Chapter 4 #2
“This position requires long hours,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Pressure doesn’t ease once things run smoothly. It shifts.”
“I’m aware.”
She doesn’t move when she answers. She doesn’t step back or give ground, and she’s closer to the desk than she was initially. I don’t remember when that happened. I only register it now, the reduced space, the way I don’t have to look far to take her in.
I draw in a breath, slower this time, but it doesn’t settle the way it should. My focus shifts again, tracking the line of her throat as she swallows, the movement small but enough to hold my attention longer than it should.
Then my gaze drops to her mouth again in a way that doesn’t feel accidental anymore. The shape of it holds me there for a second too long, soft but unsmiling, controlled in the same way the rest of her is.
Then she wets her lower lip.
The movement is small. Thoughtless, probably. It still hits me like a punch low in my body.
Heat tightens through me before I can shut it down.
I shift slightly, trying to ease the pressure building beneath my slacks without making it obvious, but my body is already too aware of her.
Of the closed office. Of the fact that she’s standing close enough for me to catch the clean scent of her perfume beneath the sharper smell of paper and coffee.
Jesus Christ.
“You’ve done good work this week,” I say, and my voice comes out lower than I intend.
Her eyes hold mine steadily. “Thank you.”
Neither of us moves.
The silence stretches between us until it feels like something alive, tightening instead of easing. I brace my hands against the edge of the desk and try to drag myself back into the conversation we’re supposed to be having.
It doesn’t work.
Because she’s still looking at me.
Her gaze doesn’t drop when I look at her. She goes quieter, still enough that I notice the way her fingers curl once against the edge of the file before relaxing again.
My pulse kicks harder when she takes a small step closer to the desk, probably without realizing she’s doing it. The movement brings her near enough that I can see the faint rise and fall of her breathing, the slight flush spreading high along her throat.
I should reset this now.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Tess.”
Her breath catches softly at the sound of her name in my voice.
That tiny reaction lands somewhere deep and dangerous inside me.
I come around the desk before I fully decide to. The leather chair brushes the back of my legs as I move, the office suddenly feeling too small, too warm. She stays where she is, watching me approach with those steady eyes that should make this easier to stop and somehow only make it worse.
I stop in front of her.
Close.
Close enough to feel the heat of her body slipping through the controlled lines of her suit. Close enough that if either of us leaned forward even slightly—
My hand lifts before I can rethink it.
I touch her jaw carefully, giving her plenty of time to pull away. She doesn’t.
The absence of resistance sends a sharp rush of adrenaline through me.
My thumb brushes lightly across her lower lip.
A tiny shiver moves through her. I feel it under my hand.
And fuck, that does something to me.
Tiny kisses brush against my mouth before I fully realize she’s the one moving first. Soft kisses at the corner of my lips. Another against my jaw.
Even now, she moves with that same quiet control she carried at Indigo, taking over the moment so naturally I barely realize it’s happening until I’m already following her lead.
My breath stalls in my chest.
“Tess…”
Her teeth catch my lower lip gently, teasing instead of biting, and a rough sound slips out of me before I can stop it.
Then she kisses me for real.
My head tips back slightly with the force of it, surprise hitting hard enough to leave me dizzy for a second. Heat floods through my body all at once, fast and brutal, while my brain struggles to catch up with the fact that Tess Ramirez is kissing me like she means it.
Like she wants this as much as I do.
My hands close around her hips on instinct, fingers tightening just enough to keep her close while her mouth opens against mine. The kiss deepens immediately, no dithering left in it now, and every coherent thought in my head scatters.
Jesus Christ.
One serious kiss and I’m ready to lay her over my desk and fuck until my legs give out.
The pressure behind my zipper turns sharp enough to ache as blood rushes low and heavy through me. I shift reflexively, trying to adjust without dragging her fully against me, but she makes this soft little sound into my mouth that nearly destroys what’s left of my restraint.
I kiss her harder.
Taste her.
My hand slides up her back until I’m cradling the base of her neck, holding her there while the kiss turns deep and hungry in a way that has no place inside this office.
A week.
It took one fucking week for this woman to get under my skin.
When we finally break apart, it’s only because breathing becomes necessary. Her lips are flushed and swollen, eyes darker now, and I can feel my own pulse hammering hard enough to make my chest tight.
I stare at her for a second too long.
Then my thumb drags once more across her mouth, and another violent jolt of arousal goes through me so fast it almost feels like shock.
She doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t look away.
The silence stretches, but it doesn’t create distance. It closes it. I feel it in the way my chest tightens, in the way my breath doesn’t settle the way it should, in the way I don’t reach for the desk again, even though I know exactly where it is behind me.
I stop in front of her. Her breasts press against my chest when she shifts her weight. Her scent reaches me when I draw in a breath, clean and warm beneath the sharper smells of paper, coffee, and polished wood, and my body reacts before my mind catches up.
Want slams through me hard enough to feel physical.
This is the point where I step back.
I know it.
I’ve done it before.
My hand lifts anyway.
I don’t touch her immediately. I let it hover for a second, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin before contact, close enough that pulling back would still be easy if I chose it.
My fingers close the distance a moment later, settling at her jaw with just enough pressure to turn her face slightly.
She lets me.
That’s what breaks it.
Not the heat already burning through me or the ache building low in my body every second she stands this close.
It’s the way she softens beneath my hand instead of pulling away.
The way her breath catches against my skin when my thumb brushes across her lower lip. The way she leans into the touch a fraction before she stills again, like the reaction surprised her as much as it did me.
At Club Indigo, I watched people shift around her without realizing they were doing it.
Now she stands in front of me with her throat exposed beneath my hand and her eyes fixed steadily on mine while something inside me comes apart piece by piece.
My palm settles more firmly against the side of her neck, and she gives another small breath when my thumb traces her jaw. The sound goes straight through me. So does the feel of her staying exactly where she is instead of stepping back and putting distance between us again.
My body reacts instantly.
Need pulls hard enough through me that it almost hurts.
I can feel the exact moment she stops holding herself apart from me. Her shoulders loosen beneath my hand. Her breathing turns uneven. Her lips part softly beneath my thumb, and when I shift closer, she tilts her head back for me.
The movement feels instinctive. Natural.
Like she was always going to yield once I touched her like this.
Control doesn’t snap.
It gives.
Gradually, then all at once.
I don’t step back.
I don’t say anything else.
I close the distance and bend toward her, the decision already made somewhere between noticing and acting, leaving no space for reconsideration as everything else falls away.