I blink. He worries about me? “I went out for lunch.”

“You went out to lunch with that young fool.” John sits beside me, trapping me between the wall and his hard body. “And he left you alone and unprotected.” He pulls me onto his lap, not caring that we’re in public. “You could have been hurt.” He runs his hands over my shoulders, arms, chest and hips as though assuring himself I’m unharmed.

He’s genuinely concerned about me. I lean back, sinking deeper into his fit form. “This is a family restaurant, sir.”

“I almost died outside a family hospital.” John rubs his fingers over the silver scars encircling his neck. “And I wasn’t successful back then. I didn’t have people targeting me or targeting my employees, as I do now.” He sweeps his hands over me once more. “You shouldn’t be alone and you shouldn’t be sitting here. You should always sit with your back to the wall.” He indicates Rexton’s vacant seat. “Never allow anyone to approach you from behind.”

Had the strung-out junkie who’d slit his throat approached him from behind? The almost myth-like recounts on the internet had been vague. “Would you care if something happened to me?”

“Nothing will happen to you.” John tightens his grip on me, pressing his arms against my ribs.

“But if something did--”

“Nothing will happen to you,” he repeats. “When you have to leave the office or the house and I’m not available, Dave will accompany you. He’s a former marine.”

He’s assigning his driver to protect me. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m fine, sir.”

“I’m not fine.” John pushes me off his lap. “And you clearly do need a bodyguard. Your unauthorized lunch break has affected my entire schedule, inconveniencing myself and countless others.” He stands, his jaw clenching. “It won’t occur again, understand?” He gazes down at me, his eyes hard, his stance unrelenting.

I gulp air. He’s still very, very angry. “I understand, sir.”

“Move my one and two o’clocks.” John places one of his hands on my back and propels me toward the exit.

I unclip my phone, accessing the calendar as we walk. “You have time to make your two o’clock.” I find an empty space for the first meeting and send notifications, ensuring the participants are aware of the change.

John holds the door open for me. “Actions have consequences, Grant.” I step onto the busy sidewalk and pause, the sun’s rays blinding me. “This time, I’ll allow you to choose the consequences.” He guides me toward the side entrance to Powers Corporation. “Choose carefully.” He waves his passcard over the security sensor, pokes his head into the building and then gestures for me to enter.

He’s ensuring the area is safe, protecting me. I climb the stairs to the second floor, forgoing the crowds waiting for John in the lobby. He walks behind me, guarding my rear, his palm pressing against the small of my back.

Is he protecting me because he’s my boss? I step onto the second floor. Or is he protecting me because he cares about me?

I rush toward the bank of elevators. Men and women sort the mail into slots, their gloved hands moving quickly. They laugh and tease each other, oblivious to our presence. The brown carpet is worn thin by the heavy carts. A large clock ticks, counting down the minutes of the workday.

My workday never ends. John calls me whenever he likes and he likes to call me often. “I’ll work late tonight,” I offer.

John presses the button for the elevator. “That’s an expectation, not a consequence.” The elevator doors open. Faces stare back at us.

Undaunted by the crowd, John pushes inside, clearing a path for me. Employees chime greetings. He grunts his replies, maneuvering until I’m positioned between a mirrored wall and his solid form.

“It sure is a beautiful day, isn’t it, Mr. Powers?” an eager young employee chirps, his face glowing with hero worship.

“Consequences, Grant,” John mutters.

I smother my grin. My boss hates small talk. “This is a great opportunity to talk about the new social media campaign.”

John looks over his shoulder and narrows his eyes. I narrow my eyes back at him. His lips twist.

He faces his elevator-constrained audience, takes a deep breath and recites the speech he gave to the board last month, his voice rolling over me. His employees gaze at him as though gold gushes from his lips, their admiration almost painful to witness. I rest my forehead against John’s spine and relax, my body hidden from view.

When the elevator opens on the top floor, the car remains packed. John ends his monologue and steps into the hallway, holding the doors for me.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Powers, Miss Grant.” Nancy smiles. Her greeting is echoed by the three men sitting in the brown leather chairs.

My lips twitch. I doubt any of the men know who I am.

“What are you so happy about?” John growls, pushing me along the hallway. “Consequences are no laughing matter.”

“You could dock my pay,” I suggest.

“If I docked your pay every time you misbehaved, you’d be working for free.”

As we pass Mr. Zanetti, I glare at the young executive. He’s likely the one who squealed on me, telling John whom I was with.

Mr. Zanetti frowns at me. John growls softly, his hand lowering to my hip. The CIO’s eyes widen and he hurries away from us.

I pause near my desk. Half of a grilled Reuben, my favorite kind of sandwich, is set on a plate by my keyboard. I lick my lips, the corned beef, swiss cheese and sauerkraut on rye bread making my mouth water.

“You don’t deserve that treat.” John propels me forward. “You’ve been a bad assistant.”

My shoulders slump. “Isn’t eating in a seafood restaurant punishment enough, sir?” I enter his office, my heels sinking into the thick, soft carpet.

“Bass is a fool.” My boss shuts the door. “Everyone knows you don’t like seafood.” The lock clicks, the sound startling me.

I turn. John’s eyes gleam, his expression anything but professional.

“We’re at work, sir.” My gaze lowers to the pronounced ridge in his black pants. “Everyone will hear us.”

“If I was a cruel boss, I’d allow them to hear you.” He reaches for his remote control and activates the far screen, increasing the volume. Two talking heads heatedly discuss the Fed’s stance on interest rates. “But I’m not a cruel boss.” He tugs on his blue silk tie, loosening the knot. “This is your last chance to name your punishment.”

He wants to punish me. I watch him remove his tie, the strip of fabric wrapping around his palms. What would it feel like to have his rough skin connect with my tender ass? I swallow hard, aroused by this thought.

“Choose or I’ll choose for you,” John warns. “You won’t like my choice.”

“A spanking,” I whisper, unable to meet his gaze.

Chapter Six

John sucks in his breath, his chest rising. “You want me to spank you?” The excitement edging his voice confirms my decision, his response escalating my need. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” I wiggle, having never played these naughty games before. I’m uncertain of what happens next¸ what I should do, where he wants me.

“Bend over my desk,” he commands. I don’t have to worry. I’m playing these games with John. He knows exactly where he wants me.

I stride to the desk, my stomach fluttering with nerves, and I lower my chest to the hard wooden surface, stretching my arms out.

John loops his tie around my head, sliding the silk between my teeth. “If you need to scream, bite down on this, not on your lips.” He skims one of his thumbs over my abused flesh. I flick my tongue, tasting him, his salt, his warmth. “Behave,” he warns, securing the makeshift gag. The TV blasts in the background.

He runs his hands down my back, over my ass. I’m at my boss’ mercy and, at the moment, he has none, his body remaining tight with suppressed fury.