Bewitching the Boss by Jessa Kane

Two

Byron

From the second-story window of my home office, I stare down at the driveway and watch the hot brunette climb out of her pink Jeep.

I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my thirty-two years.

Beautiful and young. Carefree. Bubbly. Social.

In other words, my opposite.

Jane.

She’s in icepick heels and a skirt that barely covers her incredible ass. She’s smiling. I recall that smile almost as much as the wicked hard-on she gave me yesterday at work. At work. I couldn’t stand up for three hours after she left, my dick was so stiff. My heart seemed determined to beat out of control long after she’d sashayed through the aisle of ogling coders and out the exit. It’s all starting again and she’s not even in the door.

Now, she leans across the driver’s seat to retrieve a folder from the passenger side, causing her skirt to travel upward and reveal hints of two supple buns. A nude-colored thong. And those thighs. They’re so long and tan—and shiny. How the hell does she get them like that?

I must be out of my goddamn mind having her in my home.

Already, my skin is flushed and clammy, the zipper of my pants having to work too hard to contain what’s inside—a problem that’s only growing by the second. When my assistant asked me where and when I would like to meet with Jane, I panicked at the thought of her making me hard in the office again, so I suggested we have this planning session at my home.

Bad idea.

I’m not sure why this gorgeous girl seems interested in me. I’m a software designer. An awkward geek who likes to talk code. Sure, I’ve got a lot of money, thanks to the transportation app I designed. But this beauty with the billion-dollar smile could date anyone. After all, a lot of men have money in the Valley. Men with social skills and interesting things to talk about. Connections at fancy clubs and restaurants.

My hand tightens on the windowsill, my forearm straining from the force of my grip.

I don’t like the idea of her in another man’s car. Or on his arm.

I don’t like it at all.

Am I jealous? I didn’t even know I was capable of that emotion. Especially when it comes to women. I’m too busy working to pay attention to things like dating or sex.

At least that’s what I’ve always told myself.

The truth is, I don’t know the first thing about the opposite sex and finding out seems daunting. What little I know about women comes from my sister, Nancy, so I know basic things like…they get periods, have more complex emotions and contain memories like encyclopedias. The rest of what I know is only specific to my sister. Nancy is…was the only female I’ve ever been comfortable around and I would give anything to call her right now. Ask her how I’m supposed to deal with the most incredible girl on two legs wanting to…be romantic with me.

I didn’t make that up, right?

The fact that Jane seemed to…extend an invitation to me yesterday makes my balls so tight, I can feel them in my fucking throat.

Now she’s walking up the pathway to my front door. From the second story, I watch her tits bounce around in her silk tank top and release a shaky groan. God above. How is this girl a party planner? She is the party. She’s the main attraction everywhere she goes, I’m sure. If I walked into a restaurant with her, people would assume she’s with me for my money—and hell, they would probably be right. That’s why she’s attracted—or pretending to be attracted—to me, might as well admit it. My dick truly doesn’t seem to care about the details. It just wants.

It’s ironic that I’ve sworn off gratification when I’m being offered the finest pleasure this world has to offer, right?

The doorbell rings downstairs and I blow out a breath, adjusting my erection so it’s no longer tenting the front of my slacks. I make my way down the curving staircase to the front door, hesitating with my hand on the brass knob for a centering moment. No matter what Jane offers me today, in a personal sense, the answer has to be no. I’m keeping this relationship strictly professional. I could say yes to what she’s tempting me with, but I would be sick with guilt afterwards. Nancy is gone. And I refuse to indulge myself so blatantly when she’s six feet underground. It’s not fair.

Resolved, I open the door.

Gorgeous as sin in the sunlight, Jane smiles and bites her lip. “Hello again.”

And Jesus, my abdomen twists with such intensity, I can almost hear the muscles constricting. “Hello, Jane.” When did my voice get so scratchy? “Uh. Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

She pauses on the threshold to kiss me on the cheek and I inhale her scent greedily. What is that? Lemons and flowers and freshly laundered bedsheets. Damn, if I could bottle that up and sell it, the money I’d make would put the profit from my transportation app to shame.

