44

Giselle went straight to the library to cool off. The library was bathed in the amber glow of a single desk lamp, casting long, skeletal shadows across the rows of leather-bound books.

Giselle sat at the massive desk, several thick folders splayed open before her. She didn't look up when the doors creaked open. She didn't need to. The scent of sandalwood and tobacco announced him before he even stepped into the light.

"It’s late, Giselle," Richard said, his voice a low velvet rasp that seemed to pull at the air in the room.

"The clock just told me that, Richard. I can count," she replied, her eyes never leaving the page in front of her.

Richard walked further into the room, his hands shoved into the pockets of his nightie. He stopped at the edge of the desk, looking down at her. "Why aren't you sleeping? I imagine it’s quite quiet in the master suite now that you’ve chased my son out of his own bed."

Giselle finally looked up. The lamplight caught the gold in her eyes, making them look even colder. "I didn't chase him out. I merely made a logistical suggestion. He wanted to entertain his mistress; I suggested he use the guest wing to do it."

She leaned back, crossing her arms. "The real question is, why are you still up?"

"I usually come to the study at this hour," Richard said, though his eyes remained fixed on her face, searching for a crack in the mask. "I tend to think more clearly at midnight. Though, I did wonder if you came here tonight hoping to meet me... privately."

Giselle let out a soft laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Privately? God forbid a woman feels the desire to be with a man who has already rejected her advances once. I’m many things, Richard, but I’m not a glutton for your attention."

She reached out and adjusted a pen on the desk, her movements precise. "I’ve moved on from that night. I suggest you do the same. It was a lapse in judgment on my part—a moment of weakness brought on by a very long drought of sexual starvation, bad sex and the strong desire to relive that one forbidden night. It’s in the past now."

Richard felt a unexpected sting in his chest. It was a physical sensation, a tightening he hadn't felt in decades. He was used to being the one who dismissed, the one who walked away. Hearing her relegate their encounter to a "lapse in judgment" felt like a jagged blade to his pride.

"You moved on that quickly?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

"Why wouldn't I?" she countered, looking him dead in the eye. She was lying, of course, she wanted him to rip her apart right there and then fuck her ten thousand ways from Sunday. Every time her eyes met with his, desires to be with him plagued her. Her skin still hummed with the memory of his touch in the hotel, a phantom heat she couldn't extinguish. But she would rather die than give him the luxury of knowing she still hungered for him.

"I’m a Monroe," she said. "We’re survivors. We don't linger on doors that are locked."

Richard’s gaze drifted from her face to the desk. He went still. His eyes narrowed as he realized exactly what she was looking at. He reached out and spun one of the folders around.

"These are the Hemingway-Sterling merger documents," Richard said, his voice turning clinical and sharp. "These are internal, high-level drafts. Where did you get these?"

"Chase left them in the safe in our—my—room," Giselle said, pulling the folder back toward her. "He never changes the code. He’s predictable. It’s his greatest flaw."

"What are you doing with them, Giselle? This is proprietary information. This is the future of this company."

"I’m trying to put myself to use," she said, tapping a highlighter against her chin. "Since I’m a Hemingway woman and apparently destined to be 'pretty and taken care of,' I thought I’d at least understand the mechanics of the family business I’m living of. Besides, your son’s notes in the margins are pathetic. He’s missing the obvious tax loophole in the third subsidiary."

Richard stood stunned. He looked at the documents, then back at her. She wasn't just skimming; she had marked up the margins with some analytical queries. She was dissecting a billion-dollar deal at midnight.

"You're serious about this job," Richard muttered.

"I don’t joke about my freedom, Richard," she said, closing the folder with a firm thud. She stood up, the silk of her robe catching the light, revealing some parts of her fresh thighs as she moved around the desk.

She stopped inches from him, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her attire. For a second, the bravade wavered. The silence between them grew heavy, charged with the static of everything they weren't saying. Richard looked down at her lips, his pulse thudding in his neck, his mind traveling through the pages of the night he fucked her, he felt a strong desire to hold her down and fuck her. Infact, he couldn’t stop himself and grabbed her, attempting to kiss her.

Giselle broke the spell first. She pushed his hands off, stepped around him, heading for the door.

"I expect to hear your feedback about my request by morning," she said, her hand on the brass handle. "Don't keep me waiting. I find I have very little patience for hesitation these days."

"Giselle," he called out, heavily erect.

She didn't turn around. "Goodnight, Father-in-law. Try to get some sleep. You already have too much on your mind."

She stepped out and closed the doors behind her, leaving Richard standing in the center of the library, horny with an embarrassing erection. He looked at the closed folder on his desk. He felt a strange, terrifying kind of fascination.

He tried to stable himself with several deep breaths, hoping his erection would go down soon enough so he can go back to his room.

Another part of him had wanted to drag her back into the study and fuck her, to keep her under his grip as he dug into her sweet succulent pussy. But as he looked at the intelligent notes she had left on the documents, he realized there was more to her than her beauty.

And he had never wanted her more.