14. KAYLA
14
I can’t fucking concentrate.
After I went up to the penthouse, I retrieved my book from my room, and now I’m sitting on the couch with Fifty Shades of Grey in my lap, my leg spread out in front of me, but not one combination of letters is molded into a word.
My mind keeps wandering to the paradox of a man I’m living with.
The kind expression he kept offering his dad.
The way he cornered me in the elevator.
His lush, sunlit meadows’ eyes burning through my skin.
I’m drawn to him like my next breath.
He walks through the door a few minutes later, offering me that GQ model smile when his gaze meets mine.
“Your father seems nice,” I tell him as he kicks his shoes off and joins me on the couch.
“You’re only saying that because he said you were pretty.”
I shrug, closing my book with a smile. “I like a man who can appreciate female beauty and isn’t afraid to voice it.”
His compelling gaze narrows to slits. “I appreciate female beauty and am not afraid to voice it.”
“Let me rephrase that. I like a man who can appreciate my female beauty and isn’t afraid to voice it.”
“You’re gorgeous,” he says the words abruptly, with a sense of comfort that has me gasping for air, and I throw my head back in bewilderment.
There’s a rawness to it. A pureness that makes it sound completely different from any other man who ever told me I’m beautiful, or pretty, or gorgeous. As if it’s not just something he’s saying to get in my pants. No, he actually means it.
They are not empty, and I swallow away the emotions that it unleashes to the surface, before sucking in a breath and regaining my sassy stance.
“Are you kidding me?”
“What did I do now?” He laughs, propping up his feet on the table. His hand sits next to him as if his fingers want to reach out to my feet.
“You gave me a no flirting rule two days ago.” I point my finger at him.
He scoffs, moving his gaze to the ceiling for a short moment. “And how is that working out for you?”
“Not the point.”
“Then what’s the point?” The look on his face is as mocking as it is interesting, and inwardly I sigh at his beauty. A smile haunts his face, and his eyes are peering at me in anticipation. There is a healthy glow on his sharp jaw that makes me want to reach out and cup his cheeks between my palms before I kiss him with passion.
I want to get lost in his touch, and melt with him as one.
“The point is, you can’t say things like you’re gorgeous when I’m not allowed to flirt.” I purse my lips to fake annoyance, because really, I want him to keep going until finally there is no way back for him like there is for me. I want him to break. To give in. Even if it’s just for one night.
“You flirt with me all the time,” he counters.
“I’m trying not to,” I lie.
He lets out a huff. “You’re not trying shit.”
Nope, not even a little bit.
“All I’m saying,” I explain, trying to keep a straight face, “if you are going to flirt with me...” I pause. “Well, you’re giving me free rein. There is no stopping me now, Mr. McKay.” His name comes out as something between a purr, a plea, and a promise, and instantly the features in his expression change.
Darkness and desire swirl in his eyes, and I can see the conflict going on in his head. He’s having such a hard time being the responsible one, to keep resisting my clear intentions.
“Do you know you drive me crazy?” he finally discloses, turmoil actually etched on his beautiful features.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is!” he cries, followed by a chortle. “You’re my employee, babe.”
Babe . There it is again.
“Well, you started it by telling me I’m gorgeous.” He unleashed something inside of me by that small line. I want to hear it again.
“Regretting it already.”
“Well, too bad. You can’t take it back.” I smile.
He grabs the remote control and turns on the TV. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“So,” I start, dropping my attention to my book, “that’s settled, then. We can flirt when we’re not at the office?”
He drops his gaze from the TV, rearing his head back to me. “What? I didn’t say that?”
“Just stop, McKay,” I tell him without looking up. “You know it’s futile.”
“You’re the worst.” In the corner of my eye, he moves his chin back up and I suppress the grin that’s dying to slide into place.
“I know. But thank you.”
“For what?”
“Calling me gorgeous.” I briefly glance back up, and when our eyes tangle together, another single butterfly seems to fly through my stomach before I quickly put my focus back on the letters in front of me.
He stays quiet until I can’t feel his eyes burning through me any longer, but his hand takes residence on my ankle, the heat burning me in comfort.
“You’re welcome.”
When I let my eyes catch a final glimpse, his attention is on the TV, but a smile sits on the corner of his mouth. A smile I know has nothing to do with whatever he’s watching, and his hand doesn’t move until the end of the movie.