by the door,” he said. He walked around the perimeter of the room, his hands trailing along the edge of the shelves so he knew where he was. “And don’t turn that light back on.”
Silence. For a second there was nothing. Then his hands brushed something warm. Bare skin.
“Found you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “My, my. The Prim Miss Hargrove knows how to play a game of truth or dare.”
“Just dare,” she said. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her bare skin again. The area felt flat, possibly her stomach. God, he wanted to touch all of her. “And I play to win.”
She stayed stock still as his hand travelled up. There was a curve, something hard beneath her soft skin. Rib cage. Then his fingertips brushed over something soft and textured. Lace. The swell of her breast filled his palm perfectly—firm and round. His thumb grazed over a hard nipple and his cock shifted in response.
Imogen made a soft, strangled sound and it was like an arrow of excitement straight through him. How many times had he thought about doing this with her? How many times had he wondered what her soft, curvy body would feel like under his hungry grasp? It would be so easy to back her up against the door and lift her leg over his hip.
“See,” she said, though her voice trembled as his thumb brushed her nipple again. “Told you I’m not all talk.”
Caleb opened his mouth to respond when a loud knock came down on the other side of the door. The thud was so hard it seemed to rattle the door in its hinges. “Hello? This is Jim from security. Everything okay in there? We saw the lights go out on the security monitor.”
Fuck. He hadn’t thought anyone would be watching them.
“We’re fine!” Imogen’s shrill voice made Caleb wince. Then she shoved him away from her with one hand. “Just testing some new glow-in-the-dark promo items.”
A second later the light flicked back on and Imogen was buttoned up as if their game had never taken place. She yanked the door open and gave the security guard a charming smile. “Sorry, we should have warned you. We needed to test that the items glowed properly and the rooms upstairs don’t get dark enough.”
The security guard raised a brow as though he didn’t really believe the story, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any more questions before marching out of the room, leaving both Caleb and the security guard in her dust.
* * *
Caleb pulled into the sweeping driveway of his parents’ Albert Park mansion with his head still spinning from the incident in the archive room. He needed to put it out of his mind, though, because it was family dinner night. And that meant being on his A-game.
It looked as though Jason had already arrived, since his brother’s black BMW was parked out front. It sat next to his mother’s gunmetal Mercedes and his father’s silver Audi. God, it was like someone had done a photo shoot of the world’s most boring vehicles.
He pulled his candy-apple-red Alfa Romeo into the empty spot next to the Merc. Like most things about Caleb’s life, it didn’t fit in with the rest of his family. In his world, he wasn’t the black sheep. More like lime green with purple polka dots.
“About time,” his brother called from the front door. “I thought we’d have to start without you.”
“That would make a change. Since when am I the last to arrive?”
Caleb and his mother often jokingly made bets about who would be later to dinner—Gerald or Jason. They were two peas in a pod, unable to tear themselves away from work even with the promise of a home-cooked meal. Well, a meal cooked in their home, anyway. No one had cooked in that house but their personal chef, Luis, since they moved in a decade ago.
“I went to the finance town hall and it finished up a little early. So, I stayed for a drink and then came straight over.” His brother slapped Caleb on the back as he entered the house. “Thought it might be nice not to hold up the show, for once.”
“And Dad’s here already?” They walked through the foyer and into the open-plan dining and living room. His parents were already seated, a bottle of wine open between them.
“Yeah, the negotiations turned out fine.”
Of course they did. There weren’t many people who could face down Gerald Allbrook and come out on top. His father had intimidation down to a fine art. The only difference between him and a mob boss was that he didn’t need henchmen. Or a gun.
“What held you up?” Jason asked.
“Had to get something from the archive room.” Caleb grinned at the memory. “Since you and Dad were gone, I had to get a key from Imogen.”
“You still don’t have a key?” Jason raised a brow. “Get Imogen to cut one for you.”
The whole key issue was representative of Caleb’s relationship with his father. Gerald had made a big song and dance about only wanting three keys and it turned out the old man trusted his assistant more than his youngest son.
“All good, mate,” he said loud enough for his father to hear. “It’s never a hardship to visit Dad’s lovely assistant.”
Gerald grunted from the table. His mother jumped up and enveloped Caleb into a hug—her earrings made jingling sounds as she squeezed him tight. The familiar scent of her perfume immediately lifted his mood.
“What’s that about Imogen?” she said. “Oh, we should have invited her for dinner.”
The Allbrooks were big fans of Imogen Hargrove. There’d been some chatter among staff that when Gerald had promoted her from the general assistant pool to be his dedicated executive assistant that it’d been due to her pretty face and shiny blond hair. But that rumour was quickly dispelled when it became evident that Imogen ran a tight ship and, despite being younger than almost everyone who worked at the company, she didn’t take shit from anyone. Not even Gerald himself. A fact that endeared her to Caleb greatly.
“I’m sure she’s got friends to hang out with.” Jason shook his head and pulled two beers from the fridge. He popped the caps and handed one bottle to Caleb. “Or her own family.”
“Oh, I know. But it would be nice to see her.” She waved a hand in the air, a stack of gold bracelets clinking with the movement. Caleb smiled. His mother was like a one-woman band with all the noise she made—she was always humming or wearing something that chimed when she walked. “Maybe we’d see her more often if you asked her out on a date.”
“Not sure how Dad would feel about that.” Jason’s eyes shifted to their father, who grunted. “Good assistants don’t grow on trees.”
Caleb’s stomach revolted against the idea. It was stupid. Outside their quick grope in a darkened room, they were hardly an item. And Jason and Imogen were about as perfectly matched as two people could be. They were both driven, serious types set on conquering the world. But the moment he even thought about his brother’s hands on her, it was like Caleb’s brain went into meltdown mode. An unfamiliar roar of jealousy surged through his body, squeezing his muscles and tightening his hands into fists.
“If either of you do anything to make her leave, I’ll have your hides,” Gerald
