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.

can’t. I can’t let him touch me. My skin is on fire and everything is spinning out of control. I need air, I need space, I need solitude. I need away from him.

instinct kicking into action. He releases my wrist, having finally caught it and quickly moves out of my way. I can’t look at him, I can’t trust myself to slide past him, so

room, slamming the door behind me, latching it, and sliding to the floor in a crumpled, un-composed heap. Everything reeling and

in the darkness of my room.

must have looked wanton dressed this way … I asked for this! Isn’t that what I do? I give

woman he could ever want,

off. I can’t even think about his mouth

to pry my mouth open cruelly. I resisted them all; bit, squirmed, and clawed. But Jake’s kiss hadn’t been forced, it was soft, and for a fleeting moment my mouth responded, opened and stilled as

push the memory away

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

all, I 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 things I didn’t need to remember

hell did I let Jake kiss me just

***

in the dark before dawn 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

We need to forget last night ever happened if we’re to move on. I need to stop over analyzing and obsessing over it and forget

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 last night with beer goggles on I was

shower and eat in my room and pack my suitcase. We’re heading home today, the flights set for noon, so we have some time to kill. Jake’s private jet, so it’s not like we have

feels claustrophobic to me. I try and settle with my laptop on the couch; it’s still early so I sit with my bottle of

I’m sorry about last night.” His voice startles me from behind and I jump. I’ve been