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

“Dance with me, Jake.” The slurring, flirty, female voice sounds so bold.

Who said that? I think that was my voice, wasn’t it? Damn, maybe.

I guess by the way he smiles at me in response, it was. I feel merry. I like being merry, it’s kind of light and warm. I’m completely aware that my internal dialog is that of a very drunk person with no filter but he says nothing, just puts his beer down, slides me toward him with a firm hand, and pulls me toward the dance floor with ease.

He’s smooth. Why would I expect any less from Casanova Carrero?

He manhandles women effortlessly on a daily basis. Lots of practice at it. Well, not so much lately as he seems to be cooling his jets on the women front. There hasn’t been a girl on the scene for a couple of weeks at least, maybe longer, but I hadn’t noticed at first.

It’s a slower song and he moves in close to me as we join the throng of dancers. It’s hard to dance when you’re this drunk and in very high heels on jelly legs. I’m swaying, but I don’t think it’s in time to the music. I trip, stumble into Jake’s nice strong arms, glad he knows just how to catch me, and I gasp in fright. He’s good at pulling my body into his in a hurry mid catastrophe, saving me from myself.

God, he smells good! My hero! Who would have thought slinky boss Carrero was my sexy savior? Cute and hot—yes! Hero. Most definitely!

“Maybe we should go, tiny?” he seems uneasy and puts me back on my own feet, at arm’s length. Startling me with what seems like nervous tension.

Except that can’t be right because my boss is never nervous. He’s always Mr. Confident.

“I want to stay and … Let my hair down.” I giggle and fall into him again as I lose my footing for the second time, my shoe moving into a right angle that should have broken my ankle ordinarily. He catches me and my nose grazes his collar bone getting a lungful of Carrero scent. It’s pretty heady; his aftershave and his personal smell, an intoxicating mixture. I could breathe it in, over and over, enjoying how unique it is. Enamored with it and how he’s so good, strong, powerful and safe …

am I

like the kiss in my mother’s bed. I’ve snaked my hands around his neck and I’m nuzzling my face into his chest without even being aware

his neck, leans down and picks me up, lifting me up in a fireman’s hold, so my face is behind him. One easy swoop. His firm hands around my thighs, holding them tight against his muscular chest. I wonder if this is a safety

but I can trust you

his waist to the front. I can trace out his taut stomach muscles under my flattened palms and have to quell the urge to slide my hand inside his shirt for a better feel. I lay my cheek against his back, closing my eyes at the familiarity of him instead, inhale that citrus goodness. I give in to the motion of his walk as

* * *

he lays me down flat on my back and pulls off my shoes, cradling my feet in his lap with warm sensual hands

better than good; no one’s ever taken my shoes off like this. No one has ever just run soft fingers over my feet at all, the way he’s doing now. He’s gentle and attentive, something most people would not expect of Jake Carrero. Handsy, but not in a sleazy way, not really, despite all

squirm in case he stops. “I like those shoes.” I’m angling for humorous Jake, flirty Jake. I like arguing with him, he’s always funny; I don’t like this silent, pondering

for that. I’m satisfying my foot fetish instead.” He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He sounds tired;

walk up the stairs.” I argue with a

don’t think you could, even without your shoes, Emma. I’ll carry you. How do you know I don’t

almost start looking forward to it. The Neanderthal carrying from Jake

my head as I try to get comfy. The car is spinning, and my hair is tickling my face. My limbs too heavy to move it away, so I try and blow it out of my face instead,

his touch connects, moving the hair off my face, he lifts my arm to untangle the strand caught in my bracelet. It’s nice, relieving to have the irritation removed as he pulls my

may agree, but I let it slide over me the same way these waves and warm tides are doing. My arm is still warm, I think he still has his hand on it. I open one eye and look down to check: he’s tracing my bracelet with his fingertips looking lost in thought, a hint of a frown crossing his