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

“She did what she could,” I mumble, even though I know that’s a lie. I’m too lost in the way his nose is skimming my shoulder and neck, my skin erupting with goosebumps. The hand that was in my hair now trailing down my naked arm and wrist and back up. He’s a clever one with all his seductive ways. Lulling me into a sense of soft security, teasing my body so I’ll open up to him. I don’t have the energy to fight it, I’m his captive when he touches me this way.

“She didn’t stop bringing men around her child, Miele.” His voice takes on a hoarseness and I stiffen. I’ve told myself this, a million times over and over. He’s not saying anything I don’t already know, yet, it still hurts like he’s thrust a knife into my chest; to hear someone else say it.

“Why did you leave Chicago? Leave her?” his voice has deepened, his hands trailing down my arms and up again, leaving gentle tingles on the surface. His face back in my hair, releasing me a little. I want to melt into him, let him do with my body as he pleases. His touch sending searing pleasure wherever it lands, my eyes still closed and lost in sensation. For once the doubts sliding away. He’s bewitching me to open up and I’m completely lost to him.

“I needed to walk away from all of it … I needed to save myself because no one else was going to.” A tear courses down my cheek while saying it out loud for the first time. It’s bittersweet, yet I sound so pathetic. Heart gnawing with pain.

“I think you need to talk to someone about all of this, Emma … a counselor … I could …”

My eyes snap open and I jerk away instantly, spinning to glare at him angrily. My mood changing with those simple words that wound me deeply and ignite a fire all over again.

“Not a goddamn chance.” I spit, all venom returned, defensive and lashing out. “I’m not fucking crazy!”

“Emma, that isn’t what I said,” his voice is one of surprise at my reaction, he attempts to put his arms around me again, but I hold out a hand, stopping him. Brimming with fury. He stays back, wariness in his narrowed eyes, my anger spilling out like a burst dam.

Emma has returned, and I stalk past him toward the car signaling the end. I can’t look at him, my eyes are

be looked at like some broken mental case is too much. I don’t need a shrink. I need him

accusingly, following me back to the car, close on my heels; he grabs my arm to turn me,

wondering why I’m pissed. I knew this was a bad idea, I knew he would see

anywhere but him to get away. He grabs

everything … I’m sick to death

away, and I’m back in fight mode, ready to push it all back into the

the sea of emotions swirling around my head. Sending a very loud and clear message that this conversation is over. He lifts his hands as if he’s going to choke me and grits his teeth, his eyes burn, and he paces away from me again, cursing and raging into the

pointless. My mask is well and truly back in place and even though his mood is coming off him

angry. He’s sulking. I don’t care; I don’t want to do this. I glare at him then turn away, to stare out of the window as he turns the car

Pretend to anyway. Hard to do when you’re being driven around winding cliffs by a

my hair angrily, biting

barks over

Nice.