The Handsome Devil: A One Night Affair: Kissing the Boss, #2

THE HANDSOME DEVIL: A ONE NIGHT AFFAIR

Kissing the Boss - Book 2

HIRA OH

Previously published under the pseudonym Fionn Jameson

(c) 2017 Hira Oh/Fionn Jameson

Edited by Megan Kelly and AKA Editorial

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book contains sexual material and profanity. Not meant to be read by any person under the age of 17.

The Handsome Devil: A One Night Affair was previously published under the pseudonym Fionn Jameson.

For Miki.

 01

The scent of sex was thick in the air. 

Blindfolded, I licked my dry lips, flinching at every tiny sound. My other senses were magnified a thousand times and I could hear, smell, even taste the darkness. 

The dark tasted like copper.

I felt his fingers on my mouth, smearing an oily, thick ointment on the split skin. 

You’re bleeding. His voice was laden with amusement. A little soon for that, don’t you think?

I tugged at the silk ropes binding my wrists to the wrought iron bed frame. I couldn’t help it. My voice trembled. It hurt.

One finger slipped into my mouth and despite my fear and apprehension, I sucked hard.

Did it? asked the low, almost sulking voice in the darkness. You thought I’d be gentle?

A sudden brush of cool air blew across my thighs and, instinctively, I crossed my legs. 

Tried to. 

Too bad my legs were tied apart, restrained by the same kind of silk rope around my wrists. 

Another puff of cool air on my heated core made my stomach quiver, made the breath hitch in my throat. 

Please. My whisper echoed. 

The only reply was an intake of breath. 

Then his fingers skimmed over my naked thighs and I almost choked on my heart. 

Do you want to see?

How to reply? I don’t know.

Don’t you want to?

I was so thirsty. I’m not sure.

There was a pause as he digested my words. 

Most women would want to, he said. They want to be in control. It scares them to be at the whim of someone else.

I swallowed to ease my dry throat. But it’s all an illusion, isn’t it?

An illusion?

Even if you took off the blindfold, I would still be bound. I pulled on my wrists to stress my statement. I would still have no control. Just because I have my sight means nothing. I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to do.

You’re right, he agreed in his smooth, cultured voice. I can do anything I want, and you can’t stop me.

Something cold touched my clit and I cried out, straining against the binds. 

Case in point.

What are you doing? I almost shrieked, trying to twist my hips away. 

Having fun, he replied. 

This is not my idea of fun!

You are far too impatient, my dear. The brush of something soft against the inside of my thigh made me jump. Relax.

Then the ice again. 

Nobuki, I—

The ice clinked against something. His teeth? I told you to relax.

I know, but—

Be quiet.

But—

He nipped the inside of my thigh and I jumped again. 

Not the ice cube. Please, it’s too cold.

Too cold? he asked. Let’s see if we can’t warm you up.

His tongue went to work. 

Heat diffused through my body, and a strange, heavy warmth spread from my feet up. 

I’d had other lovers before. 

They had performed oral sex on me, multiple times, and I enjoyed it, up to a certain degree.

But, for some reason, I never allowed myself to close my eyes and revel in the sensation. 

I’d never reached orgasm this way. Actually, I had never reached orgasm with any of my partners, a fact I found shameful. It was the one secret I told no one, not even Ayaka, my best friend and confidant. 

Chest heaving, I tugged against the silken ropes, moans erupting from my mouth. 

None of my past boyfriends ever brought out such a passion in me. 

You’re so damn frigid. 

That’s not normal. 

You should see a doctor. 

Ever heard of sexual dysfunction?

Nobuki’s tongue flicked along my clit, and I cried out again. 

He slid his fingers in me. 

My world exploded as I came in a riot of sensation, shuddering in arms stronger than steel. 

It seemed I was normal after all.

His lips found mine. Miss Hasegawa. 

He sounded as though he were a million miles away. 

Odd. 

Miss Hasegawa. 

Don’t call me that, I whispered. It’s Rika.

I wanted him to say my name. 

Miss Hasegawa.

A hand fell on my shoulder and I awoke with a sudden jerk.

I couldn’t see anything.

What was going on?

Something was wrapped around my head, covering my eyes. 

A dull, thrumming sound echoed in my ears.

Miss Hasegawa, wake up.

I tugged the eye mask over my head and stared.

A plane. 

I was in business class, flying to LAX, and next to me sat the man from my dreams: my boss. 

