I wait for Ashley Shiels in her office.

The accommodations are small but serviceable. Of the three desks in the room, Ashley's desk has no personal touches. No photos, no knick-knacks, no silly mouse pads. Desktop neatly centered on her desk, its screen dark. Near one side, a laptop open. I take it all in, looking for some indication of the woman’s personality, but find little evidence to lead me to a satisfying conclusion. She keeps her personal life personal, her space tidy and impersonal. An enigma, especially after what I'd just seen in the hallway.

Ashley Shiels. She’s a fixture at Pen and Quill, as dependable professionally as she is beautiful. I have tried on several occasions to speak with her after I’ve exited my office and made my way down the hallway from my large office, but some business matter inevitably called her away. I always thought her restrained, maybe even a little uptight, but that might just be a symptom of my own presence. Most of my employees don’t know how to act around me. I consider Elektra the only exception.

Nothing about Ashley was restrained just moments ago. I’ve barely devoted a single thought to the man that was with her since finding them both sprawled on the floor. It looked like a drunken accident, nothing more illicit than that.

But I could easily make it more illicit. I can't stop thinking about her breasts: those pert, porcelain mounds, with nothing covering them but a pair of arms and an inexpensive bra that looked as easy to tear off her as the dress she wore. I can’t stop reliving the moment I saw her standing there bared before me. It was all I could do to keep from snatching her by the wrists and pulling her arms apart, the man on the floor be damned.

How dare she hide herself from me? I felt the Dom in me rising, and I’ve fought to tamp it down before she meets me in her office, which I know she will.

I do what I usually do in these instances, when work interferes with the pursuit of pleasure: I distract myself. There isn't much to look at here, but Ashley's laptop is open; the green light flashing rhythmically on the side. I tap the space bar and the screen lights up. I pull it toward me without much interest. Maybe I should feel guilty for invading my employee's privacy, but I doubt that a cursory glance at what she’s working on—on her night off to attend the Christmas party, for that matter—will do much harm. I've already seen more of her than she was probably expecting to reveal to me.

A manuscript. I gaze at the familiar formatting. She’s working on her own manuscript. Most everyone around here is secretly working on one, no surprise there. Still, I didn’t expected Ashley to have a book in progress. What else is my scintillating little editorial assistant hiding from me?

"Fuck me," she begged. "Please. Any way you want me. I can't stand this torture any longer."

I lift an eyebrow. Well then.

"You've ruined your stockings," her lover purred as he swept the dark chocolate cascade of hair back from her shoulders. "You're so wet, you're positively dripping. Does my own particular brand of punishment turn you on so much?"

My cock stirs and offers an aggressive twitch at the word punishment. "Just what have you been writing, Ashley?" I murmur as I scroll down the page. I'm an adept speed-reader—I have to be in my line of work—but I want to take my time processing this latest revelation. Evidently, Ashley spends her spare time writing smut, and as for her predilections…

"Maybe you forgot who's boss around here," he growled as he flipped her over and shoved her back against her desk. Her pencil holder toppled and spilled its contents onto the floor, but she couldn't have put a halt to the proceedings now if she wanted to… and like hell she did want to. She let her supervisor thrust himself between her legs. She rocked her hips back against the edge of her desk. His honey-blond hair fell forward over savage green eyes, brimming with hunger for…

"Stewart! Where is Daniel… Mister Stone?"

I hear her alarmed voice coming from just outside in the hallway. It’s all I can do to tear my eyes away from the screen and the torrid scene unfolding in my mind—courtesy of Ashley's sizzling-hot words. I have maybe seconds to act before she joins me.

And I do. I tab open Ashley's e-mail, attach the manuscript to my address, and hit Send. Then I close out of the window and shut the laptop, giving it a little nudge with my hand to arrange it the way I found it. There's nothing that can be done about my throbbing erection tucked against my thigh.

I watch the door, making a deal with myself as I wait for her to enter. It's something I'm used to doing, but this time the deal is unusually sweet. If Ashley Shiels walks in here with the front of her dress torn, I intend to do something about it. Something that is decidedly not chivalrous.

