The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO)

“Yes?”

“I like this.” His fingertips skirt down the side of my stomach gently, causing me to inhale sharply in response. I flinch and move back, reeling, unsure. His touch feels so different … So not Jake! It makes my skin tingle and erupt, then crawl back in revulsion and fear. I don’t even want to evaluate whether it is good or bad. It’s wrong. It’s too intimate. He lifts his hands defensively because he knows he’s overstepped the mark.

“I’m sorry … Emma. I’m going to bed … I’m drunk as fuck.” He looks pained and uneasy.

“It’s okay. It’s fine. Go to bed.” I know I’m stiff and tense, I can hear the coldness in my own voice, my heart pounding erratically like a scared deer caught in headlights.

“Don’t say it like that.” He moves forward gently, lifting his fingers to trace my jaw, his eyes locking with mine.

“I would never do anything to you, Emma.” He sways forward again, bumping noses with me because he’s too close and incapable of steadiness. His hand comes to my shoulder to steady himself and moves back slightly.

I can’t relax, this is not my Jake. This is a glimpse of Casanova Carrero; someone I’ve only seen at a distance, someone who has never turned his attention on me. I’m motionless, focused on every touch and movement, pinned by fear. Memories of a million dark nights and hot breaths near my face, flashing through my head at a million frames a second. I feel as though I’m suffocating.

He leans in quickly, so quickly that I can’t counteract, and his lips meet mine both soft and warm yet surrounded by the smell of alcohol. His hand comes to cup my face gently and pulls me in against his. I freeze, every piece of my body caught in time and I’m suddenly detached, like it’s happening to someone else and I’ve lost the ability to do anything. To stop it.

His fingers tug my chin down, opening my mouth slightly as he fully connects, his tongue sliding lightly over my bottom lip … gently … slowly … And I recoil. Sense finally hitting me.

The panic searing through me is like an electric shock and I shove him away, hard. I’m breathless and panicking. Teen Emma is making herself known and I feel like the room is spinning around me while the blood rushing through my ears is louder than I can bear. My head just might explode.

“Shit. Emma … Shit.” He seems flustered as he tries to grab for my arms and I start struggling away from him, to avoid the contact. Caught in my own terror.

me. My skin is on fire and everything is spinning out of control. I need

few struggled words, my legs aching to run far, far away from him, the instilled fight or flight instinct kicking into action. He releases my wrist, having finally caught it and quickly moves out of my way. I can’t look

fast and run to my room, slamming the door behind me, latching it, and sliding to the floor in a crumpled, un-composed heap. Everything reeling and dipping around me and I know I’m either going to pass out or throw

the floor, trying to calm the chaos of my mind in the darkness of my room. I’m panting. I need to

him that bad. I’m amazed he’s still upright. I must have given him signals, encouraged it? I must have looked wanton dressed this way … I asked for this! Isn’t that what I do? I give off signals that make men want to do things to

woman he could ever want, falling at his feet; this must be me. I had to have looked at him in some way or sent some unintentional signal to him to make him

many times before when my mother’s boyfriends tried to touch me, tried to kiss me, tried to take my night clothes off. I can’t even think about his mouth on mine. I don’t want to. I can’t even begin to process it; it didn’t feel like anything I could compare it

squirmed, and

push the memory away

it! This is fucked-up … This is wrong; he’s my friend. He’s

turned my head, even when I finally felt pushed to have sex with them. And hadn’t I only even done that because I felt I was supposed to? I hadn’t wanted them to kiss me. It reminded me too much of

the hell did I let Jake kiss me

***

finally tugs me out of bed. I jog alone at 6.00 a.m. the familiar route I normally take with Jake, but he’s still in bed and avoiding him is my only

the picturesque streets of Seattle with my soft-soled running shoes and try to bring back all the calm and control that rules my life. We need to forget

impulsive and sometimes irrational when he’s drunk; he can be unpredictable and foolish, and I shouldn’t put any weight on last night at all. He’s a born womanizer and

heading home today, the flights set for noon, so we have some time to

and settle with my laptop on the couch; it’s still early so I sit with my bottle of water between my

from behind and I jump.