And in the aisle next to him stood a gorgeous young woman, looking smart in a light beige uniform with a jaunty sea-green scarf, holding out a glass of wine. 

I’m so sorry, ma’am, she said in a low, pleasant voice. Did I startle you?

My mouth flopped open. 

Dear. God. 

Another dream. 

Another stupid, idiotic, moronic dream. 

Good thing the airplane doors were impossible to open during flight, otherwise I think I might’ve thrown myself out in shame. 

Miss Hasegawa? asked Nobuki Miyano as he watched me, looking unusually severe in a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. 

He made glasses look good. With his shoulder-length hair tucked behind one ear, his features seemed starker, sharper, lovely enough to make a plastic surgeon weep with envy. His lightly sun-kissed, unblemished skin was the talk of all the women in the office. I would’ve bet my entire bank account he didn’t need to do anything to achieve that level of perfection.

Um. My throat was rougher than sandpaper. May I have the wine, please?

Of course. The flight attendant gave me a brilliant smile. Did Korean Air hire models to work their planes? It’s Bordeaux.

It could’ve been water and I wouldn’t have cared. Tha—thank you.

Nobuki’s eyes narrowed as I chugged the wine. 

You’re drinking too fast, he said, reproof clear in his voice. It’s unseemly. I hope you’re not one of those unruly drunks who diverts a plane to New Zealand. It would cause considerable delay on our part.

His words stung, although I tried to hide it. Excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom.

Not caring what my boss thought about my sudden exit—or was it escape?—I clambered over his legs and locked myself in the nearest lavatory.

Hands clenched on the counter edge, I stared at myself in the mirror. Oh jeez.

Dyed caramel brown hair all around my face, my eyes were wide and luminous in the dim lights, a too much sex gleam to the pupils. I grimaced, not comfortable with my siren-like appearance. 

As the plane hit a sudden patch of turbulence, it seemed to fall for a moment, and my stomach ended up somewhere under my neck. Luckily, the sudden rush of nausea that followed turned my skin faintly green, which was okay with me.

Calm down, I muttered and tried to fix my hair. I had fallen asleep with it in a messy ponytail and now the ponytail was all over my shoulders and neck. 

Quickly, I tied my hair back, using water to smooth down errant strands at my temples. 

Breathe, I said. Just breathe. 

I looked critically at my reflection. 

With my hair back and my sweater straightened, I looked somewhat presentable. 

I felt far from it, though. 

Pulse racing, I riffled through my makeup bag and replaced my panty liner. 

Thank goodness I had gotten into a habit of wearing these. If it weren’t for the thin pieces of protection, my panties would have been drenched. It’s easy to explain sanitary napkins in one’s bag, but not so easy to explain why one has several changes of underwear. 

I threw the damp panty liner in the waste bin and ran a wet napkin over my sex, hand shaking, heart pounding as though I had sprinted a hundred meters. 

These dreams were getting more and more realistic, leaving me unsettled and a nervous wreck.  

Erotic dreams were common. Healthy, even.

But my lover was always Nobuki, and the dreams were so vivid. 

I would’ve said they were frightening in their intensity, but the word frightening wasn’t right when a small part of me looked forward to the fantasies. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pulled my jeans back up, fingers fumbling on the catch. 

Damn it, Rika, I muttered. They’re just dreams. He’s good-looking—big deal. Once you get used to him, the dreams will stop, and you’ll laugh about this.

I wished I could believe myself. He’d been my boss for only a few weeks and my fantasies had become more frequent. Disturbingly frequent.

After checking my reflection again, I slunk back to my seat.

Nobuki didn’t even have to stand up for me to get past him. Business and first class were fantastic. The last time I went to Okinawa in coach, the seats were so tight together I was almost dizzy with relief when the plane touched down after the two-hour flight. 

But not these seats. 

Is something wrong? he asked as I clipped the seat belt back on. 

Pretend nothing happened. Bad dream, that’s all.

Bad dream? Nobuki peered sideways at me, tablet in his lap. 

My stomach quivered. 

Get a hold of yourself, you twit.

I’m not a good flyer.

One brow rose. Really? Why are you smiling so wide? Better be careful your lips don’t split at the ends.

Like the Kuchisake Woman.

The what?

The Kuchisake Woman? I repeated. You’ve never heard of her?

Never.

I blinked. When I was a child, everyone knew about her.

