Taming The Boss. Sarah M. Anderson
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how she wanted to be comforted. To be touched like Eric was touching her now. She wanted to be the one taking the attention and affection instead of giving them.
“Sofia?” he said again, his voice sending low flutters through her belly.
Really, no matter what the question was, the answer was simple. “Yes.”
His hands slid to a stop on the curve of her calves. Funny how she’d never really thought of calves as being particularly sensual until now. “Will you lie down and rest for a bit?”
She looked at him then. One of the most powerful men in Chicago—and quite possibly the country, to say nothing of the world—was on his knees before her, waiting for her answer. She uncurled her fingers from where she’d fisted the bedclothes and reached out to stroke his cheek. It was still early—not even eleven yet—and his jaw was smooth. “Only if you join me.”
His eyes widened as he sucked in air. “Give me a few.” With that, he pushed back off his heels. She heard a door open and shut and then she was alone.
Sofia dropped her head in her hands. She could still feel his hands on her legs, stroking and caressing her. She could still feel his arm around her waist, refusing to let her stumble through the hotel. For that matter, she could still feel his hand surrounding hers, holding on through the turbulence. He’d refused to let go.
She could still feel his lips against hers, his tongue tracing the path of her lips, her name soft on his breath. Eric had kissed her like she was the air he couldn’t breathe without.
He was taking care of her. He wanted her to rest.
He was going to come back in here.
And she still looked like hell.
That thought finally got her to move. She downed the rest of her ginger ale and took stock. This was a really nice hotel room—king-size bed with a plush duvet, a velvet-covered sofa next to a coffee table and a television almost as big as David had ever bought. She went to the bathroom—even the toiletries were top-of-the-line. Of course they were. Eric Jenner wouldn’t settle for less.
She recoiled at her reflection. Her hair had come loose from the bun and her makeup was shot. And yet, Eric had still sat there, staring up at her as if she were the only woman in the world. The shirt was a total loss, so she stripped it off, leaving her in only her camisole. And she didn’t want to nap—or do anything else—in these trousers. Quickly, she washed her face—but then she remembered she didn’t have her toiletry kit. Her luggage was being delivered separately by a bellhop.
She’d never stayed in a hotel that had bellhops who carried up one danged suitcase before. It was probably a great thing—but she really needed her stuff now.
She was using the facilities when there was a knock on the door. “One second,” she called out, washing her hands quickly. But then she heard voices, both male.
Wait, what?
She cracked open the bathroom door to see Eric standing in an open door that…led to his room? Oh. Oh. Her room was connected to his. Of course it was. He had an executive suite. And her room was right next to his.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, that he could walk into her room or she into his. It wasn’t anything more intimate than removing her shoes, for God’s sake. But it felt like the last barrier to truly spending the weekend in his arms had just been removed. They didn’t have to walk out into the hall where Steve and Meryl might hear or see them.
Eric said, “Yes, that one goes in here. The other one goes in my room,” as he looked up. When he saw her, his face softened as his gaze took in her face, her now-bare arms. He held up a finger to her, the universal sign for hold on.
She nodded and shut the door again, collapsing back against it. Their rooms connected. He wanted her. He’d already started to undress her.
She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him.
But even as that thought occurred to her, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her color was almost back to normal and she didn’t look like she was on the verge of passing out again. Her hair wasn’t great, though, so she unpinned it and combed it out with her fingers. She couldn’t sleep with it pulled back like that, anyway.
She heard a door shut and then Eric said, “Do you need anything from your bag?”
“No,” she fibbed. “I’ll be right out.”
“No rush.”
Oh, but it felt like a rush. If she were going to throw herself at Eric—and that did look more and more likely—she would be jeopardizing her job and putting both of them in an awkward position. Steve and Meryl were right across the hall, so the risk of gossip spreading in the office was huge.
But damn it all, she needed him. She needed a weekend where she wasn’t going through the motions of looking fine. She wanted to be fine and she knew Eric could give her that. He already had.
Sofia took one last look at her reflection. The hair was okay. She would prefer a little under-eye concealer, but the whole look wasn’t too bad.
Have fun. Smile for yourself. That’s what her mom had said. And Eric? He’d said nearly the same thing, adding in that he wanted to take care of her. And it was so clear from his actions in the last few hours that he didn’t just mean a satisfying romp in bed. He really was taking care of her.
Her resolve set, she opened the door and stepped out.
The room was empty.
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