Chapter 17
ARI
I jump out of my skin, then whip around, instantly feeling hot with guilt, to find Nathan with his hands in his pockets, standing with his legs spread wide and looking at me suspiciously.
That man wears suit pants like they were made for him, which they were, and are made from the finest Italian fabric. But there is something about him in a virgin-white shirt left open at the collar that does something to my insides, turning them to goo every time.
“Did you come looking for me?” I was too engrossed in what I was doing to hear him. He’s like a ninja or something.
“You’ve been missing for over thirty minutes, Arianna.”
I grit my teeth together, annoyed at him calling me that. How many times do I have to tell him it’s Ari? Only my parents and sister, Riley, called me Arianna.
And I didn’t think he would notice I was gone. He was too busy talking to his brothers about fucking Vivienne Cavendish.
God, that makes me feel sick.
“I was beginning to get worried,” he says.
His voice is full of concern, which is unwanted.
The way he walks with purpose toward me has panic weaving its way through my veins, and I gather the files back into a neat pile.
Files I shouldn’t be accessing. It isn’t labelled “Attorney-Client Privileged” on the outside of the box for no reason.
Although I’ve never understood why it is. If there is nothing to hide, why is it labelled as such? And why is that letter between Nathan’s father and Kevin Taylor redacted?
What am I not seeing?
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say, turning my back to him, pushing my phone inside my pocket, then discreetly place the case paperwork into the archive box. “I’m fine.”
The only person who has ever worried about me was my foster mom, Jean, and after she died when I was twenty-one, I’ve been looking after myself just fine. I don’t need anyone’s concern.
His steps grow closer. “What are you doing down here, Arianna?”
I close the lid, lift the box, and hold it against my chest before turning around to face him.
Straightening my shoulders, I hold my head high and walk past him to return the box, his cologne chasing me as I float by.
God, he smells good. “I was digging out similar cases to help with the Vivienne Cavendish versus Regal Wings case,” I lie.
“I must have taken down the wrong case number; this isn’t the one I wanted. ”
“Right.” His footsteps follow me and just as I replace the box on the shelf, he’s right there, arms folded in front of him and leaning against the shelving unit. “You’re really good at your job.”
I feel my cheeks growing hot. “Thanks.” I accept the compliment, feeling guilty that he thinks I’m helpful, and I can’t even bring myself to look at him so I bend down to pick the other files I brought with me off the floor, stand to my full height then look around.
The nervous tension between us growing by the second.
He’s right though, I am good at my job. I take great pride in what I do and genuinely love it. Regardless of any suspicions I might have about his father’s dodgy dealings, I am committed to upholding the law and strictly adhering to the rules and regulations of my role.
“You’re the best secretary I’ve ever had,” he adds, throwing my conscience sideways.
God, I wish my time here was over and I could stop hiding the reasons I’m really here.
I finally manage to look at him. “Thanks,” I say again, my body thick with guilt.
There’s this huge space of time that’s filled with awkward silence before he asks, “Come to The Connecting Kids Charity Ball with me next week.”
That doesn’t sound like a question.
“I’m busy,” I lie, but I would love to go; that charity is very close to my heart but a ticket costs over one thousand dollars.
He looks shocked by my quick response and asks, “Doing what?”
Making an effigy of your father and setting fire to it. “I have plans,” I simply reply. I don’t have a single thing to do next Friday night.
“Plans?” He questions my vague responses.
“Yes, plans. Unlike you, I do have a life outside of work.”
“I doubt that. You’ve been here working until midnight almost every night.”
I scoff at his arrogance. “My world doesn’t revolve around you, Nathan.”
He tuts, shaking his head. “You’re fucking wrong about that, baby.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Whatever.” I feel snarky.
“See you tomorrow. Be sure to lock the door. That’s if your head will fit through it, it’s that big.
” I don’t manage even one step back up the aisle, because quicker than I can comprehend I’m being pushed against the shelving unit and Nathan’s mouth is on mine, taking what he wants, anything I’ll give him.
The files I was holding on to drop to the floor, scattering paper everywhere.
I wrap my arms around him because I’ve been longing to touch him again.
My gasps of relief and pleasure get swallowed by him when his hands find my neck and he tilts my chin up, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, as if he’s trying to crawl inside my body.
