Hugh squinted into the dimness of the screening room. His libido was revving after less than a minute in the presence of that little vixen. What had Isabel called her? Sexy secretary. Jeezus, yes.
Hugh jerked his head at Holly, the assistant to the Boot Knockers. She fetched cold drinks and picked up dropped folders. Mostly she stood by and grinned at their antics.
He jerked his head at her. “Gimme the master folder.”
“But—” She blinked at him in confusion.
“I’m your boss, dammit. Give me the master folder.” He nodded toward the slim sheaf of papers she held, one for each woman including the contestant’s application and her photo.
Holly gave him the eyeball and handed him the folder. Hugh grunted and sank to his big leather chair.
“You’re not even supposed to be competing today, Hugh,” Riggs said from a few seats down. “We’re not short-handed.”
“We don’t need to be short-handed for me to play the game,” Hugh drawled. Yeah, it was his job to manage the operations, and he’d filled in just last week. But this opportunity wasn’t to be missed.
Hot lights flooded the stage, illuminating her—sexy secretary. And whooee, was she. The ring of light flooded over his paper, which he quickly read over. A half-assed selfie photograph was printed in the upper corner, and her pertinent information was neatly typed.
Has trouble climaxing.
She drew in a deep, shaky breath, and it echoed in the screening room.
Hugh glanced up. His gaze conformed to her wicked curves showcased by a form-fitting pencil skirt. Her legs narrowed into black heels, making him eager to see her calves. Actually, he wanted to see all of her from behind. He’d ached for it backstage. Hell, this was the reason he was abusing his authority.
“Turn around please,” he said without thought. His deep voice carried through the already silent auditorium, rendering everyone comatose with shock. Several of his fellow Boot Knockers gave him a “what the fuck” look.
Hugh outstretched his arms, palms up in answer, then resumed his study of the contestant on stage, who had indeed turned around.
His cock jerked in his jeans. Damn, those hips swelled into a perfectly rounded backside. And her calves were shapely, a thin crease outlining her muscle—the perfect line to lick.
Her dark blonde hair shivered on her shoulders, and he realized she was quaking. His heart did a loop-de-loop, and he stilled.
The pang, hitch, flop—what the hell ever it was—had no business in his chest. Son of a bitch. She heart-throbbed me.
He grabbed her cut sheet and flipped it over.
“Face forward please, Miss Green.” The order came from Riggs. They’d been Boot Knockers for four years. During this time, he and Riggs had shared more than one lusty night with a contestant. One man became her mentor, but sometimes it took more to “cure” the ladies of what ailed them.
What was wrong with Miss Green again? Has trouble climaxing. Hugh contained a snort. Whoever got her would probably have her singing soprano to the ceiling within an hour.
PUSHIN’ BUTTONS releasing June 10, available for pre-order on Amazon!