“This is so NOT funny. Ha ha! Great joke. Now let me the fuck up and I’ll be on my way.”
Pounding head be damned. Fuzzy tongue be damned. Waking up naked with this man was not her idea of the best way to end an employer-employee relationship, but so be it. A long-cherished wet dream, to be sure, but this was not exactly the way a woman should turn in her two-week notice.
“Funny. You weren’t this prickly last night when we got married. In fact, you were rather adorably cuddly and giggly. Hangovers seem to make you damn cantankerous.” His arms tightened, and she was flat against his chest, his hard-as-nails cock resting solidly between her thighs. “I like you naked, Furie. If I’d have known how fucking good you felt before, I think I’d have gotten you naked a lot sooner.”
“No. Way. Are. We. Married, Michael Furie! Just buying myself a diamond with your credit card doesn’t mean we’re hitched, dammit.” Her wriggling was only working that rock-hard invader deeper into her amazingly wet slit.
“No, but your signature and mine on our marriage certificate makes it pretty official, I’d say.”
Jill stiffened. “But…I can’t be married to you. I hate your guts.”
“So you told me last night.” His long fingers traced over her back, sending hot and cold shivers along her spine.
“I would never have gotten married to you. You…you’re a-”
“A selfish, chauvinistic bastard. Right. And you can’t stand the sight of me, because I treat you like a slave…” His lips dragged slowly over her forehead, making her dizzy again, but for an entirely different reason.
“I was going to tell you to…”
“Take my high-paid job and stuff it up my ass. Yeah, I heard.” The flick of his tongue across her jaw made her bite her lip to keep from whimpering.
Her hands tingled where they rested against his hard, muscular chest, and she debated if she should move them. No. If she moved them, her breasts would be flat against his chest, and she didn’t think she could handle the sensory overload. Her nipples ached to feel his smooth, hard body. Ached to feel his hot, hungry mouth. Faint memories of last night wedged themselves into her consciousness. The feel of his steel-hard, silken erection between her thighs brought back memories of feeling it buried deep inside her body as he moved so slowly and deliciously to pleasure her. No. Impossible!
“You wouldn’t marry someone like me,” she blurted. “You’re one of the most misogynistic, hard-nosed, impossible-to-pin-down, dyed-in-the-wool bachelors on the face of this earth.” Okay, that sounded good. Too bad he wasn’t letting go of her.
His lips grazed her throat, and moved down to taste her collarbone, then her puckered pink nipple, his tongue swirling hungrily around the swollen peak as he slowly drove his hips against hers, rubbing his cock over her aching, wet folds. “Guilty as charged.” His hot breath against her nipple made her moan. “I have to admit, Mrs. Furie, that you are the most breathtaking lover I’ve had in a long time.”
“You complete and utter bastard,” she hissed as he rolled her more firmly under his body and wedged his hips between her thighs, sliding deep inside her with a smooth, hard thrust that brought her body up to meet his with a keening whimper of need.
“Oh. My. God! That feels so darned good.” Her mind melted under the sensory onslaught of Mike Furie’s thick, utterly decadent cock buried hard and deep inside her, plunging in and drawing out with a measured, insistent rhythm that made her lose track of what she’d been saying. She couldn’t even remember her own name.
“You might detest me as a boss, Jillian Furie,” he rasped as he drove into her again and again, “but as lovers, we mesh perfectly.” His voice was a guttural growl in his throat as she wrapped her legs about his hips to take him deeper, her nails scoring his back as she threw her head back and climaxed with a scream of pleasure, her pussy clamping around his cock so hot and tight, she could feel nothing but his length filling her.
Clinging to him as he continued to drive his lush cock in and out of her, she wondered if she’d died and gone to heaven, or if she’d died and gone to hell. It felt like heaven, but the devil couldn’t go there, right? So if Mike Furie was making love to her, she couldn’t possibly be in heaven.
Riding the most decadent wave of orgasmic pleasure, Jill arched upward to take every delicious inch of that hard body into herself, and another mind-bending climax shuddered through her like shards of hot glass.
He gave her a few more of those powerful thrusts before he drove deep and came so hard, his eyes rolled back into his head. He lay on her sweet soft body, his head filled with her lush scent. The scent of woman, mixed with the heady, delicious perfume she preferred-the scent that had driven him to wet dreams from hell for the past seven years. The only thing that had kept him from making a try long ago was the fact that quick, hot affairs invariably destroyed good working relationships, and she had not once in seven years ever made the slightest move that he could possibly construe as an invitation. And Mike Furie didn’t go where he wasn’t invited.
But last night, after she’d gotten blotto on his extremely expensive champagne, she’d admitted that although she didn’t like him one damn bit, his indifference to her as a woman pissed her off.
Now, that could reasonably be construed as an invitation. He had simply taken her up on it. And securely locked his priceless treasure of a personal assistant into a long-term contract. For the measly price of one designer original gown, a fifteen hundred dollar pair of shoes, a quarter-million in jewelry and a seventy-five dollar marriage license. Not a bad night’s work.
And on top of that, she was completely amazing in bed. Adorable. Delectable. And as he buried himself blissfully in her succulent, hot little body once again, he realized one more thing-he had to make her fall head over heels in lust with him. Because as pissed off as she was right now, he might end up in divorce court before the honeymoon was over.
Chapter Four
Jill glared down at her brand-new wedding ring tucked beside her huge diamond. Well-that was one hell of a way to refuse her resignation. If anything, Mike Furie was resourceful.
How the hell he had managed to parlay her quitting her cushy job as his assistant into a totally hot, completely mind-bending marriage of convenience totally escaped her. One minute she was telling him off. The next, she was humping him madly in a hotel room in Tahoe. She had absolutely no memory of leaving Aspen in his jet. There was a fuzzy recollection of visiting the wedding chapel at the Tahoe Hilton. And falling into a California King bed with satin sheets in the honeymoon suite.
The only thing she was damn sure of-she wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of another bottle of champagne as long as she lived. And walking around all day in a slinky designer evening gown was not going to cut it. She showered and paid a visit to a couple of the exclusive designer boutique shops in the hotel lobby, to buy something to wear besides her gown. Not a soul even lifted a brow as she walked into the expensive little boutiques wearing a wrinkled evening gown. Possibly because it utterly screamed wealth.
As she used his unlimited credit to purchase enough clothes to fill two trunks, she wondered what had happened to make him suddenly decide he wanted a wife instead of just a personal assistant. She wasn’t naïve enough to think the man was in love with her. But he was definitely in temporary lust with her, and she could deal with that. For now.
She decided that abusing a man’s credit cards must be like some sort of aphrodisiac to him. Maybe it was his ego that she’d wounded. Maybe he was just getting even with her for telling him he was a major bastard. But then, that was certainly no reason to get married. If all it took to catch a man was to call him a bastard, every woman on earth would be married.