Free Lust by T. C. Anthony Page B

could have thought about or done to give me that wetness on my sex. Twice—in ten minutes!
    I was by the vanity, I talked to myself like a nut, and I rationalized my situation and— Gasping for a breath, my hand flew to cover my mouth. No way. Come on. The scent, the sexy, sweet scent.
    It was…the Burberry?
    It couldn’t have anything to do with him, I tried to convince myself.
    I have always loved the scent, even prior to yesterday. My physical reaction to the scent must have been from a long-term memory that I just couldn’t recall.
    But I was thinking about him, the Burberry scent on him, wondering if his cock smelled of Burberry as well or just raw, hard nerves and flesh!
    I need a rest; I just can’t catch a break. OK, staff meeting and then I bolt. I need to go home and just sleep, rest the mind, body, and soul.
    I had a plan.
    As I returned to the office, I first faced Samantha sitting at her desk in front of my office. “Samantha? Are you feeling OK? You’re pale as a gho—”
    “Ms. Chase, would you be so kind as to return to your office now?”
    Interrupted, I turned toward the voice. This boss thing was getting annoying, I held up my pointer finger, gesturing for him to give me a minute, and I turned back to Samantha.
    Before I spoke though, Samantha said, “We will talk later.
    Go. I’m good. Just go. Go.”
    I assumed that Samantha’s pale face and reaction was because she was intimidated by Mr. Mason. Or had he been mean to her? No, I would not stand for that, no way.
    Reentering my office but still facing the door, I closed it.
    “Mr. Mason, you didn’t by chance insult—” I turned to him.
    Not more than six feet from where I stood, coming out of a crystal vase on my desk, were three dozen long-stem, bloodred, blooming roses. No words came to me.
    I begged my brain for words, a word, any word. But nothing.
    I am good at a lot of things, but being speechless is not my forte. My eyes shifted back and forth from the flowers to Mr.
    Mason, to the flowers and back to Mr. Mason, and back to the flowers. My heart pounded, my hands were cold, and yes, my panties were once again wet.
    “Ease up, Ms. Chase. The tension is consuming you from head to toe. Does the possibility of me giving you flowers bother you that much that you shut down like this? I mean, I have seen reactions before, but I’m a little insulted by this one.
    Tell me: is it that you are disgusted by me as a person or me as your boss? It is not like I’ve fucked you—yet.”
    I just continued to stare at him. Now I felt ashamed for unintentionally insulting him. For what? For sending me flowers?
    “Don’t! Don’t answer me. I would rather not know how you truly feel than to know the truth and have to live with it.
    You can breathe now. The flowers are not from me.” He walked swiftly toward the door and held his hand out to open it.
    Before he did, I had to speak up. “Mr.…Mr. Mason, I did not mean to offend you. I left and came back to the flowers. I’m rambling. I apologize. I have presented myself as very unprofessional, and I don’t know why. My apologies, truly.”
    Awaiting my fate, I could only concentrate on his eyes. Did he believe and/or accept my apology, or was he going to help me update my resume?
    “Ms. Chase, I’m more relieved they were not from me then you are, trust me. They were personally delivered by your recent ex-boyfriend, who was practically in tears with a story of love and a broken heart. Had I sent those to you, it would mean that I was the one whose heart you broke. And for the record, I don’t know how to lose. I don’t lose. Loss is not in my vocabulary anymore. But, before I leave you to regroup yourself, which I must say you have needed to do quite often since I’ve met you, I will say you truly and utterly intrigue me. And I am neither shocked by people nor intrigued by them. Yet you…you I can’t explain. You are intriguing, and I do like a good intrigue. I have seen a few sides of