I wouldn’t sell her scent, though.

I’d keep all the bottles locked up. All for me.

Shocked by a second wave of jealousy, I close the door behind Jane and lead her into the kitchen. Safest room in the house, right? No soft surfaces. Only cold white marble and sharp edges. Plus I’ll have the advantage of the big, granite island to hide what she does to my cock.

Oh my God, even the sound of her heels clicking in my wake is making me sweat. There are goosebumps running down the length of my arms, the collar of my shirt choking me. How am I going to get through this meeting without embarrassing myself?

We reach the kitchen and Jane spreads out the contents of her folder on the island. When I take a spot on the opposite side of the barrier, she wrinkles her nose at me but doesn’t comment. Within seconds, I wish I was closer, too. Wish I was close enough to smell her, see her pretty smile up close. Feel the warmth of her skin. I still remember the pleasure of being heated by her body when she got close to me yesterday.

Crossing her legs.

Uncrossing them.

Letting me see her wet panties.

Does the idea of being with a rich man make her horny, even if he’s an unrepentant dork? Does that mean she’d like having sex with me, even if she’s just interested in the comforts and security that a man with money provides?

You’re not going to find out.

I clear my throat hard. “Would you like something to drink, Jane?”

“Yes, please,” she answers with one of those bright smiles. “Anything is fine. Seltzer, soda, water…”

“Lemon lime seltzer?”

“Perfect.”

I take the can from my fridge and pour it into a glass, sliding it across the island in her direction, rather than get too close. But when I do that, when I avoid going near her, I watch her smile dim and sadness dance through her brown eyes. Painful, burdensome sadness that doesn’t belong anywhere in the vicinity of this bubbly girl.

My heart jolts up into my mouth at the sight of it.

What was that?

Did I cause it?

“W-well…” she begins unevenly. “Have you given any more thought to what you would like to see at the Halloween party?”

I want to address the sadness, the desolation I glimpsed in her, but it’s gone now. Did I imagine it? “Uh…no. Not really. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she says, straightening her shoulders. “I have lots of ideas. Why don’t I rattle them off and you can give them a thumbs up or down?”

“I’m going to choose all the wrong things.”

“No, you won’t, silly,” she giggles, taking a sip of her seltzer. “You know your employees and their preferences way better than I do.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s true,” I say, rubbing at the back of my neck. “I don’t really socialize with them outside of work. That would be…”

“Enjoying yourself?” she finishes, her expression momentarily serious. Searching. “And you don’t allow for that.”

“Right.”

She nods once, her throat shifting as she looks down at her paperwork. Somehow I’ve remembered this girl all wrong. Yesterday in my office, I could have sworn she was a flirt. The playful type. And she is. But there is obviously a lot more happening under the surface that I wasn’t aware of until now. If I look closely at the base of her neck, there is a little vein there and it is beating as fast as my own. Faster? Too fast to be healthy? Is she nervous about something? If so, her nerves are totally at odds with the smile on her face.

“Well, I was doing some research on your apps and you definitely skew toward more vintage designs. User-friendly and modern, but with a retro twist. The fonts and language you use are almost a little…ironic.”

Surprised by her astuteness and the amount of thought she’s put into this, I nod. “That’s right. My sister used to say I had a dad jokes personality. I guess it rubs off on my work.”

Another flash of something in her eyes, something like yearning, is blinked away in a matter of seconds. “R-right. So I was thinking, why not go with an old-fashioned, spooky carnival theme?” She pushes some papers around and I notice she’s not wearing any jewelry. No necklaces, rings or bracelets. The lack of baubles is at odds with the rest of her glitzy, feminine appearance. This girl holds a lot of contradictions, doesn’t she? An image of me draping a gold necklace around her throat has me swallowing hard. “We could hire fortune-tellers, bring in some games and high-ticket prizes. I could even hire some characters actors to play creepy carnival workers and ghosts. I have a few venues in mind that would work great, if you like this direction?”

She lets the question hang in the air.

I shake myself.

