Mallory Sims is late for her first day of work.
After spilling her tea, she discovers she has no gas in her car. Add that her arm keeps sticking to her dress from syrup left on the console of her car, flustered feels like an understatement.
Then she sees her new boss.
Graham Landry is the epitome of NSFW in his custom-fit suit, black-rimmed glasses, and a look so stern her libido doesn’t stand a chance. Being flustered is just the start of her problems.
Her punctuality is only the start of his. With a pink slip in hand, he’s been waiting on his new secretary to show up only to let her go. Then she rushes in with her doe eyes and rambling excuses, smelling like bacon and lavender. The termination paper falls to the side as she falls in his arms.
This is a disaster in the making. Not because of his pinpoint exactness or her free spirit, but because when they’re together, the sparks that fly threaten to burn the whole place down.
Her skin is pale and creamy, a soft framework for the deep chestnut hair cascading across her shoulders. A dress the color of moss in the summer showcases toned arms and a long, lean line from her shoulders to her calves. A thin rope belt cinches her trim waist, one that I can imagine digging my fingers into.I clear my throat. “Can I help you?”
With something besides getting out of that dress?
“I think you probably can,” she breathes, then blushes a pretty shade of pink. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. What I mean is …”
She’s flustered. It’s adorable and sexy at the same time. I should say something, interject, help her out, but I don’t. I like this entirely too much.
“I’ll stop talking now.” She flashes me a pretty smile, one that catches my attention in ways it shouldn’t at eight-sixteen a.m. Taking a step towards me, the toe of her shoe catches on the water bottle she didn’t pick up and she comes barreling my way.
Before I know what’s happening, I reach out and catch her under a spray of loose leaf paper.
“Omph!” she heaves as she lands in my arms and I’m surrounded by a sweet, earthy scent.
I should let her go. I should back away, direct her to the front desk to get directions to wherever she’s going, and retreat to my office. Regardless of how sexy her breasts feel pressed against me or the way her ass pops as my fingers lace together at the dip at the bottom of her spine, I have things to do today. Important things. Lots of them. Even if I can’t pinpoint one at the moment.
Large, nearly golden-colored eyes peer up at me. They’re crystal clear, almost like I can see all the way to the depths of her soul. They’re incredible tones of the purest gold and I can’t look away.
The feel of her body against mine sparks something inside me—a carnal, visceral reaction that’s led by feeling rather than intellect. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying desperately to use the brainpower I’m known for in most circles and not the cock I’m known for in others.
“I think so.” She pulls her gaze away from mine. A connection is actually snapped between us and I’m almost certain she feels it too because her features fall. “I’m just running late …”
Hell. Fucking. No.
USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.
She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather’s nice and there’s always a piece of candy in her pocket.
For sneak peeks, giveaways, and more, please join Adriana’s Facebook Group, Books by Adriana Locke, or her Goodreads group, All Locked Up.
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