Free The Naughty Corner by Jasmine Haynes Page A

of her wrath if they damaged anything, they might be good. Did they have to earn trust before being given it? Or should she give it to them, which in turn would teach them to be trustworthy? That was like the chicken and the egg question.
    By the time she arrived at the plant, the afterglow of really hot sex had completely dissipated. Now she was just a slut with no panties or bra. Slut , in this case, was not a term of endearment.
    She swiped her card key, pushed open the employee cafeteria door, her purse—with her panties and bra inside—under her arm.
    Frank was pouring coffee from a pot that reeked like it had been sitting there since the morning.
    Double damn. No chance to duck into the ladies’ room.
    He turned. “What took you so long?”
    Lola didn’t have time to hug her purse to her chest and cover her sweater. The cafeteria was cold. And her nipples knew it.
    So did Frank. His eyes dropped, then just as quickly popped back up.
    She would not let her attire—or the state of her nipples—undermine her. “I asked you to give me notice.”
    “I called,” he said mildly.
    “Fifteen minutes is not notice .”
    Tall and lanky, he had brown hair that was too long—and slightly greasy, as if he’d been here for the last forty-eight hours. A yellow splotch on his rumpled white T-shirt looked like mustard. He was past thirty and should have long since stopped pulling all-nighters as if he were still in college.
    “Fine,” he groused. “You’re here, we can get started.”
    She resented the implication that she was holding them up. They were only working this weekend by edict.
    She thought about going to the restroom first. But he obviously knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. What would he think if she suddenly put one on? Surely he’d wonder why she’d been carrying her bra in her purse.
    Lola decided it was none of his business. Her nipples were none of his business. She wasn’t going to scuttle away like a woman who had just done something wrong. She’d had consensual sex with a very sexy CEO, and she was not going to let Frank—or George, for that matter—bring her down. She marched ahead of him, head high.
    In the lab, George was hidden in a warren of test equipment, wires, and computer monitors. A couple of years older than Frank, he was the stereotypical engineer. His black hair was short enough to qualify as a buzz cut, and a blue pen had leaked ink in the pocket of his white button-down shirt. When he saw Lola, his eyes widened, the effect made even greater by the thickness of his horn-rimmed glasses. She thought they’d discontinued the style back in the sixties.
    “Hi, George.” She took her seat on the stool between them. She didn’t apologize for being late or for the sweater effect. They would just have to deal.
    Pushing the stool back slightly so they could reach the equipment without interference, she turned on her word processor. She didn’t use her laptop for note-taking. The small word processor didn’t need to boot up, and it nestled on her lap easily. She could type quickly and download when she got home. It was much more efficient. She’d also brought a folder of printed diagrams to doctor up.
    They were staring at her, not the equipment. For a moment, she thought they might actually have X-ray eyes and knew she wasn’t wearing panties either. The oddest feeling swept over her, something very sexual, almost predatory. She was alone with two men, sandwiched between them like the cream center of an Oreo cookie. No underwear, just a thin sweater and a short little skirt. And half an hour ago, she’d been sitting on Gray’s lap with her hands between her legs. In front of a mirror.
    There was something so utterly powerful about that, the knowledge of what she’d been doing, the sexiness. And these two men suddenly salivating over her.
    She didn’t want them. She didn’t care about them beyond this project. But Gray was right. Sex was power.
    And she wanted more of it with