Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions: One-Night Mistress...Convenient Wife / Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

“Um, at work, you mean? Yes. Yes, they did.” Natalie busied herself unpacking her laptop, setting it up, plugging in the power cord.

Sophy regarded her speculatively. “And what about not at work?” she ventured after a long moment.

Natalie felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Fine,” she said shortly. “He’s fine.” But she didn’t meet Sophy’s gaze, though she could certainly feel her cousin’s curious eyes on her.

Then there was a sharp intake of breath. “You’re not telling me something,” Sophy said.

“Nothing to tell. I finished work for him yesterday. His old temp is back today.”

Sophy didn’t say anything.

Natalie looked over at her. Sophy’s gaze was narrow, assessing her every move. And clearly detecting the hint of a smile that Natalie couldn’t quite hide.

“You did it,” Sophy breathed. “Didn’t you?” she pressed when Natalie didn’t immediately reply.

In fact, Natalie had no intention of replying. She didn’t kiss and tell. Or do anything else and tell about it, either.

“I just said he was fine. That’s all I said.” She fixed a glare on Sophy.

But whatever subtle signs the other woman was reading, she had no doubt. “Wow,” she said softly. Then she leaned toward Natalie, her dark eyes gentle and concerned. “So, who changed? Christo? Or you?”

There was no point in pretending she didn’t know what Sophy was talking about. But Natalie sat down and booted up her computer before she answered.

Then she said with quiet honesty, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear. You be careful. Those Savas men are hell on hearts.”

Sophy knew that better than almost anyone, having been married to one of Christo’s cousins briefly a few years ago.

“Christo’s not at all like George,” Natalie protested. George was a physicist, for heaven’s sake.

“He broke my heart,” Sophy said flatly. “Just don’t let Christo break yours.”

He was on her doorstep shortly before seven.

Natalie had glimpsed Christo as he crossed the garden to come up the stairs, and she felt an immediate impulse to fly to the door. Not a good idea, she told herself.

The momentary panic she’d felt at awakening and discovering he was gone had evaporated during the day. She’d slept in.

Be honest, but not insane, she counseled herself. And so she waited until he knocked. Then she ran her hands down the sides of the casual yellow canvas pants she wore, and far more calmly and sedately than she felt, opened the door.

“Hey.” He smiled at her. “Are we okay?”

She blinked at the seriousness in his eyes, despite the smile on his lips. “Okay?”

He lifted one broad shoulder, and his mouth twisted a little wryly. “I thought you might regret it.”

Natalie swallowed. “Regret? Should I?”

“You know what I said about commitment, promises, the way I feel about long-term commitment…” Christo’s voice trailed off and he looked at her expectantly.

“I know what you said,” she agreed, keeping her voice even, betraying as little emotion as she could.

She didn’t quite feel the equanimity she hoped she was expressing. But Christo wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t heard from him already. He’d made no promises—except perhaps for promising that he would make none.

She’d assured him that she could handle it.

Now she reminded herself firmly that she could handle it. “I’m okay,” she said and smiled at him, giving him her heart in her eyes whether he chose to see it or not.

What he saw she wasn’t sure, but when she opened the door wider and waved him in, he entered, only pausing to give her a long and amazing kiss that had her bones melting before he moved on to the living room.

“Gotta finish these,” he said, nodding at the bookcases they’d abandoned half in and half out of their spots on either side of the fireplace. “Then I thought we could grab a bite to eat. Yes?” He slanted a glance her way and the seriousness in his gaze had faded now. Only the smile remained.

“Yes,” Natalie agreed. “Sounds good.”

She helped him finish shifting the bookcases, and today as they bumped and touched, they laughed and gave in. They paused to touch, to kiss, to stroke, to stoke the fire building between them.

By the time Christo had the bookcase backs screwed into the wall studs and the shelves in place so that Laura’s birthday bookshelves were a reality, the meal they were ready for had nothing to do with food.

“We can eat later, can’t we?” Christo murmured, and Natalie nodded, taking his hand and starting toward the bedroom.

But, still holding her hand, he drew back, looking at her from beneath hooded lids. His skin over his cheekbones was taut and his face flushed. “Come to my place,” he said. “Bigger bed. More room.”

And one more demon to vanquish, Natalie thought, memories of that earlier disastrous night flitting across her mind. But she nodded resolutely. “Yes,” she said.

The bedroom was much the same. The time of day—early evening—was the same. The setting sun spilled its light through wide slanted wooden blinds across the room, and the sun and shadow gave Christo tiger’s stripes as he pulled his shirt over his head and then drew her into his arms.

Now she had new memories in the making, erasing the old as Christo touched her gently, almost reverently, kissing her shoulders, her neck, then, stripping her shirt off her and removing her bra, he kissed his way down across her breasts and abdomen, kneeling before her, heading south.

Natalie’s knees shook. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, then clenched in his hair as he skimmed off the rest of the clothes she wore and bore her back onto the bed. He shed his jeans and boxers, then nudged her knees apart and settled between them.

She reached for him, stroked him, made him catch his breath. His jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his temple. A fine tremor seemed to course through him as he slid in. Easily. Perfectly. As if he were coming home.

This was the way she had dreamed it. The way she’d imagined it those three long years ago—she and Christo lovingly entwined, their bodies moving in unison as they gave each other the passion and love they shared.

After, he rolled off to lie on his back beside her, one arm over his head, the other outflung. His eyes were shut and she got another look at those glorious long lashes. She memorized them as well as the faint hint of evening stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw.

She watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest, thought she could even see the way his heart hammered so strongly that the beats were visible against the wall of his chest.

Instinctively she reached out to lay a hand over it, to stroke his chest.

His eyes flicked open. His hand came up to wrap around hers, to hold it, still it, as he turned his head to meet her gaze.

“We need to talk.”

“I thought we needed to eat,” she said, smiling at him, trying to deflect the seriousness she saw in his eyes. “I’m starved.”

“In a minute. Or two.” He gave her hand a squeeze, held it a moment, then let go, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have something I need to say.”