She pushes the door open, and I'm disappointed, though not surprised. I knew she was smart enough to engineer a quick fix, and she's managed to salvage the shredded fabric and make herself halfway presentable again in the process.

Pity.

"Miss Shiels." I keep my voice low, though I'm already certain of our privacy. I motion toward the door, and she nods, closing it quietly behind her.

“I…” she begins. Her eyes flicker to her laptop. I see a look of puzzlement. She probably remembers leaving her laptop open, but I allow her to second-guess her own memory.

“Please.” I indicate the chair sitting catty-corner to her desk. She sits without a word. I need her to see me as her superior, now more than ever. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” I try to establish eye contact, but it’s difficult when she's obviously determined to look everywhere but directly at me.

“Yes. I’m all right… thank you for asking, Mister Stone.”

Her cheeks flush a deep, fetching rose, and I imagine she’s reliving the moment. I hoped she would. A part of me hopes the way I'm looked at her registered.

“Please. Call me Daniel.”

“I don’t know what you must think of me,” she stutters. "But I’m not… I wasn’t…”

“That man. Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.”

The refutation is so immediate and flatly spoken that I can’t help snorting with laughter. Her dark lashes sweep against her cheeks as her gaze falls to her lap, and her blush deepens. I've known women who flush all the way down to the tops of their breasts. Is Ashley one of them? Unfortunately, her ingenuity with the dress prevents me from finding out.

"Was he harassing you?"

"He's… no. Stewart's a friend," Ashley replies. "He had a little too much to drink. That's all."

"Then it's a good thing I called a cab for him."

She nods gratefully, the buoyant raven waves of her hair bouncing against her cheeks. There's a thought itching at the back of my mind, but I'll have to wait until I'm home—with her manuscript in my hand—to explore it further.

Just where do you find your inspiration, Ashley?

"I know you have a lot on your plate right now," I continue. "I wanted to take this moment to personally thank you for your work on the Christmas party. I knew we were in good hands when Elektra said she delegated to you."

"It's… it was nothing." She shakes her head, but perks up a little. "Did you get a chance to go to the party?"

"I don't usually enjoy these things."

"Oh."

"Not usually," I emphasize before she has a chance to be disappointed. I want that blush back. I want more than that. I rise from behind her desk, and she quickly pushes out from her chair to follow my lead—like an indentured servant who follows the Master's lead. "But tonight has been… illuminating. You're a hard worker, Miss Shiels."

"Thank you, Mister Stone… Daniel." She struggles with my first name now, but not, I noticed, in front of the drunken 'friend' she left back in the hallway.

"Is there anything else I can assist you with this evening?"

"Not this evening, no. But I'm glad you asked." I move around the desk to stand closer to her. She doesn’t shrink from me—which is a welcome relief from my conversations with some of the other editorial assistants this evening—but I entertain the idea that she feels the heat radiating between us all the same. I'm still hard, but her eyes never so much as glance away from my face. Good. "I might have a special job for you. Nothing that will interfere with your work assisting Elektra… but we don't need to discuss it tonight."

I let my eyes drop, allowing her to feel the full weight of my gaze trained on those already-heavy breasts of hers. I betray nothing: no disproval, no lasciviousness. I want her to recall this moment and wonder at its meaning when she lies alone tonight.

"Come by my office first thing Monday morning, and we'll discuss the details," I say. "Good night, Miss Shiels."

"Good night, Daniel."

She backs out of my way to allow me to pass, and it's all I can do to not crowd her into the deeper shadows of her office and ask her to give me a hand with the aroused state for which she is wholly responsible. Something tells me that Ashley would prefer it if I didn't ask.

I nod, hold her eyes a moment longer, then slip past her and let myself out the door. I contemplate all the ways I'm going to get Ashley Shiels out of my system on the long elevator ride down to the parking garage.

Monday can't come soon enough. In the meantime, I've got a book to read.