Now she’s being completely professional and all I can think about is how I’d like to cover her in diamonds. “I like the carnival theme,” I say thickly, honestly. “I actually grew up in Kansas and we went to one every year.”

“What was your favorite part?” she asks quietly.

My grin catches me off-guard. “The food stands.”

Her eyes soften so much she almost looks…transfixed for a moment. By me?

Quickly, she straightens her papers, but I notice her fingers are trembling slightly. If I didn’t know how in-demand she is as a party planner, I would think she’s nervous about planning a job this size. It can’t be me making her nervous. Right? “Funnel cake, corndogs…”

“Pumpkin pie.”

“Oh. Yes. Absolutely. We can do it bite sized so it isn’t messy,” she murmurs, half to herself. “As far as alcohol…you want to have an open bar, I’m assuming?”

“Sure.” A sharp object gets lodged in my throat. “Actually, maybe it was a good idea to have this planning meeting, because there is something important to me that I would like you to arrange. Taxi service. I don’t want anyone driving under the influence.”

“No, of course not,” she breathes in a rush, ducking her head. “I’ll arrange that. Designated drivers. Being that you created a transportation app that connects drivers and customers, we can probably get them to do it for free,” she finishes, flashing me a smile. A smile that seems forced. “You’re like their patron saint.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I laugh, wanting to put her at ease. Why isn’t she at ease? What am I doing wrong? “I still have to wait fifteen minutes for an Uber like everyone else.”

“Now that’s just a crime,” she whispers, pouting.

Oh Christ, that pout. It makes my cock stand on end.

I’m suddenly very irritated over being on the opposite side of the kitchen island from Jane. I could have been standing beside her for this entire conversation. Studying the pattern of freckles between her tits. Investigating those momentary flashes of sadness up close. This girl is so interesting and gorgeous and I’m not going to allow myself to have her. Not happening. But it would be nice to just…imagine it. A little. There’s no harm in imagining, right?

“Are you going to be at the party?” I ask, before I realize I’m speaking.

Her demeanor changes. She goes from friendly to inviting, doing that hair toss thing and wetting her perfect lips. “I told you, I’ll come if you want me there.” She twists a little, side to side. “But I have one condition.”

I swallow hard. “What is it?”

“If I come to your party, Mr. DeWitt, you have to slow dance with me.”

The teeth of my zipper bite into my bulging erection, making my laugh sound more like a groan. “I’ve never danced in my life, Jane. I have no idea how.”

“If you ask me nicely, I’ll teach you.”

And then she’s coming closer. Walking her fingers along the surface of the island, slowly cutting a path in my direction. “What…right now?”

She shrugs a delicate shoulder. “Now is as good a time as any.”

That’s what she thinks.

My dick is currently harder than steel. There will be no hiding it.

“I-I don’t think that’s necessary, Jane, but thank you.” I start to back away, but then she’s in front of me—and I can’t move. I can’t function, because she’s so fucking beautiful up close that my windpipe closes. Oh my God. Does she even have pores? Why isn’t she acting in movies? More than her looks, however, there is this sweet vulnerability to her that is making me want to kneel at her feet. How can she be trembling when she’s a million miles out of my league? “Jane…I can’t.”

She slides a hand onto my shoulder and steps closer. “Yes, you can, baby.”

When she murmurs the endearment, a shudder wracks me and I almost ejaculate against my fly. Baby. This girl just called me baby. Is this really happening?

You’re not supposed to let it happen.

Survivors guilt crawls up my spine. Holding Jane, dancing with her, definitely constitutes enjoying myself. And it could go further. No. No, I can’t let myself be seduced. I have a responsibility to the person I lost. The person who will never experience any form of happiness again. Reluctantly, I take Jane’s wrist and start to remove her touch from my shoulder. “I can’t,” I rasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Why can’t you dance with me?” Jane steps closer, her soft cheek sliding against mine. “Because of your big, bad erection?” she whispers in my ear, bringing our hips flush. Tightly fused together in a way that chokes the air out of me. “I won’t tell anyone.”

