thought. No resistance.

  Only desire.

  She shuddered when he mouthed the softness of her inner thigh just above the stocking. The soft growl of her moan sent another bolt of desire straight through him, tightening his balls and making his dick throb in time to his quickening pulse. When her hand came to rest on top of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, he nipped at her flesh a little harder than he’d intended.

  “Fuck, yes,” Caite cried, jerking. “Oh. God.”

  She wore filmy white panties and he hooked a finger in them to pull them aside to get at her pussy. His head spun at the scent of her, but when he got his mouth on her hot flesh, everything else faded away. There was nothing but this. Her heat, the slickness of her pussy on his lips and then fingers when he pushed them inside her. The tight knot of her clit tempted him to suckle gently and, then she cried out again, hips bucking, a little harder.

  This was crazy stupid, and not only because they were at work. Because she worked for him, under him…beneath…Shit, he was nowhere near on top of things right now. And he had no idea how he’d ended up here or why it was making him so insane.

  From down the hall came the sound of ringing phones. The murmur of voices. Shit, he thought, moving away from her. The office door. Not locked. And Bobby…

  “The door,” Jamison said against her.

  Caite’s fingers tightened in his hair, keeping him close to her. He could pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t want to.

  “Keep going.”

  He paused despite the command, picturing Bobby opening the door and catching his boss going down on the junior assistant. Caite laughed, the full, throaty and rich sound of it making him even harder, if that were possible. Her hand came down to cup his chin, fingers pinching slightly.

  “Keep going,” Caite said, her gaze bright. Cheeks flushed. Her mouth was wet, as if she’d licked it. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

  He’d brought her to orgasm once already by barely doing a thing. He could make her come again, this time with his tongue, in another few minutes. If he wanted to. If he did as she said. If he obeyed.

  From behind him, the doorknob rattled. Caite let go of his face. He could’ve moved away but did not.

  “Make me come, Jamison,” Caite whispered, her gaze going over his shoulder as both of them waited for the door to open. It didn’t. She looked down at him. “Now.”

  He feasted on her, a starving man who hadn’t even known he was hungry. She rocked against him. Her clit, tight and hard under his lips and tongue, tempted him to suck it again. He slid a finger inside her. Then another. Stroking upward, slow and easy, not too hard. He wanted to touch himself but did not, masochistically satisfied with the pressure of his cock against the front of his pants making him even crazier.

  When her pussy tightened around his fingers, she cried out, low and hoarse. Then again. His name. A framed picture on her desk fell over, and her thighs clamped hard against his head, blocking out the light for a moment. Blocking out sound. All he could see or hear, all he could smell and taste, was Caite’s sweet cunt, and in that moment, he’d have happily died with her flavor the last thing he ever tasted.

  She leaned back on the desk, her knees falling open to release him. He sat back on his heels. Caite looked down at him, her eyes glazed and face flushed. She swallowed hard and swept her lips with her tongue. Then she took a deep sighing breath.

  “Wow,” she said.

  She shook herself a little, then sat up straight, pulling down her skirt. She passed a hand over her hair, which had become only a tiny bit disheveled. She smiled at him, saying nothing, and he was glad for it, because that meant he didn’t have to answer. He got to his feet, his cock thick with arousal, his balls heavy and aching. He adjusted himself, but it gave little relief. He wanted to be inside her. Or have her mouth on him, her hands. He’d spill himself between her breasts if she let him. All he could think about, really, was getting off…

  Her doorknob rattled again, and this time she looked over his shoulder. “Come in. Hi, Bobby.”

  “There’s a delivery for you. Flowers,” Bobby said. “They came from Tommy.”

  Caite looked surprised. “Okay. Thanks.”

  When Bobby left the office, she looked at Jamison, still saying nothing. He cleared his throat and unfisted his hands, unaware that he’d been clenching them until she gave them a pointed stare. His fingers ached. He kept himself from holding his hand to his face to breathe her in.

  “Was there something else you needed? Boss?”

  Dammit, she was teasing him again, though her expression was completely innocent and her tone neutral. Jamison shook his head, backing up a step. If she let her gaze fall to the front of his pants, he thought, he would lock her office door and spin her around, hands on the desk…. She kept her eyes on his, that faint smile never twisting or fading.

  “No,” Jamison said. “Nothing.”

  * * *

  Caite had visited a movie set once, back in college when she’d hung out with all the artsy types who wanted to be directors. Her boyfriend’s boyfriend—it had been complicated, yeah—had been hired as an intern on a movie shooting in New York City over the summer, and Caite and Leo had been invited up for the day. It had been hot, the city had smelled like urine, and she’d ended up with food poisoning from the craft services table. The movie had gone straight to rental, and she’d never even seen it.

  Treasure House was an entirely different matter. Tommy had invited her to come to the site after work on Friday to live-tweet during their final filming of the week, a series of teasers that would air to promote the next week’s show.

  “It’s for what we filmed two weeks ago but will air next week,” he explained. “But the network wants us to st