He set his tablet down, giving me his undivided attention. Tell me about this woman.

Even though it had been a while since I thought about the urban legend, it still made the back of my neck prickle. "She’s a woman whose jealous lover cut her mouth at the ends because she cheated on him. Now she’s a ghost who wears a surgical mask to cover her mouth. She’ll ask people if they think she’s beautiful and if they say yes, she’ll take off her mask. Then she’ll ask them if they really think she’s beautiful. If they say yes again, she’ll slit their mouth like hers." 

What if they say no?

She still kills them. 

He tilted his chin to one side. Is there any way you can survive?

Maybe, I said, a shiver going through my body. I think the only way you can is to say she’s so-so. Supposedly, it confuses her and gives you enough time to escape. Either that, or throw candy at her and you can run while she’s busy picking it up. I frowned. Although I can’t imagine why a vengeful ghost would care about candy.

He stared at the empty goblet of wine on his tray table. America has an urban legend like her. We call her Bloody Mary. 

I blinked again. Bloody who?

Bloody Mary. She’s a young woman who died in front of a mirror, and her ghost haunts all mirrors.

I leaned toward him. Scary stories were a weakness of mine and this one sounded right up my alley. A ghost who haunts all mirrors?

He nodded. A corner of his lips tweaked up. You have to flush the toilet a bunch of times, turn the faucet on and off, and call her name three times at midnight in front of a mirror. Her ghost will come to you then, or so the story goes.

With the lights on?

What do you think?

Wow, I whispered. In the dark, the sound of the toilet flushing, calling someone’s name in the mirror—it sounded like a horror movie. I was sure I’d die of a heart attack before I even said her name a second time, much less a third. That’s creepy. I’ve never heard of something like that. I thought Americans were terrified of serial killers like that guy in the hockey mask or Freddy Krueger. American ghosts seem kind of boring in comparison to ours.

He shrugged. Japan has good ghosts, but American ghosts shouldn’t be discounted, I think.

Hmm, I said. Did you ever do it?

He twirled the goblet stem between his fingers in a contemplative manner. Do what?

I stared at his fingers, the dream vivid in my memories. Call Bloody Mary.

Once or twice, he admitted. Everyone does silly things when they’re kids.

What kind of silly things did Nobuki do as a child? God, I wanted to know.

What happened? I asked.

His lips twitched. I don’t think I ever said her name more than twice before bolting.

You’d have gotten further than me, I replied, suddenly cold. Was it the idea of calling a ghost from a mirror, or the low temperature of the airplane cabin? I pulled a blanket over my shoulders. I couldn’t stay in the bathroom with the lights off, much less flush the toilet and turn on the faucets.

It helps if there’s someone else in there with you, he said dryly. 

Not me, I replied. I’d jump out the nearest window.

He made a noncommittal answer and handed the glass to the very attentive attendant who never seemed more than a few feet away. 

Can I get you anything else, sir? 

Nothing at the moment, thank you.

They went through several variations of this, in which the attendant, introducing herself as Sara, recommended different types of wines, the latest copy of the Wall Street Journal, beer, then an exclusive SkyMall brochure containing items economy passengers did not have access to. 

We have some delicious imported Belgian choco—

Nobuki would not send her away, so I had to intervene. We’re fine. Really. If we need anything, we’ll page you.

Oh, she said, nonplussed. Of course. I understand.

She sidled away, looking over her shoulder at us. 

No. 

Not us. 

Nobuki. 

Well, that should’ve been obvious. 

She would not take no for an answer. He flicked a finger across his tablet screen. Did you get her name?

Sara, I replied. Why?

I must email the headquarters. 

I gazed at him, half in shock, half in awe. You’re going to file a complaint? Just because she wanted to be around you a little longer? She’ll get in trouble.

Complain? He shot me a glance, Mr. Serious in those glasses. Not at all. I’m going to commend her on a job well done.

Oh? I said. If you like her so much, why don’t you get her a job at Shokogan?

Not a bad idea. You can’t be a flight attendant for a long time, at least not with this company.

Watching the two other attendants roaming the cabin, it was easy to see his point. Neither of them seemed a day over twenty-five, both remarkably polished and poised.

And of course, they could’ve been candidates for Miss Universe Japan. 

I refused to acknowledge the pang of jealousy. 

