She kept her eyes on their clasped hands because the air between them had taken on a charge of awareness, and she was afraid to find out how he might be looking at her.
He tightened his grip and tugged her hand toward him. She knew she should pull her hand away and bolt out the door. Nathan Trainor was used to women who played the game at the same level he did, and Chloe was way above her pay grade here.
But she wanted to feel the bed sink under his weight, to touch his body heat on the sheets, to be close to him for a reason other than work. This was dangerous territory for someone without a road map.
“Come sit with me.” The request spoken in his deep, resonant voice tipped the scales.
She slipped off her shoes and slid just far enough onto the bed so she could swing her legs up and settle against the pillows.
“You’ll fall off if you don’t move over farther,” he said, amusement threading through his words.
“I’m fine,” she said, keeping her gaze on the view.
“I’ll put a pillow between us if it will make you feel more comfortable,” he said.
She was acting like a teenager playing her first game of spin the bottle. She turned to look at him and nearly carried out his prediction of falling off the bed. He was much closer than she’d expected. She could see the reddish-brown stubble on his jaw, the gradations of gray in his eyes, and the strong line of his throat as it rose from the neckline of his T-shirt.
“You have to admit this is a little strange,” she said, trying to balance on the edge of the mattress.
He shifted, his weight making the mattress dip so she had to brace her hand on it to avoid tilting into his shoulder.
“There’s nothing strange about having a beautiful woman in my bed,” he said.
“I, er, I’m not beautiful,” she said, her voice pitched higher than normal. She turned back toward the window. Nathan Trainor was trying to seduce her. Otherwise he wouldn’t have told her she was beautiful. She could stop it now and retain her self-respect. Or she could find out what it was like to be kissed by a billionaire.
“I disagree,” he said as he lifted his free hand and traced down her cheek with the back of it. Brushing down along her neck, he splayed his fingers when he reached the hollow of her throat and slipped them just under the open collar of her blouse.
She reacted in places he hadn’t touched, with a yearning in her breasts, a liquid curl of warmth low in her belly. She made her decision, letting her eyes drift closed so she could concentrate on how it felt to have his hand against her skin.
The mattress dipped again and she could feel his breath stirring her hair. Then his lips were against her temple and on her eyebrow and teasing her earlobe. She let her head drop back on the pillow and nearly moaned as he took advantage and slid his mouth down to replace his hand at the base of her throat.
Now that she couldn’t see his face, she dared to open her eyes, threading her fingers into the thick waves of his hair—the strong, silky texture satisfying her pent-up curiosity about what it would be like to touch.
She felt heat and moistness as he flicked the tip of his tongue against her skin. The surprise and pleasure of it made her arch against the pillows. His hold on her hand tightened. He lifted his head, his gaze locked on her breasts. His free hand skimmed down along the upper curve of her breast, and he circled his thumb over her nipple where its peak was outlined by the thin silk of her blouse.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed as the friction sent flares of arousal through her. Now she wanted more than just a kiss.
He cupped her breast with his palm, and she pushed against him to increase the delicious pressure.
He made a strangled sound and dropped his hand, rolling away from her. “What the hell am I thinking?” he growled as he shoved himself to a sitting position on the opposite edge of the bed.
So he’d come to his senses and realized he was seducing his temporary employee. What else did she expect? She stiffened with humiliation and started to scramble off the bed. “It’s hard to remember that our relationship should be professional when we’re working in your bedroom.”
As she stood, he turned to her with a look of surprise, before a deep cynicism hardened his eyes. “Are you planning to cry sexual harassment? I suppose I deserve it,” he said.
“Wait, no. I thought you stopped because I’m just—”
“I stopped because I have the flu, and I don’t want to infect you,” he said, watching her.
“Oh, is that it?” Relief made her feel giddy. “Dr. Cavill knows I’ve had my flu shot. And I never get sick anyway.”
“I never get sick either, and look at me.” He swept his hand down his pajama-clad body.