The Fighter's Secretary(2)

By: Ann Mayburn

Too bad that was never going to happen. His girl could freeze ice cubes with her glare and it was almost like she had some invisible force field that kept men away. Then again, anyone who came near Amanda Dallas usually warned off, quickly. This was his woman, even if she didn’t know it.

Richie sighed then actually flushed. “Jesus Christ, just watch the fucking tape, Dallas. I’ll be over here in the corner protecting my balls.”

Dallas blew out a harsh breath and turned his attention to the monitor, clicking Play as he leaned forward to watch the surveillance footage. The time stamp showed it was four days ago, and from the angle of the camera he could see his desk and the big leather couch that sat up against the far wall. A slice of the floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the dark sky beyond with a few lights shining here and there was at the very edge of the frame. The video was surprisingly good and when motion came from the corner of the camera’s view he leaned forward, surprised when a moment later Amanda came onto the screen with an armful of folders.

A quick glance at the time stamp showed that it was past eight o’clock at night and he wondered what the hell she was doing there until he remembered that the next day he’d had a big presentation to some potential investors. Amanda had, with her usual efficiency, provided him with everything he’d needed to wow the investors. With a wince of chagrin he realized that he’d only told her about the meeting two hours before the end of the day. She’d obviously stayed late to get the presentation together without him knowing.

His gaze devoured her as she moved with liquid grace across his office and he couldn’t help but grin when she frowned and bent down to pick something up off the floor. It was the black T-shirt he’d worn that day and forgotten to pick up when he’d changed before leaving work to meet with his mother at a nice restaurant for dinner. Amanda looked stunning, as usual. All long legs and elegant bone structure, with the prettiest pink lips he’d ever seen. She never wore a drop of makeup, not that she needed it. The Asian heritage she’d gotten from her mother was evident in her porcelain skin and the slight tilt to the green eyes she’d inherited from her American father.

Dallas knew all about Amanda’s family, had made it a point to get to know everything he could about her. To say he was slightly obsessed with her was an understatement, but he’d managed to keep himself under control around her. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off by coming on too hard. So he kept his flirting playful, letting her think that he was just messing with her, but fucking hell he wanted those long legs wrapped around his waist in the worst way.

After tossing his T-shirt onto the sofa he heard her sigh. Not realizing the tape had audio as well he turned the speakers up. Amanda set the folders on his desk then moved around to sit in his chair. She opened his file drawer and began to mutter something that was no doubt not a compliment on his filing abilities. He tended to just dump shit in his drawers, which never failed to piss Amanda off. She said trying to organize his life was like trying to herd a six-year-old hyped up on Pixy Stix.

She opened the top left drawer then began to pull out piles of paper and he felt a momentary pang of guilt at the fact that he was such a slob. Then she paused and he could hear her softly say, “Holy shit.”

Richie cleared his throat. “Remember, I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dallas murmured as he watched Amanda take the nipple clamps out.

They were actually quite beautiful, made by a jeweler who specialized in BDSM gear. Dallas had been a sexual Dominant for most of his adult life and enjoyed buying his submissives nice things. The nipple clamps were a thumbscrew design, a solid gold chain connecting them, with small diamonds embedded into the clamps themselves. They sparkled as Amanda held them up to the light. His heart raced as he wondered if he was about to see the woman he was pretty sure he loved steal from him.

If he’d lived to be a million years old he’d never have guessed what she did next.

Instead of slipping them into the pocket of her conservative black suit jacket, she ran her fingers along the length and gave a soft, definitely sexual moaning sound that made his cock instantly rock hard.

Then she whispered, “Oh, Dallas, you are a bad boy.”

Without looking up he growled out to Richie, “Get the fuck out.”

“Give me a call when you’re done.”

Dallas didn’t even look up as Richie left and closed the door behind him. His gaze was totally focused on the image of Amanda slowly standing from his chair and making her way over to his sofa. His heart raced when she sat down, slipped off her jacket, and began to unbutton her white silk blouse with its high, lacy collar. She always wore shirts like that, shirts that came up tight around her graceful throat. For the first time he wondered if maybe she wore shirts like that because she liked the sensation of something around her neck.

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