In a blur, he lifted her onto the counter, parting her knees as he stepped between them. Her blouse buttons came undone under his impatient fingers, one after another, until silk slid off her shoulders and revealed lace beneath.

He stilled for half a beat, drinking in the sight of her — Victoria Sinclair, his boss, untouchable in every boardroom, now flushed and trembling in her own kitchen, legs spread for him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, before lowering his head to capture a ...