Divorced The Billionaire, Married His Boss

The man's arms were like iron bands, solid and unyielding. He pulled Chandler up, supporting her entirely against his body. Through the thin silk of her slip dress, the heat radiating from her skin was alarming. Brennan George let out a low, rough exhale. He tightened his grip on her waist, his large hand splaying across her bare back to keep her from collapsing. Chandler's head lolled forward, her chin resting heavily against his chest. The smooth, cool fabric of his bespoke suit jacket felt like heaven against her burning cheek. She let out a soft, involuntary sigh, rubbing her face against his lapel like a cat seeking warmth. Brennan's jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained. His dark eyes, usually calm and calculating, flared with a sudden, dangerous heat. He forced himself to take a breath, fighting the immediate physical reaction her touch provoked. He lowered his head, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Chandler," he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. "Wake up." Chandler blinked slowly. The drug made her vision swim. She could not focus on his face. All she saw was the sharp angle of a strong jawline and the faint glint of gold-rimmed glasses catching the dim hallway light. Her drug-addled brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. She remembered Mickey the bartender. She remembered asking for a man. A hazy, breathless giggle escaped her lips. She tilted her head up. "You..." she slurred, her words running together. "You're the VIP host... the one the club sent." Brennan's body went completely rigid. The air in his lungs stopped. A dark, predatory gleam flashed in his eyes. He did not correct her. He simply stared down at the flushed, beautiful woman in his arms, watching the way her chest he heaved with every rapid breath. Taking his silence as confirmation, the drug stripped away Chandler's last ounce of inhibition. Her small, burning hands slid up his chest, wrapping around the back of his neck. Her fingers tangled in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. She pulled herself up onto her tiptoes, pressing her body flush against his. "You're exactly my type," she whispered, her hot breath fanning across his jaw. "You're mine for tonight." A certain, primal urge he had kept buried and starved for years finally broke through the dam of his carefully constructed reason. His breathing turned ragged. He grabbed both of her wrists in one massive hand, pinning them against the wall behind her. He crowded into her space, his large frame trapping her completely. He leaned down, his nose almost touching hers. "Do you have any idea what you are playing with right now?" he warned, his voice thick with suppressed desire. Chandler didn't shrink back. The heat inside her demanded friction. She smiled, a reckless, intoxicated curve of her lips. She stretched her neck forward, her soft lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. It was a clumsy, desperate touch, but it sent a violent shockwave straight to his groin. Brennan groaned. He let go of her wrists, his large hands moving to cup the back of her head. He tilted her face up and crashed his mouth down onto hers. It was a punishing, invasive kiss. It carried the weight of seven years of silent obsession and the explosive reality of finally having her in his arms. He parted her lips effortlessly, his tongue sweeping inside to taste the tequila and the sweet cherry mixer. He devoured her breath, taking complete control. Chandler moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She kissed him back with a frantic, drug-fueled hunger, her body pressing desperately against his hips. Suddenly, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the far end of the hallway. The beam of a heavy flashlight swept across the wall. The club's security team was doing a sweep. The harsh light hit Brennan's back. He broke the kiss instantly, his chest heaving. He cursed under his breath. With lightning speed, he unbuttoned his long wool overcoat and wrapped it entirely around Chandler, burying her small frame against his chest and hiding her exposed skin from view. He kept one arm firmly around her waist. With his free hand, he shoved open a heavy metal door marked STAFF ONLY. He pulled her into the concrete stairwell, letting the door slam shut behind them. The stairwell was dead silent, lit only by the eerie green glow of the emergency exit signs. The sudden change in environment agitated Chandler. She whined in protest, twisting her body, trying to fight her way out of the heavy wool coat. The friction of her movements against his body was pure torture. Brennan closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. His knuckles turned white as he gripped her waist, holding her still. He knew the drug was destroying her mind. If he took her now, in a dirty stairwell while she was out of her mind, she would hate him forever when she woke up. He needed her willing. He needed her lucid. He dug his phone out of his pocket with one hand. Without looking at the screen, his thumb flew across the keypad, sending a pre-programmed emergency text to his executive assistant, Davon: VIP Suite. Top floor. Now. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. He bent his knees, scooped Chandler up into his arms, and carried her bridal-style up the stairs toward the private elevator reserved for management. Inside the elevator, the drug reached its peak. Chandler was burning alive. She kicked her legs, her hands tearing frantically at the collar of her dress, trying to rip the fabric away from her skin. The pale curve of her breast was exposed in the harsh overhead light. Brennan's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. He averted his eyes, staring fixedly at the metal doors. He grabbed her flailing hands, pinning them to her sides. "Stop," he ordered, his voice tight with agony. "We are almost there." The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to the top-floor VIP corridor. Davon was already standing outside the suite, holding a black keycard. When Davon saw his boss carrying a half-naked, writhing woman, he immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, his face completely blank. Davon swiped the card. The heavy oak door clicked open. Brennan strode past him into the massive, luxurious suite. He walked straight into the bedroom and tossed Chandler onto the center of the California king bed. Chandler rolled onto her side, tangling herself in the heavy duvet. She curled into a tight ball, her body trembling violently. Tears of sheer physical frustration leaked from the corners of her eyes. The heat was cooking her from the inside out. Brennan stood at the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily. Watching her suffer twisted a knife in his gut. He turned and strode into the massive marble bathroom. He reached into the deep soaking tub and cranked the cold water faucet all the way open. Icy water blasted from the spout. He walked back to the bed. He didn't bother unwrapping her from the duvet. He scooped her up, blankets and all, and carried her into the bathroom. Without hesitation, he dropped her directly into the tub of freezing water. The shock of the ice-cold water hit Chandler like a physical strike. She let out a piercing scream. Her eyes flew wide open. She thrashed violently, the heavy, wet duvet tangling around her legs. Panic and cold overrode the drug for a split second. She reached out blindly, her hands finding the lapels of Brennan's suit jacket. With a desperate, panicked surge of strength, she yanked backward. Brennan, caught off guard by her sudden movement, lost his footing on the slick marble floor. He pitched forward, crashing over the edge of the tub and plunging straight into the freezing water right on top of her.