The Boss and the Brat: A Billionaire Romance Page 8

  A girl should’ve had a moment to prepare herself before kissing Cameron Mitchell.

  A nibble shattered my strength. The first swipe of his tongue against mine stole my whimper of encouragement and silenced the profanity he deserved.

  I whimpered as we collapsed onto the couch, shuddering beneath the sheer strength of his body.

  Holy moly—the man was strong. His thick biceps flexed hard as he wrapped me up tight against his heated, toned chest. His muscles strained under my touch, flexing and twitching as my fingers hungrily explored every hollow and definition against his abs.

  I should’ve hated this man.

  Instead, I rolled with him onto my back, gasping as his hands circled low, popping the button on my jeans to rip the denim over my hips.

  “I could give you every pleasure…” Cameron offered me a sample, teasing a hand over my stark white, function-over-style cotton panties separating my heat from his touch. “I could take you right now…hard…fast…in ways you couldn’t imagine.”

  I had no reason to doubt him.

  A rush of shivers set my body aflame as his fingers dazzled between my legs, tickling the soft material as I bucked my hips for more of his delights. He kissed me once more, chuckling as my whimper turned groan the faster his hand caressed that secret part of me.

  “No one has ever taken you the way you deserve,” he whispered. “And I bet you’ve denied yourself every pleasure—even the ones you only think you understand.”

  He had no idea how right he was.

  And, God, was I curious.

  Ever since the party, I’d fantasized about it. Short, frustrating bursts of images of such depravity and filth that I’d excused myself from the office to splash my face with water and cool down.

  And still, it took my every strength to avoid wondering how his body could move and what his conquering touch could do to me.

  His fingers delighted me with a burst of absolute bliss.

  It might’ve been perfect had he not known exactly what he did to me.

  I shifted away from him to protest. “We have to stop this. I won’t give in to you.”

  Cameron grinned, his voice a dark and tempting caramel. “Who says anything about giving in to me? You want me. I want you.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “We don’t have to like each other to want each other.”

  To prove the point, he slipped a daring finger within the elastic of my panties and explored my eager heat.

  “That’s ridiculous.” My words trembled with a heated whisper. “I can’t sleep with you if I don’t like you.”

  “Then tell me why you want this so badly.”

  “Temporary insanity.”

  “Nothing temporary about this.” Cameron hummed. “Nothing insane either. You want to be seduced, overwhelmed, and ravished until my name is the only word escaping your swollen lips. Luckily, I’m just the sort of gentleman who’ll deliver.”

  And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

  Only one night—one fantastically destructive night.

  Maybe it would make things easier between us. Relieve the tension. Let me breathe around him, face him with confidence instead of curiosity.

  Maybe he wasn’t an enemy.

  Maybe he could be a very important ally—teaching me everything about the business in the day…and more about myself at night.

  All it would take would be one little word. The sigh of his name. A timid opening of my legs. I’d ignore what was in my heart and offer myself to a man who’d change my entire world.

  I kicked my jeans off. They landed in a pile on the floor.

  Cameron nibbled on my earlobe, his words a victorious sweetness.

  “And you were going to throw this away over a cup of coffee.”

  Son of a bitch.

  I gritted my teeth and shoved him off me.

  Unfortunately, I only succeeded in tumbling off the couch and landing on my butt in the middle of an ornamental rug worth more than my entire college education.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” I whipped my jeans off the floor with a sharp crack. He ducked before the pant leg flogged him across the chest. “This isn’t about the coffee. This is about my rightful place!”

  “You have your place.” He collapsed against his sofa with an impatient sigh. “Mine tonight. Yours tomorrow.”

  The burning, molten desire had nearly melted my resistance. But it hadn’t scorched my pride.

  Not yet.

  I peeled myself off the floor and folded my jeans, not even bothering to degrade myself and put them back on.

  Something about this man made a girl lose her pants.

  The least she could do was keep her head.

  “The last thing you need is a cup of coffee,” I said, stomping towards the door on wobbily, pleasure-weakened legs.

  Cameron didn’t bother seeing me out. He grinned at me from the couch.

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  I offered him a fanged smile when I should’ve sunk my teeth in deep.

  “Because you’ve just lost any chance you had with me,” I said. “And that’s gonna keep you up all damned night.”

  6

  Cameron

  The brat’s middle name was malicious compliance.

  I opened the door to my office and nearly spilled a dozen cups of coffee, littering every available surface.

  Styrofoam cups of all shapes and sizes filled my desk. Two carafes steamed in front of my window. Thirty pounds of coffee beans scattered over my carpet.

  I’d have one hell of a time getting the coffee grounds out of my keyboard.

  Mackenza greeted me with a caffeinated smile as she sat behind my desk.

  “Freshly brewed…” She toasted me with her own cup. “If you’d like something different, Sam’s a wizard with steamed milk.”

  The coffee cart didn’t fit in my office, but Mackenza made it work by shoving my bookshelf into the hall. The girl battling the cappuccino maker, Sam, was a blonde with dilated eyes, trembling hands, and enough energy to launch her into space. She did her best to mop up the spilled vanilla syrup soaking into my carpet with her chocolate-coated powder blue apron.

