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.

is on fire and everything is spinning out of control. I need air, I need space, I need solitude. I need away from him. I’m so confused that I don’t even know how I feel right now and he’s stifling me

instilled fight or flight instinct kicking into action. He releases my wrist, having finally caught it and quickly

and sliding to the floor in a crumpled, un-composed heap. Everything reeling

my mind in the darkness

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 me?

doesn’t need to do that; he’s never given me any inclination that he ever would. Isn’t that why I relax around him? He has every woman he could ever want, falling at his

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 to. I had no point of reference to what I was feeling at that

like it. Forced harsh mouths against mine, trying to pry my mouth open cruelly. I resisted them all; bit, squirmed, and clawed. But Jake’s kiss hadn’t been forced,

push the

is wrong; he’s my friend.

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

I let Jake kiss

***

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 is

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

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 just another possible conquest who was

pack my suitcase. We’re heading home today, the flights set for noon, so we

sitting room looks normal and serene, but it just 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 water between my

behind and I jump. I’ve been so