EXCERPT
“Now step into my office.”
Julia blinked at his hard tone, her
gaze shifting to his closed office door. “I beg your pardon?”
Warren opened the door. “In. Now.”
Her features tightened with
resistance just as the elevator doors opened and several employees emerged,
their voices rising in chatter. Julia crossed the hallway in front of them, her
shoulders rigid. He caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 as she passed him.
He entered the office behind her and
closed the door, flicking the lock shut.
“You are not to take out personal
crap on my employees,” he said.
“That’s not how I run this company.”
Julia’s lips compressed. “Odd that
you’ve never before questioned my treatment of your employees. And it wasn’t personal. She needed to know she’d
screwed up.”
“Announcing the holiday party early
is not screwing up,” Warren replied evenly. “You’re pissed off because you’ve
had a shitty week, you have too much on your plate, an old bucket list has
thrown you off your game, and you don’t know what to do with the fact that we
fucked the other night.”
Two spots of color appeared on her
cheeks. “I seem to recall that what I did
with that fact was tell you it wasn’t going to happen again. After which
you informed me in excellent caveman style that I was wrong. You seem to forget
I’m never wrong.”
About
this, you are.
He bit back the words. He hadn’t
become the president of Sugar Rush by throwing his weight around. He knew how
to bide his time, work his way into getting what he wanted. And damned if he
didn’t want her more with every
passing second.
“Well?” Julia put her hands on her
hips and glared at him. “Are we done here?”
Under her make-up, purplish smudges
shadowed her eyes. Brackets of tension lined her mouth. His jaw tightened.
“You had a migraine yesterday,” he
said.
“What the fuck do you care?” Julia
snapped.
Warren’s hands flexed. He was used
to her quick-fire cursing, all the more effective when delivered by a woman who
looked like royalty, but he didn’t like being the recipient of her wrath.
“I’m putting Mia Donovan in charge
of the Sugar Rush holiday party,” he said.
“You’re firing me?” Julia stared at him, her eyes widening. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He steeled himself against
her shock and the knowledge that he was hurting her. “You’ve planned it for the
past ten years, and it’s time to hand it over to someone else.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Yes, I do. Sugar Rush is my company.
This is also the event where I’ll be announcing my retirement. You’re not going
to plan it.”
“Because I have too much on my
plate?” Julia stopped in front of the windows, her arms crossed and her fiery
gaze fixed on him. “Thanks for your concern, Daddy, but I assure you I can
handle everything I take on.”
“That’s why you’re such a success.
It’s also why your headaches are getting worse.”
“You are not my fucking doctor.”
“Stop swearing.”
She barked out a laugh. “You need to
rethink this retirement thing, Warren. It’s making you soft.”
Given the state of his dick, he was
anything but soft.
“If you won’t delegate your
projects, I will,” he said.
“Because you can’t stop being the
boss, even if you think otherwise.” Julia paced angrily to the desk, her eyes
flaring with blue ice. “Why are you
retiring, Warren? Everyone knows you’re the power behind the throne, much as
you’ve let the boys take all the glory. Three months—hell, one month from now
when you have nothing to do and no one to order around, you’re going to wonder
why you made such a bad decision.”
Warren’s jaw clenched. He was sick
of getting pushback from all sides. “I’ve been in business my entire life. I
know what I’m doing.”
“So do I, dammit,” Julia retorted.
“I don’t need you looking out for me.”
“I will always look out for you.”
She came to a halt, her whole body
stilling. By contrast, Warren’s heartbeat kicked up, sudden heat flooding his
veins. Their gazes met across the room, a crackling electric current firing
through the air.
Julia took a breath, her breasts
heaving beneath her jacket.
“Goddamn you, Warren Stone,” she
whispered.
“I told you to stop swearing.” He
advanced, his own breath increasing, his hands fisting and unfisting at his
sides.
Rebellion tightened her features.
“And if I don’t?”
“You sure you want to find out?”
He closed the distance between them,
his lust flaring like a match to dry leaves.
What
the fuck was going on with them?
The question flared like a comet
through his mind and died just as fast—because he didn’t care about the answer.
His mind was consumed with the thought of tasting her red lips again, sweet
like cherries, spicy like peppers. Her mouth could deliver an insult as sharp
and searing as a blade, but he knew—had always known, even if he’d smothered
the knowledge—that the sounds issuing from Julia Bennett’s mouth could also be
smooth, hot murmurs of lust that rushed straight to his blood. Weakening him of
all thought, all control, inciting him with the urge to—
He grabbed her shoulders, hauling
her soft, slender body against him. He’d always loved the contrast of Julia, the sharp-tongued, acidic queen and the
relentlessly devoted aunt. The rigorous boss who shot orders like arrows, and
the loyal friend who bought Hailey’s favorite peanut butter, sent care packages
to Gavin Knight when he was deployed in Iraq, spent hours on end with Evan at
the hospital.
He stared down at her fine features,
pale skin, and wide blue eyes that he’d seen almost every day of his life for
the past thirteen years—and suddenly now it felt as if he were looking at her
for the first time. Had he never noticed that tiny birthmark right beneath her
left eye? Or the silver flecks in her irises, like falling snow? Or the perfect
curve in her upper lip, tempting him to put his tongue there and—
Oh, he’d noticed all right. He’d
just tried to pretend he hadn’t.
“What the hell am I going to do with
you, Julia?” he muttered.
“Fire me, apparently.” Her tone was
bitter, her eyes blue fire.
Her gaze flickered involuntarily to
his mouth, her lips parting. He slipped his hand beneath her chin, lifting her
face to his. His heart jackhammered. Her breath brushed against his mouth, the
familiar scent of her—Chanel No. 5, lavender soap, pure Julia—suddenly exotic
and tantalizing.
“I’m going to let you go,” he said
slowly, “and take two steps back. I want you to reach under your skirt and take
your underwear off… if you’re wearing any.”
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR:
New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane writes hot, sexy romances about professors, bad boys, candy makers, and protective alpha males who find themselves consumed with love for one woman alone. Originally from California, Nina holds a PhD in Art History and an MA in Library and Information Studies, which means she loves both research and organization. She also enjoys traveling and thinks St. Petersburg, Russia is a city everyone should visit at least once. Although Nina would go back to college for another degree because she's that much of a bookworm and a perpetual student, she now lives the happy life of a full-time writer.