  Mackenza was cute when she thought she had the upper hand.

  And I think I liked her more for playing dirty.

  “That one is yours.” She pointed to the cup in the center of my desk.

  The name CAMDEN scrawled across the side in sharpie. Close enough. I took a sip.

  Fucking mistake.

  An orgy of sugar hazelnutted in my mouth.

  “This is coffee?” I sputtered. “Just beat me to death with a tub of Nutella next time.”

  “Thought you could use a little pick me up,” Mackenza said. “I doubt you got much sleep last night.”

  I slept about as good as a man could with an erection spearing through a Memory Foam mattress. The brat knew she’d ruined my night. Was it too much to hope she wouldn’t extend her vengeance through the day?

  “Suppose I’m lucky it isn’t poisoned,” I said.

  “Just trying to be a proper assistant.” Mackenza gestured toward the barista—happily steaming, brewing, and frothing from her contact high with that much caffeine. “You wanted coffee—I provided.”

  That she did. And, for someone attempting to make my life miserable, Mackenza had just solved a dire office morale problem.

  I kicked open my door and called to my receptionist, Tessa.

  The middle-aged woman spent most of her day answering phones and snooping on her daughter’s Instagram when she thought no one was looking. But she always answered quickly, eager to make a good impression on the new boss.

  At least someone did their job.

  “Yes, Mr. Mitchell?” When she attempted to sound sweet, she spoke through her nose. Today, she practically sneezed courtesy. “What can I do for you?”

  I winked at Mackenza. “Everyone’s been working hard to make me feel welcomed at Maxwell Intimates, so I thought I�
��d treat the office staff to a bit of coffee. Why don’t you show Sam…” I offered the barista a dashing smile that left her steaming like the cappuccino, “down to the lobby and find her a place to set up?”

  I pulled my wallet and stuffed a pile of green into Sam’s tip jar—more than enough to cover a weeks’ worth of coffee.

  “Sam, coffee on the house for anyone who wants anything,” I said. “In fact…contact your supervisor and tell them I’d like to make a morning coffee cart a fixture of this office. I think my employees deserve it.”

  The two ladies eagerly closed the cart and rushed toward the lobby in a fanfare of gratitude and the clattering of the golden cappuccino maker.

  Mackenza pouted.

  Almost made the inconvenience worth it.

  I jerked my thumb, and she reluctantly abandoned my chair. Should’ve picked my battles. The leather had all but faded away, patchy and torn. At least the desk had seen some care. I never trusted an office that wasn’t a little worn. Meant someone had worked there. Hard.

  Unsuccessfully, but they still tried.

  Nothing a good renovation couldn’t fix.

  I unloaded my laptop and pulled the files from last night. Mackenza plunked into the chair on the other side of my desk and watched as I worked in silence, answering the three emails which had arrived during the night.

  The beautiful little brat stared at me with an unabashed curiosity.

  The only thing I loathed more than inefficiency was inquisitiveness.

  And Mackenza had figured out the perfect way to pester me.

  Asking personal questions.

  “Just who are you, Cameron?”

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing her gold earrings. They matched the simplicity of her outfit. Black blouse. Black skirt. Black shoes. Conservative and modest.

  I might’ve believed the woman was cold and unapproachable had we not been one bad decision away from the best night of both our lives.

  Why the hell had we stopped?

  And why couldn’t I get her out of my fucking head?

  “Do you want the truth…” I asked. “Or are you looking for the Hallmark story?”

  Mackenza never slouched. She sat perfectly poised, meeting my gaze.

  Brave girl.

  “I’d like to know the real man in charge of my company,” she said.

  That wasn’t it at all. “No. You want to know the man you almost slept with.”

  “You weren’t even close to getting lucky last night.”

  “You’re as bad a liar as you are an assistant.”

  “I did as you asked.” Mackenza rattled her empty coffee cup.

  “Were you this much of a pain in the ass for your father?”

  “I liked my father.”

  I smirked. “You also like me.”

  “Hardly.”

  “You liked me last night.”

  “I tolerated you last night,” she said. “And then I came to my senses.”

  “You didn’t come at all.”

  “You think I’d let you have that prize?”

  I matched her confidence. “It’ll be mine. Eventually.”

  Mackenza wasn’t a woman who fidgeted, but she tickled the arm of her chair with a curious fingernail. “I had a realization on your couch—I don’t know anything about you.”

  Well, if that was a problem, I had the ultimate solution.

  “The only thing you need to know about me is that I like things done my way,” I said. “I do my job. Fix what’s broken. And, when no more challenge remains…I move on.”

  Mackenza nibbled her bottom lip.

  I envied that quick bite. It should’ve been my teeth against her skin. Tasting her. Earning her breathy sigh.

  “So, you like a challenge?” she asked.

  “Every man seeks a challenge—only the real ones accomplish their goals.”

  “And what’s been your greatest challenge so far?”

  I snorted. “Getting you the hell out of my office.”

