The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(19)
Author: Emma Holly

“What—” He cleared his throat. “What did you want to say to me?”

His strange reception had made her forget her prepared speech. She retrieved it with an effort. “I thought it might help your decision to know why I left my last position.”

“Not a mystery,” he said. “Latest owner brought in a new executive chef and demoted you. You were perfectly right to quit. I’m sure you can cook rings around that yahoo.”

“I don’t know about perfectly right,” she admitted wryly. “I could have waited to leave until I had another job.”

Hayworth smiled, his eyes warm with understanding—unnervingly warm, actually. He seemed weirdly happy that she was here. Rebecca tried to ignore how that unsettled her. Nothing she’d read about Trey Hayworth suggested he was this eccentric. But that didn’t really matter. Plenty of good bosses were quirky. With her responsibilities, she couldn’t afford to be picky.

“What do I need to do to get this job with you?”

“Ah,” he hemmed, rubbing his lower lip again. “I want to hire you . . .”

“But?”

He looked at her, seemingly unable to answer.

“You could try me out,” she offered. “Let me work for a month for free.”

“That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Then what would be?” she asked, her determination unshaken. “Because my gut tells me this combination of The Bad Boys Lounge and me would work out.”

His grin burst out like sunshine, momentarily dazzling her. His dimples were as deep as she’d expected. “Really?” he said, like she’d given him a gift.

“Really. I have no trouble imagining me and your restaurant being a big success.”

“Me too.” He put his hands on her shoulders, their size and warmth unavoidably perking up her hormones. “I can picture you here. I can picture us having fun.”

Okay, that was a strange response. Her mind said um, but her temporarily fractious libido urged her not to protest. His lovely hands chafed her shoulders, comforting little rubs like he thought she was cold. Though she shivered at his touch on her linen jacket, she was anything but chilly. Tingles pulsed between her legs, fire spreading through her cl*t and beyond. Her ni**les tightened with a vengeance, practically punching against her bra. Hayworth’s gaze dropped to the sharpened peaks like they were magnetized.

When he licked his lips, her shiver grew bigger.

“Rebecca,” he said, his tone as serious as the grave, his eyes rising with difficulty to lock on hers. “Believe me when I say I know I’m being inappropriate.”

Her mouth fell open as he leaned down. Suddenly, her hands were on his front, not pushing him away but curling into his polo shirt. Boy, if this was how she reacted to a bit of attention, she needed to date more. She was tugging him toward her, and his arms slid warm and strong around her. His chest was broad and steely. As his head came closer, she rose on tiptoe.

He licked a swipe up her parted lips, his tongue as soft as a rose petal. Rebecca’s breath shuddered out of her.

“God,” he whispered and sealed their mouths together.

He tasted like sun-warmed cherries.

Rebecca wished he’d kiss her forever.

“Mm,” he hummed like he had over her food yesterday. “Mm, Rebecca.”

“Mr. Hayworth—“

She lost her breath as he hiked her butt onto the worktop. The seat brought their heights closer. He angled his head and kissed her a second time, his tongue sliding sleekly into her waiting mouth. She didn’t stop him any more than she had before, her fingers tightening helplessly on his shirt. His kiss was yummy—sliding in, drawing out, sucking gently at her tongue to coax it into playing. It seemed like ages since any man had held her, and he was a fine one. She moaned at the heat he stirred inside her, cream filling her sex so swiftly it spilled out. She squirmed on the stainless steel even as his mouth pulled free.

“Please call me Trey,” he said.

“Mr. Hayworth—”

She wasn’t trying to be funny, but he laughed. His hand came to stroke her face, those rowing calluses—if that’s what they were—undeniably erotic. His gentleness silenced her, both in his touch and eyes. The pad of his thumb slid across the top her cheekbone. She supposed he noticed the shadow under her concealer, because he clucked his tongue.

“Were you losing sleep over this?” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you do that.”

“You are . . . a very peculiar man,” she pushed out breathlessly.

He smiled, a shade of melancholy in the curve. She couldn’t look away from his gaze, nearly colorless in the shadows but conveying mysterious multitudes of feeling. His narrow waist spread her knees, and her thighs were as tense as stone. Through everything, her hands had remained on his chest. She noticed they’d started rubbing in small passes up and down his pecs.

Trey noticed too. His eyes went dark, his respiration quickening.

“I’m kissing you again,” he warned.

No one could mistake the way she wrapped her arms around him for anything but encouragement.

Her participation seemed to embolden him. He groaned, his kiss turning more aggressive, which felt completely great to her. He pulled her off the counter and fully onto him. Though she clung like a monkey, the difference in their heights meant her pu**y rocked against his waist—not the target it craved. Rebecca tried to wiggle lower, which somehow resulted in Trey pushing her into a cement block wall.

That put the huge hump of his erection exactly where she needed it. Heedless of what it said about her, Rebecca threw all her strength into rolling over it.

Trey wasn’t offended. He shoved his hand into the back of her trousers and under her panties. “Fuck,” he said, feeling how wet she was. “Jesus, Rebecca.”

Her name sounded funny when he said it, like he knew her better than was possible. In that moment, she didn’t care. He was hot and hard and she wanted him like she couldn’t remember wanting a man before.

“Yes,” she gasped, tugging greedily at his shirt.

Trey tore it over his head himself. “You,” he said.

Understanding him perfectly, Rebecca returned the favor. She had a jacket to wrestle off, plus a button-down collar shirt. Naturally, she took longer than he had, but he panted flatteringly while she worked, his attention glued to every move she made. He panted harder once her shirt was gone. Her bra was satiny and white with small push-up pads to give her some cle**age. With her usual habit of sticking with the comfortable, she had drawer full of others just like it, bought on sale at a bargain store. She was sure he’d seen nicer—both in lingerie and br**sts. If he had, he wasn’t complaining.