My vision doubles. “Jane—”

“Shhh.” She’s up on her toes, her lips on my ear feeling so good. So fucking good. Her tight body is molded to me, her tits plumped against my chest, the mound of her pussy rubbing side to side over the aching ridge of my cock. Oh Jesus, oh Jesus. I’ve only been holding her for ten seconds and I’m already panting, my balls tied up in knots. “You’ve never danced with a girl, hmm?” she hums quietly, beginning to sway us in a slow circle. Lulling me. Tantalizing me. “Have you had sex with a girl before, Byron?”

Heat weaves up the sides of my face. “No.”

The fingers of her right hand plow into my hair, her nails scraping my scalp in hypnotic circles, her hips grinding, grinding on my cock. God oh God. “Have you wanted to?”

“Not this bad,” I admit in a hoarse rush. “Not like this. Like I want to with you.”

I expect her to be triumphant or pleased to hear me say it out loud. That I want her.

Instead, she moans into my shoulder, clawing at my shirt.

She shakes. Violently.

Concern breaks through my hunger and I hold her tighter, hating her shivers, tipping her face up so I can search it. “Jane?” Tell me how to fix it. I’m clueless.

Brown eyes dazed with lust look up at me. “Take me upstairs,” she whispers. “We can learn how to dance laying down.” Her lids fall and she trembles harder. “Please?”

If I’m not mistaken, this bombshell of a girl is begging me to fuck her.

I don’t understand it.

It makes absolutely no sense and as someone who has been constructing mathematical formulas since childhood, I need things to make sense. I need reason. Alignment. Even if all I want to do is say yes, unzip my pants and find heaven inside Jane’s pussy. But why?

Why would she let me do that? She can have anyone.

“Is this about my money?” Jane goes very still against me. And while there is a voice in the back of my head shouting at me to shut my stupid mouth, I rush to qualify my question. “I’m not passing judgment. I’m…I’m saying it makes perfect sense if you’re interested in me because I can give you security. And gifts and…a safety net. Whatever you want. There’s nothing wrong with that, Jane—”

“You think I want you because of…money?”

Take it back.

Take it all back.

I was wrong. I can see that now.

Jane genuinely wants me. Of course she does. No one can fake desire so authentically.

But I’m too late to backpedal. With an anguished sound, she tears herself away from me and stumbles around the island, gathering up her paperwork in a messy rush, holding it to her chest and clicking at top speed out of my kitchen.

“Jane. Wait.”

“Thanks for the drink,” she says breathlessly, reaching the door, trying to open it with her elbow. “I’ll discuss the party details with your assistant.”

“No. I want you to discuss it with me.” Panic slices into my ribcage like a knife. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking…saying that to you—”

“It’s fine.” She’s red nosed, sniffing back tears. What the hell have I done? “It’s pretty obvious how shallow I am, right? Not the kind of girl who thinks of things like”—she nods down at her pile of notes on my company party—“designated drivers and taxi service. Not like you.”

That gives me momentary pause. It’s an odd thing to bring up when we’re discussing how tragically I just put my foot in my mouth. And that pause is all she needs to get the front door open and run from the house. God, I am totally out of my depth here. I know I can’t have this girl. The way she makes me feel is too good and I don’t want good. I won’t allow it.

But I chase after her nonetheless, my fucking heart in my mouth.

I can’t let her leave like this.

“Please. I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” Right before she ducks into the driver’s side, she hesitates. “Your judgment is right on the money. Goodbye, Byron.”

“Jane.”

She closes the door and locks it. Still, I pull on the handle, raking helpless fingers through my hair when I can’t reach her. All I can do is watch her back down my driveway without giving me so much as a glance in the rearview.

And I should let her go.

I should remain in my survivor’s guilt indefinitely, because I owe it to my sister to grieve. She deserves someone to be sad for her. Forever. But I know there’s no way in hell I won’t try and fix what I’ve just broken with Jane. I can’t let my gross underestimation of her character be how she remembers me. I’m going to see her again.

Soon. I just have to find the right formula to gain her forgiveness.

With urgency and purpose riddling my gut, I turn and stride back into the house.