  And head.

  Her laugh was as innocent as it was mischievous. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  The insult stiffened her spine. “You really think I’m your biggest problem right now?”

  “You’re certainly the biggest pain in my ass.”

  “And you couldn’t get enough of it last night.”

  “Would’ve made today more pleasant.”

  She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t a familiar motion—she might’ve been a little brat, but Mackenza didn’t let herself get sassy very often.

  Not a good look for a professional woman.

  “Be honest, Cameron…am I the first woman to say no to you?”

  “You’re the first woman with the confidence to say a lot of things to me.”

  Should’ve made her proud. Instead, she merely sighed.

  “How boring that must be,” she said.

  “Boring.” I agreed. “Predictable. Utterly delightful.”

  “And I thought you liked a challenge.”

  “Are you offering?”

  She laughed, bright and sweet. “You aren’t my type.”

  I doubted that. “You’re not looking for someone devilishly handsome, unimaginably rich, and inconceivably powerful?”

  “Oh, I do want all those things.”

  “Say the magic words.”

  “But I’m also looking for Mr. Right.”

  “I think he’s in accounting…” I leaned closer, my voice low. “And, from what I hear from Tessa, he suffers from crippling performance anxiety.”

  Mackenza hummed. “Well, my Mr. Right wouldn’t have those issues.”

  “Not if he had a woman like you in his bed.”

  “He’d also be sensitive and kind. Smart. Athletic. He’d love to work, understand the power of discipline, but still make time for a good book.”

  “I’ve always meant to write a bestseller.” I shrugged. “Probably a biography. Answer all your burning questions.”

  “I’m looking for someone exactly like you, Cameron.” She wagged her finger towards me. “But completely opposite you in all the best ways.”

  “And here your father thought we’d make a smart match.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Great. Was he bargaining me off with the company?”

  “Wish I had read the contract’s fine print.” I grinned. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’d be perfect for you.”

  “Why? Because of all your accomplishments?” She scoffed. “You’re proud of what you’ve done?”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “That wasn’t my question.” Her voice softened. “Most people would be proud—but you seem like the sort of man who hates everything he’s done. To you, all those accomplishments and goals and challenges…I don’t think they’re such a positive outlet.”

  Just when I thought she couldn’t get any more annoying…

  “What’s been your favorite thing you’ve done?” she asked.

  Easy. “Pulling your ass into the koi pond after me.”

  Mackenza crossed her legs, delighting me with the momentary flash of her dark thigh.

  No dreadful tights today.

  “What about before you met me?”

  This was why I despised when people asked too many questions.

  Especially those brats who didn’t deserve the answers.

  Who wouldn’t understand those answers.

  I shrugged with a casual smile. “I’ve done so much in my life. Hard to pick a favorite.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Mackenza said. “What sort of life would you live if you didn’t have a favorite memory, trip, location, good deed?”

  The tension built in my jaw, blitzing the side of my head into a pulsing headache.

  “Why can’t a man be proud of everything?” I asked.

  “Are you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you happy?”

  What kind of question was that?

  Who
the hell was happy these days? Certainly not me—and that had been a punch to the balls to realize after building up a bank account with that many zeroes after the ones. Not like the extra cash ever did anything for me.

  Private jet? To fly where?

  Super-yacht? The ocean wasn’t as mysterious once a man had visited the bottom of it.

  Mansions on both coasts and houses throughout Europe? What use did a man have for a bed when he’d wake up feeling the same goddamned emptiness regardless of what side of the world he’d slept?

  Made a good place to fuck.

  But wasn’t like the company had ever been worth it.

  “We’re supposed to be working,” I said.

  Mackenza didn’t move. Didn’t surprise me. The woman lived for my torment.

  “Oh, we’re working now?” She snorted. “And here I thought you just wanted to sell the company.”

  “And I pity the idiot who buys it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re going with it. And God help the soul who tries to pry you away from these doors.”

  That pleased her. “You think I’d go any easier on the next buyer?”

  “You’d be a fool to jeopardize this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not selling the company for a pittance. And, if you’d trust me and do as I say, I’d ensure your family lived comfortably for the rest of their lives.”

  “But what would happen to Maxwell Intimates?” she asked.

  “Who cares. You’d have the money from the sale.”

  “But I wouldn’t have the work.”

  This woman didn’t make any damned sense.

  “You have a degree in fashion design.” I tried to rub the headache away. I’d need a drink stronger than water to wash the aspirin down. “You have experience with a fashion label. You could pick literally any designer in this world and choose your own salary. And you’d make a hell of a lot more money working for them than you could ever make here.”

  “That’s not what I want.” Her voice hardened. “I will only work for my family’s company. This is my life’s goal.”

  “Goal or obsession, Kenza?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Better to have an obsession than nothing at all.”

  “And here I thought I was accomplished. Apparently, I have nothing.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” she said. “This is an illusion, Cameron. Every part of your life. Everything you’ve done. Everywhere you’ve been. Every company you’ve saved, every industry you invaded. It’s done nothing to make you happy.”