I’m defenseless against his intoxicating kisses that have heat pooling between my legs, my skin flushing with desire as it spreads across my skin.
He presses himself flush against me, and with one hand firmly grasped around my neck, the other explores the contours of my body as we breathe against each other heavily, our lips sealed together in the perfect kiss.
When I pull my hips to meet his, he rubs his hard cock against my stomach, and we both groan into each other’s mouths at the same time.
Our tongues mouth fuck each other, teeth clattering, tongues sliding, licking, enjoying every single desperate second, working in perfect harmony.
I tilt my hips to ease the pulsing sensation in my pelvis when Nathan deepens our kiss, which I didn’t think was possible, my heart racing faster than a bullet out of a shotgun.
Sliding my hands up over his sculpted back, I run my nails down the cool fabric, feeling every muscle contract as he groans my name.
“Your smart mouth is my fucking undoing, baby,” he mumbles against my lips.
If I’d known that I wouldn’t have said anything, or maybe I should have been even more brat-like because the little devil on my shoulder seems to like the way he responds to my impertinence.
“Did you touch yourself the other week?” he asks, panting between our illicit kisses.
“No.” My body thinks it belongs to him. I couldn’t bring myself to touch myself; it’s him I want. I’m more frustrated than a romance novel character left on a cliffhanger without her happy ever after.
What am I thinking? My body does not belong to him, or anyone. It’s just a trick of my imagination, that’s all it is. The chemistry is not real.
And yet I find myself experiencing this infuriating pull toward him, which disgusts me because I like him more than I should.
He gives my neck a squeeze in appreciation. “Good girl.” His lips leave mine, before he peppers kisses over my jaw.
My body responds, feeling about a million degrees hotter, loving the way he calls me his good girl every time I do something he approves of.
“Did you jerk off while thinking about me?” I don’t know why I’m asking if he touched himself. I gasp when he licks the shell of my ear.
“You’re all I can think about, Arianna.”
Was that a yes?
His next confession has me wanting to shed my clothes and ride his face until I’m chanting his name like a tantric meditation.
He admits, “I can’t sleep; eating feels pointless. I don’t know what is happening to me.” Laying much softer kisses than before over the pulse point of my neck sends shivers across my heated skin, my body humming with happiness.
How long can I keep denying the passion and fire that is burning between us?
“Come with me to the ball,” he whispers in my ear, sending tingles down my spine and deep in my core.
“I can’t.” I want to but I know if I accept his invitation, it will be yet another bad decision of mine.
But I want to say yes. So much.
Temptation is messing with my judgment. And karma is playing a cruel game, laughing at me with its wicked sense of humor, and pulling strings I can’t control.
I find every thought I have of wanting him completely senseless, even when a small part of me believes that there is sense to us. But what is it?
Being surrounded by everything Nathan and him helicoptering around me all day every day in the office is both intoxicating and tormenting.
My mind tells me to ignore this thing between us, forget him, and move on—which I’ve been trying to do for weeks, but my heart isn’t getting the memo.
There’s a thin line between doing what’s right and what I can’t help but want.
In the same way he’s caged me against the shelves, I’m trapped.
Every thought of him, every kiss and exchange feels like betrayal. My family would hate the person I have become, and yet I can’t stop.
It’s like the universe is playing some cosmic joke, dangling him just out of reach and watching me wrestle with the impossible ache of wanting what I can never truly have.
Or maybe the universe is trying to show me what I can’t see.
It’s so confusing.
“I have to go,” I say. I need to put an end to this.
“I don’t want you to go,” he declares.
For reasons I don’t understand, neither do I, but I must. “Nathaniel.” I address him by his full name to get his attention, and he stops doing that crazy thing with his tongue behind my ear that pushes my senses into overdrive, breathing new life into them.
Eyes closed, he rests his forehead against mine, his chest heaving frantically.
“You do something to me.” His determined eyes snap open and connect with mine.
“And there isn’t a damn thing you could say to keep me away from you.
You make me want to burn down the world for you, protect you, and never let you go.
I’ve never seen myself settling down before, but with you…
” He stops himself from continuing. “Fuck…”
Holy shit, does he mean that?