Beautiful Bastard

and make sure Mr. Ryan and I never, ever happened again, even if this was by far the hottest, most intense sex I’d ever had in my life . . . even when he was withholding orgasms from me.
    Ass.
    I was a strong, independent woman. I had a career to build and had worked ridiculous hours to get where I was. My mind and body were not ruled by lust. I just had to remember what a jerk he was. He was a womanizing, arrogant, pigheaded asshat who assumed everyone around him was an idiot.
    I smiled at myself in the mirror and reeled through a collection of my recent Bennett Ryan memories.
    “I appreciate that you got me coffee when you made your own, Miss Mills, but if I’d wanted mud to drink I would have scooped my mug through the garden soil this morning.”
    “If you insist on pounding your keyboard as if you’re hammering gophers back home, Miss Mills, I’d appreciate it if you kept the door joining our offices closed.”
    “Is there a good reason it’s taking you forever to take the contract drafts to legal? Does daydreaming about farm boys take up all your time?”
    Hell, actually, this would be easier than I thought.
    Feeling a new sense of determination, I straightened my dress, smoothed my hair, and marched pantiless and confident out of the bathroom. I quickly retrieved the coffee I was after and headed back to my office, making sure to avoid the stairs.
    I opened the outer office door and stepped in. The door to Mr. Ryan’s office was shut, and there was no noise coming from inside. Maybe he stepped out. Like I could get so lucky. Sitting in my chair, I pulled open my drawer and removed my cosmetic bag, fixing my makeup before getting back to work. The last thing I wanted to do was face him, but if I didn’t plan on quitting, it would have to be done eventually.
    When I looked through the calendar, I remembered Mr. Ryan had a presentation before the other executives on Monday. I grimaced when I realized this meant I would have to talk to him today to prepare materials. He also had a convention in San Diego next month, which meant I would have to be not only in the same hotel as him, but in the plane, the company car, and any meetings that came up as well. No, no awkwardness there at all.
    For the next hour, I found myself glancing up at his door. And each time I did, my stomach began to flutter. This was ridiculous! What was wrong with me? I shut the file I was unsuccessfully reading and dropped my head into my hands just as I heard his door open.
    Mr. Ryan walked out, not meeting my eyes. He’d straightened his clothes, slung his overcoat over his arm, and had a briefcase in hand, but his hair was still a crazy mess.
    “I’m leaving for the rest of the day,” he said, eerily calm. “Cancel my appointments and make any necessary adjustments.”
    “Mr. Ryan,” I said, bringing him to a stop, his hand resting on the door. “Please don’t forget you have a presentation to the executive committee on Monday at ten.” I spoke to his back. He stood still as a statue, his muscles tensed. “If you like, I can have the spreadsheets, portfolios, and slide materials set up in the conference room by nine thirty.”
    Okay, I was actually kind of enjoying this. There was nothing about his posture that communicated comfortable. He nodded curtly and started to make his way out the door when I stopped him again.
    “And, Mr. Ryan?” I added sweetly. “I need your signature on these expense reports before you leave.”
    His shoulders dropped and he exhaled harshly. Spinning on his heel to make his way to my desk, he never met my eyes as he leaned over and flipped through the forms to the Sign Here tabs.
    I placed a pen on the desk. “Please sign where the tabs are, sir.”
    He hated being told to do what he was already doing, and I stifled a laugh. Snatching the pen from me, he slowly raised his chin, bringing his hazel eyes in line with my own. Our eyes locked for what seemed like minutes, neither of us looking away. For a brief moment I had an irresistible urge to lean in and suck on his pouty bottom lip and beg him to touch me.
    “Don’t forward my calls,” he spat out, quickly signing the last form and tossing the pen onto my desk. “If there’s an emergency, contact Henry.”
    “Bastard,” I murmured to myself as I watched him disappear.

    To say my weekend sucked would be putting it mildly. I hardly ate, I hardly slept, and what little sleep I did get was interrupted by fantasies of my boss naked