He meets my eyes again. “I know you are. That’s part of your charm, isn’t it?”

We simply stare at each other as the seconds pass, my heart pounding, my knees shaking as he hovers, his bare chest begging to be touched.

Finally, his hand drops to his side. “I don’t want Michael touching you like that again. Or anyone here, for that matter.”

Is he even allowed to demand that? “Why not?”

“Because, you’re—” He presses his lips together, cutting himself off. “Because they’re not good enough for you.”

Michael seems like a genuinely nice guy. If he’s not good enough for me, and no one else here is good enough, then how am I supposed to get over Jed? Didn’t Henry say that I should spend the next four months fucking someone in every position imaginable?

I can’t keep my eyes from his plump, pink lips. Nearly feminine, they’re so shapely. I ran my tongue across those wet, soft lips only days ago, when I was drunk and clueless.

What about the Mr. Wolf, the man who strolls through the halls in his designer suits, capturing women’s lustful gazes and drawing men’s envy?

But he told Belinda he didn’t want me.

Fire sparks in Henry’s eyes. He reaches back to wrap his fist around my braid. He tugs on it gently, forcing my head back. His whisper is oddly tender in comparison. “You’re my assistant, Abbi.”

I have to ask it. Instinctively, I know it’s the wrong question to ask, but I can’t help myself. “And if I wasn’t?”

I shiver as his fingertip drags along my collarbone, down along the neckline of my blouse to dip into my cleavage, the simple touch tightening my nipples and making my breasts heavy, begging to be undressed, exposed, touched.

So suddenly, he robs me of his touch and I shudder with the loss.

“I want you to open that e-mail from Belinda and be ready to brief me on its contents.” And he’s back to work already.

It takes me a few seconds and a few tattered breaths to collect myself. Henry has intentionally changed the topic, shuttering his eyes to hide all emotion, even taken a step back.

He has controlled himself.

I struggle to clear my throat. “What time do you want me here in the morning?”

A slight frown touches his beautiful face. “No. Not tomorrow. We need to do it now, while Michael’s working on me.”

While he’s lying naked on the table?

He smirks, unfastening his belt. “What’s wrong? Now the sweet, virtuous Abbi is too shy to watch? After what you’ve seen, this should be nothing.”

My cheeks burn, but I meet his eyes and see the challenge in them. Did it bother him at all that I watched him in the shower? I’m beginning to think not, which means he’s been toying with me all this time, putting me through hell for his own amusement. That’s not nice.

With a defiant set of my jaw, I stand my ground on wobbly knees, waiting for him to dismiss me. His hands slow for a moment over his zipper. When I don’t move, understanding sparks in his eyes. He cocks his head, amusement taking over.

And then he lets his pants drop to the carpet with a soft swooshing sound.

I keep my eyes locked on his, fighting the compelling urge to look down. I sense rather than see his thumbs running along the elastic of his briefs.

And still I don’t move. Where is this nerve coming from?

Stretching the elastic away from his body, he peels his briefs off and lets them drop to the floor, too.

I pretend that having Henry standing naked in front of me has no impact, but I know I’m doing a lousy job of it. My breathing alone—quick, shallow pants through parted lips—is likely enough to tip him off. My heart hammers inside my chest as I stand there, waiting.

I don’t dare look down to see the effect this has on him, but I can sense it jutting out in all its swollen glory. It would be so easy for me to reach out and rub my thumb over the tip, to wrap my fist around his length. My palm itches at the idea.

Maybe this is what he’s waiting for.

For “sweet, virtuous Abbi” to break.

“Is there anything else you need, while I’m here?” I ask as calmly as I can manage. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know what I need at this moment. Him.

Henry takes a step closer to me, heat from his body radiating, his erection now pressing against my stomach, his words stirring my confusion. “Don’t tempt me,” he growls.

Oh my God. I’m in so far over my head. I fight every urge I have to shrink back, to run away. That’s what the farm girl would do. But I don’t want to be her.

I harden myself. “For someone who’s not attracted to insecure, stupid little girls, that sure is a very hard cock you have there.”

I can’t believe I said that. Nor can I believe that I delivered it in such a calm voice.

I don’t think he can either, because first surprise, then alarm flashes in his eyes. Yes, I basically just admitted to listening in on his conversation with Belinda. His mouth opens, then closes several times as he hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes I’m forced to say things I don’t mean.”

Flutters explode in my stomach. Does that mean it was a lie? “So you don’t think I’m an insecure, stupid little girl?”

His lips twist. “Oh, you are that. Until you prove otherwise, anyway.” He exhales heavily, his warm breath caressing my cheek. Some internal conflict twists his features into an almost painful grimace. “Wait for me in the living room,” he demands in a hoarse whisper, turning away and heading toward the bathroom with slow, leisurely steps, that glorious backside straining and shifting with each step, his back carved into muscle, the deep line down the center making my knees weak.

I duck out quickly and make my way over to where Michael waits, praying that my face isn’t so red that the young masseur figures out what just happened. “He’ll be out in a minute,” I say, clearing my throat as I grab my iPad and curl up in a nearby wing chair while I search for Belinda’s e-mail. Only now do I realize that my hand is shaking. And that my panties are soaked.

“You okay?” Michael asks, his bright green eyes sparkling as they watch me. They look genuine, not lecherous at all. Why does Henry think he’s into me? And why would he care if Michael was in to me? I’m not dating anyone, and Henry isn’t attracted to me.

Or did he just admit that he is?

I’m still too flustered to wrap my head around what happened and all that was said. “Yes. Thanks,” I mutter, offering Michael a smile.

He begins stretching his fingers one by one, warming them up for an hour of labor. “Hey. So what’s it like, working this closely with Wolf?”

A strangled laugh escapes my lips before I can keep it in. “Never a dull moment.”

Henry appears through the doorway then, a white towel wrapped and tucked around his lower half. It does little to hide what waits beneath and he doesn’t seem to care, one way or another.

“So, what’ll it be today, Mr. Wolf?”

“Full body, please.”

I swallow and keep my eyes on my iPad screen as, from the corner of my eye, Henry removes the towel and tosses it to land on the wing chair opposite me. I could steal a quick, unobstructed view if I adjust my eyes by an inch. Maybe he’s still testing me, wondering if I’ll take the chance.

I keep my eyes down.

I’ve seen my boss’s cock plenty already.

Henry climbs onto the table, stomach down, and Michael pulls the covers over his lower half. His hands begin their assessment of the expansive slab of muscle and flesh beneath him. “Man, you’re tight today. Stressed at all?”

Henry answers him with a low chuckle.

“Abbi.”

I swallow against the blip of excitement that stirs with Henry calling my name. “Yes?”

Long seconds of silence force me to glance up, to find him staring at me, the look on his face almost regretful. It appears that both his anger and whatever game he was playing earlier are out of his system. “Yes, Mr. Wolf?” I repeat, as pleasantly as I can.