Chapter 8: Take It Off

Adrian sits behind his desk, gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, apparently absorbed in a document.

His pen moves steadily across the paper, though his attention has followed Rosalie since she walked through the door.

“I’m here, Mr. Mercer.” She stops in front of his desk. “Shall we begin?”

His pen stills. Ink blooms into a dark spot beneath the nib.

Adrian finally looks up.

His gaze moves from her face to the cream silk pulling faintly across her breasts, then follows her waist to the crimson skirt fitted over her hips.

At this distance, the fabric conceals very little.

He caps his pen with maddening patience before meeting her eyes again.

“Let’s begin.”

Rosalie takes a measuring tape and notepad from her bag.

She left her assistant behind so she could measure Adrian herself—and suspects he arranged this meeting for the same reason.

Adrian comes around the desk and stops in front of her. “Do I need to take anything off?”

He loosens his tie and opens the top two buttons of his shirt, as casual as if they were somewhere far more private.

Rosalie watches his fingers. “Do you always undress for fittings?”

“Only for you.”

The shameless answer catches her off guard. She recovers with a smile. “Fine. Take it all off.”

Her gaze makes it sound like an order from a woman accustomed to getting what she pays for.

Adrian studies her triumphant expression and laughs. “Keep dreaming.”

He buttons his shirt again and spreads his arms beside the desk. “Measure me, Mira.”

Rosalie presses her lips together and drapes the tape across his shoulders.

Even in heels, she has to reach.

Adrian stands straight, broad shoulders beneath his shirt, offering no help.

“Sit on the sofa so I can—”

She never finishes.

Adrian catches her waist and lifts her onto the desk. The measuring tape slips from her hand.

He braces both hands beside her and leans in, surrounding her with heat and the familiar scent she remembers too well.

Rosalie raises one leg between them.

The red sole of her black heel settles against his hard stomach, holding him away.

Adrian stops.

“What happened, Mr. Mercer?” She smiles from her perch on his desk. “Do you prefer doing business in the office?”

Her foot presses lower.

Even through his shirt, she can feel the ridges of his abdomen tighten beneath the sole.

“How exciting.”

The toe of her shoe traces slowly down his stomach, glides over his belt buckle, then slips lower.

Adrian goes rigid.

His head tips back, eyes closing as he releases a long breath. The line of his throat pulls taut, and his fingers clamp around the desk behind her.

When he looks down again, his blue eyes have darkened.

His hand closes around her ankle.

The unmistakable tension beneath her shoe sends a jolt through Rosalie. She tries to draw her leg back.

Daylight pours through the windows, and someone could knock at any moment.

Her game suddenly feels much more dangerous.

Adrian sees the flicker of doubt on her face and smiles.

“Scared?”

Instead of releasing her, he steps forward.

Her knee bends as he comes closer, forcing her to lean back.

The slit of her skirt opens and the hem rides higher, revealing the smooth length of her thigh.

Adrian lowers his head and presses his mouth to the newly bared curve, high enough to steal her breath.

Rosalie shivers.

“Still this sensitive?” he murmurs against her skin.

Heat rushes into her face.

She hears the mockery beneath the question and refuses to let him win.

“You’re one to talk.” Her gaze drops pointedly between them. “You seem a little sensitive yourself.”

Her blush, the tremor she cannot hide, and the challenge in her green eyes strip away Adrian’s restraint.

He removes his glasses and sets them on the nearest file.

When he turns back, the civilized distance they have maintained all afternoon is gone.

He grips the back of her neck and kisses her.

His tongue slips past her parted lips almost at once, the kiss deepening until she can barely breathe. Five years of anger and hunger live inside it.

Rosalie remembers the daylight and the unlocked office door for perhaps three seconds.

Then she winds both arms around his neck and kisses him back.

Adrian sweeps the files from the desk.

Papers scatter across the floor as he lowers her onto the polished wood.

Her blonde hair spills free beneath her, and her green eyes turn hazy.

Somewhere between one kiss and the next, several buttons of her blouse come undone.

Adrian’s mouth leaves hers and moves down the side of her throat, lingering there until her fingers tighten in his shirt.

Each restless movement of her body makes his breathing rougher and his hand at her waist more demanding.

They are seconds from going too far.

Then Adrian stops.

He closes his eyes and forces himself upright.

Rosalie lies among the scattered papers, breathless and confused, her blouse open and her lips swollen from his kisses.

Adrian takes his suit jacket from the chair and lays it over her. Then he gathers her into his arms.

“Adrian?”

He carries her into the private room adjoining his office and lowers her onto the bed. After pulling the light blanket over her, he bends close.

“Rest for a while, Rosie.” His voice is painfully rough. “I need a shower.”

He turns toward the door.

Rosalie stares after him, still trying to understand how he can walk away now.

Before he gets far, she reaches out and catches his wrist.

Her grip is weak.

Adrian stops instantly.