However, continued Nobuki, the tablet’s bright glare reflecting off his glasses. If she pays me this much attention for twelve hours, maybe it wouldn’t be the best thing to have her situated with us at Shokogan. I might not survive it.

Eager to take the subject off the too-lovely Sara, I checked my watch. Have we passed Hawaii yet?

An hour ago. We should arrive soon. About time. My knees are killing me.

I looked pointedly at his long legs. In coach, he would have been uncomfortable, but in business class? You could’ve placed a kid on the floor at his feet and he still would’ve had enough room to shuffle around. 

Don’t give me that look, he scoffed. It’s not the space. I merely don’t like sitting for so long.

The seat belt sign is off, I pointed out. I doubt anyone’ll stop you if you need to stretch.

Besides, I wouldn’t have minded some alone time. Sitting this close to my boss for this long was nerve racking. Every time his shoulders brushed mine, I jumped. I hoped he didn’t notice.

I’ll pass, he muttered. I can stand another three hours. Don’t ask me for the time again, though.

I blinked. Are you asking me a favor?

Not a favor. An order.

You’re a terrible boss.

Sara the Flight Attendant would disagree with you.

Well, she thinks you’re hot.

He didn’t look away from the screen. If I remember correctly, you think I’m good-looking as well. Wasn’t there a time when you told me not to move my, ah, good-looking ass?

My face heated. I’m not blind.

He laughed. No, you most certainly aren’t.

I opened my mouth to speak, but then closed it again when nothing came to mind. 

What was I supposed to say?

I wish I were blind because then I wouldn’t have naughty dreams about you every night.

On the other hand, I’m glad I’m not because watching you is a treat.

I groaned mentally, closed my eyes, and tried to fall asleep. Three hours later, I resisted the urge to cheer when the captain’s voice came over the intercom, saying we were making our final descent over Los Angeles. 

And not a moment too soon.

Being so close to the object of my most fevered dreams was driving me up the wall. I had taken to concentrating on the beating of my heart so I didn’t focus on Nobuki, but even that was wearing thin. 

As the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac with a slight bump, I let out a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding.

It looked like I was going to hang on to my sanity. 

For a while longer, anyway.

 02

Every city has its own distinct scent. 

I never understood why Ayaka said that until we stepped off the plane and into a wide hallway, following the arrows indicating baggage claim. 

Los Angeles smelled of gasoline and flowers.

People were everywhere and I couldn’t stop gawking at the sheer variety of humans. Fat, thin, tall, short, light skin, dark skin, it was all so interesting and I almost tripped over my own feet as I watched an Indian man with a turban argue with a Caucasian woman in a business suit and dark sunglasses. 

You’re staring, Nobuki muttered as we stood in the immigration line. Stop it. It’s rude. 

Sorry, sorry, I said, guiltily looking away from a family of four, the blonde mother chastising her son for teasing his sister. 

You haven’t been outside of Japan, have you?

Was that scorn in his voice? I have.

Nobuki lifted a brow. Where?

Okinawa.

Okinawa isn’t abroad.

It is to me. I had to get on a plane and there were lots of foreigners there. It might as well have been abroad. I swear, there were more Americans than Japanese, I shot back. Besides, you know there’s the army base. I walked into a bar near the airport and thought I was in New York.

New York? 

His doubtful expression made me mumble, What I think New York looks like.

Nobuki sighed. We didn’t talk again until we got through the line and ended up at the baggage corrals. 

There were so many people milling around, and I couldn’t stop staring at the diversity surrounding us. Skin as white as milk and as dark as charcoal, and every degree in between. No wonder I couldn’t keep my mouth closed.  

They say Japan is one of the most homogeneous places in the world. 

They’re right. 

I could count on my hands how many foreigners I saw on the subway in any given week, and still have a few fingers left over. 

Here, I stood shoulder to shoulder with people from other countries; the man on my left who looked very Swedish with his white complexion and almost as white hair, while the woman on my right was short, squat, and darker than ebony. 

Her luggage came out first, a gigantic gray Samsonite. When she struggled to pull it off the conveyor, I helped her with the bag that probably weighed as much as she did. 

She gave me a brilliantly white smile. 

Thank you, thank you, she said in a heavy accent, patting my shoulder. You’re an angel.

I said a silent prayer for all those English lessons in dreary classrooms and replied, No problem.

My two first words in English since our plane landed in Los Angeles. I felt stupidly accomplished for saying that much.  

"I wish more girls