Chapter 26
Chapter 26
Daphne’s knees spread on instinct, but the dress had far too much volume to allow Calvin any kind of access. She laughed as he batted at the fabric, crushing the skirt and its many petticoats between them, a deep line carved between his brows.
“I hate this dress,” he said, giving up on the skirt to wrap his hand around Daphne’s nape. His lips were soft and giving, his tongue delving into Daphne’s mouth with expert flicks.
Daphne pulled back and laughed, fluffing the fabric. “Can’t imagine why.”
“I’ve never wanted to undress you more, and that’s saying a lot.”
Heat sparked between Daphne’s legs at the look on Calvin’s face. She’d never seen such bare need. Not directed at her. So when he leaned over the pile of fabric to kiss her harder, Daphne didn’t push him away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they shouldn’t be doing this. Not at work—not at all. She’d opened the door to it by stripping her blouse off the night before, and that had sent her tumbling off the edge of a tall cliff. She was falling through thin air, hardly able to breathe.
But Calvin’s kiss was demanding, and Daphne’s body responded like it had been made for him. Even with petticoats and iridescent-pink fabric separating them. Even with the hard wood of the desk digging into the back of her thighs and the knowledge that half a dozen employees were just on the other side of the door. With every touch, he was unmaking her defenses.
Besides, what was she defending against? Couldn’t she enjoy the way his fingers dug into her hair? The way he groaned as his lips kissed along her jaw and nibbled below her ear?
No one had made her feel this good, not even—
Pete’s face popped into Daphne’s head, and she stiffened. How long would it take for Flint to get bored of her? How long until he realized that she was exactly the woman everyone said she was? That there was nothing special or exciting about her?
How much of this attraction was fueled by dredged-up teenage angst?
She’d planned her life with a man who’d tossed her aside like garbage. She couldn’t go through that again. Not when she was starting to develop real feelings for Calvin, when she was seeing him as so much more than the bad boy he’d been before.
Calvin must have felt the shift in her, because he backed away an inch, eyes searching hers. “I lost you,” he said.
“I just ...” She shook her head. “This was just supposed to be the vow renewal. Maybe we’re getting caught up in pretending.”
His gaze flickered, throat bobbing as he gulped. “Is that what you think?”
“Either that or you have a fetish for awful dresses.”
Calvin snorted. She was grateful when he took a step back, the tension of the moment dissolving.
Shoving a hand through his hair, Calvin backed away far enough that Daphne could slither off his desk. She turned to straighten some of the papers that her voluminous dress had knocked aside, grateful to have something to do with her hands.
The truth was, it didn’t feel like she was pretending. It felt like she very much wanted Calvin, and she very much wanted Calvin to want her back.
But what if they fizzled and burned out? What if she opened herself up to a man once more, only to be told she wasn’t good enough for forever?
It was better to focus on what she knew. Numbers. Work. Responsibility. She’d save up some money, keep her head down, and use this opportunity to figure out her next steps. Staying on Fernley Island—staying anywhere near a man as addictive as Calvin Flint—wasn’t part of the plan.
Her hands gathered up a stack of papers that had fallen over, lining up the corners of the documents. She bent over to pick up a photocopied document from the floor, shoving her skirts out of the way to reach it.
“Have I made you feel uncomfortable, Daphne?”
Standing, Daphne held the document in her hands as she turned to face Calvin. “Sorry?”
“I thought ... I’m sorry if I misread what was going on between us.”
That was the problem. He very much hadn’t misread it. It was Daphne who was falling too fast and too hard. She shrugged one shoulder, the puff sleeve exaggerating the movement. “No. It’s not that. I just ... I’d rather just stick to the deal.”
“Even though you’re attracted to me and I’m attracted to you.”
She tried to give him a flat look, but her cheeks were warming from the admission that he found her attractive. She dropped her gaze to the document in her hands. “I think you’ve made assumptions about me that aren’t entirely accurate,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that I’m not boring,” she said, frowning at the page.
“You’re not boring.”
“This company name is interesting,” she said.
“Daphne, I’m trying to be serious right now,” Calvin said, frustration lacing his words. “You’re underselling yourself, and I don’t understand why.”
She shook her head. “No, look. Rated Retails Co. It’s an anagram of the account name where the funds for the renovation went.” Her skirts swished as she hopped to cross the distance between them, turning the paper to face him. She pointed to the company name. “See? ‘Rated Retails’ and ‘Realist Trade’ are anagrams of each other.”
Dragging his gaze from her face, Calvin frowned at the paper. He took the sheet from her and stared at the account number. “An anagram is when all the letters are shuffled around, right?”
Daphne knew that they needed to address whatever was going on between them. They needed to lay some ground rules, at least until the vow renewal. Were they pretending to be together? Were they casual? Was any of this real?
But Daphne was a coward after all, because she clung to the company name on that piece of paper like it was the last door floating on the North Atlantic after her ship had hit an iceberg. It was work, and work was safe. Besides, it was the first sniff at that company she’d gotten since they’d spoken to Jerry Barela.
“Yeah. Here.” On a scrap piece of paper, she jotted down one company name above the other, then drew lines between the letters.
Calvin approached, the warmth of him pressing into her shoulder. “You saw that in one glance?”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve stared at the words ‘Realist Trade Co.’ and the account number associated with the company,” she answered, lips tilted. She tapped on the document. “What’s this quote for?”
“This is a copy of the contract for the renovation at Romano’s. The original is in the evidence locker. We found it at Barela’s office the day of the break-in and took it because of the footprint.”
Looking past the numbers on the page, Daphne noticed the muddy shoe print on the corner of the sheet for the first time. Her heart thundered. “I need to look something up,” she said, and grabbed her crutches.