I never joke-especially at work-but the leggy brunette in a short, tight skirt puts my body on alert in an all-too pleasurable way. It's better now that I'm not touching her. When I did, the electricity between us set my skin on fire. The itch and burn of the change came upon me as fast as it does a pubescent teen just learning how to shift. I nearly shoved her legs apart, pulled that miniscule skirt up around her waist, and claimed her right there.
Actually, my wolf senses went haywire the moment she stepped onto the elevator. It was all I could do to keep quiet and study her. Her scent intoxicates me-like some exotic flower begging to be plucked, except decidedly human. None of it makes sense. There's no reason I should be attracted to her, apart from the fact she's gorgeous. I've never been attracted to a human before-hell, I've hardly ever been attracted to a she-wolf, even at the full moon.
To make it worse, she became aroused when I touched her-the scent of her nectar fills the confined space. For the first time in my life, my fangs sharpened, slick with serum, ready to sink into her flesh and forever mark her as mine.
But that is insane. I can't mark a human-she wouldn't survive it. This human-beautiful though she may be-can't be my mate.
I look her over, at a distinct advantage because I can see in the dark and she can't. She's stunning in every way-long, shapely legs, an ass that fills her short skirt, and Batgirl tits. That is, she has a hot pink bat on the front of her shirt, right over a pair of perky tits. And something about that bat just throws me over the edge. Spunky little superhero, begging to be bested.
Guess that makes me the villain.
"What's your name?" she asks.
I hesitate. "J. T."
"I'm Kylie. I'm here for an interview, so I was nerved up to begin with."
I don't do friendly. I discourage my employees from engaging with me except to give me information in its most distilled format. But, for some reason, I don't mind her feeble attempt at conversation. Which doesn't mean I'll bother answering.
I'm too busy convincing my wolf not to jump her.
She tries again. "What department are you in?"
I'm not going to admit I'm the CEO. "Marketing." I infuse the word with the disgust marketing inspires in me. It's true that the majority of my time is now spent on marketing or management, when I'd much prefer programming and never interacting face-to-face with another soul.
She laughs, a husky, sweet sound. Despite the fact she can't see me, she peers up in my direction with a look of fascination on her face. Her hair, a thick shiny chestnut, hangs in loose waves over her shoulders. It's too dark to tell the color of her eyes, but her full lips are glossed, and the way they part now makes me want to claim that lush mouth.
"One of those guys, huh? That is sad."
I smile-a rare occurrence for me. She's already made me laugh, something I haven't done in twenty years.
"What position are you interviewing for?"
"infosec."
Hot and nerdy. Interesting. She must have mad skills to rate an interview. My company is the best in the world for information security. "You have much experience in the field?"
"Some." She sounds noncommittal in that way that makes me think she actually knows her stuff.
The power has been out for a long time-at least ten minutes. I fish my phone from my pocket and try to dial my secretary again but still can't get a signal.
"How long do you think we'll be stuck in here?" Her voice wavers on the word stuck.
Fates, I've never had the urge to pick up a woman's hand before. My shirt collar's too tight. I wish to hell I hadn't worn a suit and tie. Of course, I wish that every day, but rarely have a choice, even though it's my damn company. Once we reached a certain level, I had to conform to the dress code of corporate America when I had outside meetings-even in Tucson, which is notoriously relaxed in its dress code.
My little programmer, however, nailed the outfit-just the right mix of hipster with the bat tits and bare legs, and corporate with the suit and heels. I don't know when I started thinking of her as my little anything, but I have. The second she walked on the elevator and I inhaled her scent, my wolf screamed mine.
"I mean, do you think it will be hours? It won't be hours, right?" She's losing her breath again. It's all I can do not to pull her onto my lap and hold her until all that trembling stops.
"Don't make me grope you again." Okay, I definitely shouldn't say that, even if she said it first. The remark has its intended effect, though.
She snorts, which changes up her breathing pattern and helps her chill out.
"So you're nervous about the interview?" I ask. Chitchat isn't part of my repertoire, but it seems I'd do anything to calm her down. Or maybe I just want to hear her voice again. "You don't seem nervous."
"Besides the whole panic attack thing you're doing a manly job distracting me from?"
My wolf preens at the compliment.
"I'll let you in on a secret," she says, and the muscles of my groin seize almost painfully at the purr in her voice. She's seducing me, and she doesn't even know she's doing it.
Maybe talking is a bad idea.
"Okay," I respond.
"I've never worked a real job before. I mean, I have a job now, but it's all telecommuting. I've never been in an office like this."
"Think you can take it?"