"After you," he said smoothly.
I took a small step backward. "My interview-"
"I'm about to administer a preliminary interview." he cut in. "Personally."
The erotic edge to his words should have made me run, kicking and screaming, in the opposite direction. Instead, the throbbing in my heart was met by a pulsing decidedly lower.
I began the descent and told myself I didn’t have to let on that I'd do anything to work for his company. That would make me seem desperate. Whore-y. And I was neither. I was just someone that knew what I wanted and would get it--by any means necessary.
As far back as I could remember I’ve been the queen of spin, able to talk my way out of just about anything. Missing curfew, bringing home a B- instead of an A, mastering the 'it's me, it's not you', and even talking my way out of a flurry of speeding tickets.
At Whitmore and Creighton I'd get a chance to use my silver tongue to segue into the lives of the rich and famous. When shit hit the fan and Dick and Jane in Everytown, USA read about the latest mess a prominent figure was embroiled in, I would be behind the scenes, turning crap into apple pie. With time, maybe I'd even make a name for myself--one as fearsome as Jacob Whitmore.
But the feel of him behind me, domineering and forceful, reminded me that I was still a nobody and still had a pound or two of flesh to give.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, something in his voice betting on yes.
"No.” I wasn't afraid of him so much as my willingness and excitement to follow him into the unknown. I had no idea what waited for me at the end of the stairs but a part of me hoped it was something illicit; something that involved those lips pressed against mine. Against my neck. Trailing and tracing every curve...
I teetered a bit on my ridiculous heels and let out a nervous chuckle when I felt him immediately against me. I knew he meant to steady me, but the nearness of him made my morals and my body sway--especially when I felt the swell pushing through the fabric of his pants. His passion only spurned me on and I was deadly close to ripping off my skirt and letting him take me then and there.
What are you doing? A voice shrilled, cutting through the arousal. You're gonna let some strange man have his way with you in a stairwell?
It was a splash of cold water to the face and I pulled back when we reached the landing, putting a few feet between me and my beautiful prospective employer. "I-I can't do this."
His cerulean eyes glittered. "Do what?"
I gave him an incredulous look. Was he really going to make me say it? "I have an interview." I combed my memory for the woman's name given over the phone. "With Maria Delacourt." I glanced down at his crotch and spied his snug arousal and shot my gaze back up. "A proper interview."
If annoyed or insulted by my last sentence, he had a helluva poker face. His face was still, handsome features cut out of marble. Unfairly perfect. Unfairly hard to read. But when he strode forward, backing me up until I was against the wall with no place to go except through him, there was no mistaking his intentions. My ni**les strained against their intimate prison and I felt moist desire pooling between my thighs. Still, I denied him.
"Mr. Whitmore, I can't," I said weakly. "I won't."
His fingers expertly found my side zipper and unhooked the top clasp before pulling the zipper down. My protests were irrelevant. As my skirt fell to my ankles, a rash of pride went through me when I heard the moan in the back of his throat at the red lacy panties I'd chosen to wear this morning. They always said confidence started from within and the scarlet number was like red velvet cake against my caramel skin, showing off the summer hue I'd achieved with all of my free time. The padding I’d packed onto my petite frame throughout college was all but gone because of daily runs and though I swore I couldn't see a difference, I felt it in the way he looked at me.
I didn't say another word as I let him untie the side sash of my blouse, then undo the final button holding the thing together. The blouse joined the skirt on the floor.
Suddenly hyper aware of my near nudity, I pointlessly crossed my arms against my chest and tried to shield my body from him.
He let out a chuckle, light, condescending...and as infuriating as him blasting past me in the lobby without a second look. It reeked of entitlement and it shook me from my obedience.
I maneuvered around him in a huff and kneeled, gathering my clothes. I must have had a moment of insanity because now, with him so certain that I’d drop my panties just because he was powerful and hot, I knew I'd take a job at Dairy Queen before I’d work for him...right?
"What do you think you're doing?" he said, an edge to the question.
"Leaving," I said icily. “You know, that thing that one does when they no longer want to be someplace.”
His foot was on the hem of my skirt and when he didn't budge, I shot him a look of warning. He stepped back with another laugh. "We both know you're not going anywhere, Leila."
"Is that right?" I said sarcastically, sliding my skirt over my hips.
"Mmhm," he intoned. "The starting salary of a research aide at Whitmore and Creighton is easily triple the average income of most people in the country, you'll get to sink your teeth into the meatiest celebrity catastrophes in the world, and we have a hell of a benefits package."
I let out a snort as I zipped up my skirt. "So it's a good job. And my interview involves spreading my legs? You dangle a check and health insurance like a bone and I'm just supposed to have sex with you?"
"No," he said, eyes burning into me. “You haven’t earned sex. But you’re going to submit to me because you want to.”
Submit to him? “I’m pretty sure I just said I wasn’t interested,” I said stubbornly, not looking him in the eye because he might see that couldn’t be farther from the truth. “I’m not a whore.”
“I never said you were,” he said smoothly. “But I do think you’re curious.”
“Curious?” I snorted.
He nodded. “That’s right. You’re going to submit to me because you're curious."
"No I'm not." But I'd stopped redressing.
"I can tell you're a woman that's used to being in charge. A leader."
He was back in front of me, invading my personal space in the most delicious way. "You're going to submit to me because you're curious about what it would be like to give everything over to someone else."
He leaned in and his virile scent flooded my nostrils, making me close my eyes as I breathed him in.