Maya's POV
The faint burn of Nicholas’s knuckles lingered above my hipbone like a mark. I lay frozen on the stupidly soft leather sofa, the half-undone zipper of my designer trousers another reminder of what just happened. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the city lights below into blurry colours.
Nicholas stood across the room, his back straight as he stared out at the storm, the untouched whiskey glass dangling from his fingers – as if he didn't just make my heart do somersaults for no reason.
Right. Boundaries. Because crouching down to fix my bloody zipper and then practically setting my skin on fire with a knuckle-brush is totally within professional assistant boundaries. Executive Assistant my arse. More like Executive Tormentor.
He didn’t turn. "Get some rest,
