King's Rule

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I didn’t speak immediately, letting her sit there as I strode to the door and shut it. Then I came back to my desk, but didn’t sit. Instead I stood in front of it, crossing my arms, staring down at Poppy. Letting her see in no uncertain terms just how pissed off I was.

‘You’re late,’ I said flatly. ‘I told you to be here on time.’

She shrugged. ‘I had a problem with—’

‘And your clothes are inappropriate.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t—’

‘One chance, Poppy.’ I kept my voice cold. ‘One chance is all you get and already you’re blowing it.’

The smooth golden skin of her cheeks reddened. ‘If you’d let me finish, then maybe I could give you an explanation.’

I didn’t want to hear her explanation. Not that I could focus on it anyway because that damn button on her shirt kept pulling every time she breathed in, drawing my attention inexorably to the shape of her breasts. To the fullness of them. To the delicious curve of them under the faded black cotton.

‘I was late because Mum ran out of her meds and I had to go to the pharmacy to get her prescription.’ She took another breath, that damn button pulling tighter. Some of the threads had broken. Christ, it wouldn’t take much for it to simply pop off.

You should probably not be looking at it.

No, I probably shouldn’t.

With an effort I dragged my gaze from her shirt to her face. ‘Your mother can’t get her own prescription?’

‘My mother can’t organise her own bank accounts let alone go and get her own medicine. Not that I’d trust her to do it herself anyway.’

It was true that my father had done everything for Lily before he’d gone to prison, and she’d let him. I’d thought it was because Dad was a control freak, but maybe it hadn’t been that. Maybe Lily had been more than happy for him to do everything for her.

Knowing that didn’t lessen my annoyance and frustration one iota, however.

‘You should have texted me,’ I said curtly. ‘I won’t tolerate lateness, which you should know since I’ve already told you that at least twice.’

Poppy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but I hadn’t finished.

‘Your clothes, though, are unacceptable, not to mention inappropriate for a corporate environment,’ I went on. ‘You’re going to have to go home and change.’

‘Seriously?’ She stared at me as though she’d never heard of anything so preposterous. ‘If you want me in pencil skirts and nice little blouses with pussy bows you’re shit out of luck. I don’t have any.’

‘Then go and buy some. There are plenty of shops out there that stock them.’

Her smirk disappeared and something else sparked in her gaze. ‘You specified that I wasn’t to be late. You said nothing about what I had to wear.’

‘I also specified that you were to fulfil any tasks I set you and if I want you to go out and buy some appropriate clothing then that’s what you’re going to do.’

That lovely mouth hardened, anger glittering in her eyes. ‘If my clothing is so important I’ll find something else for tomorrow, but today you’re going to have to suck it up.’

My own anger began to rise, thick and hot, unwelcome and unwanted. At her for arguing with me about something so pointless and at myself for being unable to let it go. For being unable to tear my attention from that fascinating button between her breasts.

The shirt was faded, the fabric cheap and the button hanging by a thread should have made her look tacky and slutty. Not my type at all. I liked a cool, poised woman. A woman who dressed well, who could hold a rational conversation without descending into sarcasm and snark. A woman who didn’t argue with me in the bedroom, who let me run the show the way I liked to.

The complete opposite of Poppy, in other words.

‘No.’ I attempted to keep hold of both my temper and the rising need to flick that button off, part the fabric, get a glimpse of the perfect curves of her breasts cupped by her bra. ‘You’ll go down to the department store and you’ll buy yourself a work-appropriate outfit and you’ll do it now.’

Anger flared in her expression. ‘Go to hell, you arrogant bastard.’

I moved before I could stop myself, taking one step over to the chair where she sat. Then I put my hand on the back of it, leaning over her then bending down, so my face was close to hers.

Her eyes widened and she went very still, the sweet scent of jasmine surrounding me. This close I could see how her golden-brown skin glowed, burnished by the light coming through my office window, and how delicate and silky-looking her lashes and eyebrows were. How vulnerable her lovely mouth seemed.

You goddamn idiot. What the hell are you doing? You know getting close to her is a mistake.

I did know. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted her to do what she was told without argument, because her fighting me was getting me angry and hard, and that simply couldn’t happen. My control was excellent but, as it turned out, not limitless when it came to her.

I wanted to intimidate her, quell her, make her stop pushing me for once in her goddamn life.

‘Do as you’re told,’ I said softly, letting a note of menace bleed through.