23. Sutton #2
My phone vibrates in the pocket of my trousers, the sound jarring in the quiet.
“Sutton Bradley,” I answer, forcing my voice to remain steady while I assess the damage from the rain.
“Hi, Sutton, it’s Elizabeth over here at Ember and Elm Catering,” she says. “How’s your morning going?”
“It’s very wet.”
“Oh, well, that’s . . .” There’s static on the other end. “Listen, I’m sorry, but—”
My stomach plummets at the sound of those three words. I’m sorry but . . . Nothing good ever comes after.
“—we’ve run into a bit of a problem with scheduling.”
Elizabeth goes on and on and on about the mix-up—something about double booking the open house and another event.
Her voice is polite and clinical, but every word she utters feels like another brick stacked on my chest. “We’re pretty sure that we’ll have enough staff for both events, but with it being December, it might be tight.
I know it’s not the greatest news, but I hope that’s okay? ”
No, it’s most certainly not okay. “I understand,” I say. I end the call, look around the ruined bedroom, sunlight barely touching the floor as clouds fill the sky. Because of course, for once in his career, Weatherman Tim had to be right about this being a very wet fall.
By the time I get to the office, my nerves are shot. The office hums with fluorescent lights that have always been too bright, making everything look a little too sharp. I add office lighting to my list of things to fix.
Paint swatches, catering paperwork, and a mug of coffee that’s gone cold clutter my desk. The window behind me rattles from the storm blustering outside. “Stupid rain.”
I drop my bag on the floor and sink into my chair, tugging at the hem of my top.
I traded in my typical girl boss attire today and instead went with a black blazer and a fitted, ribbed T-shirt tucked into high-waisted burgundy trousers that suddenly feel too tight around my ribs.
One side of my hair is pulled back with a gold clip, the rest loose and wild around my shoulders.
Between the leak, the bad news from the caterer, and all the pacing I did afterward, this outfit’s the best I could come up with.
I rub my temples, eyes stinging, when someone knocks. Before I can answer, the door opens.
Hunter steps inside like he owns the place.
He’s in dark jeans, boots that carry remnants of the rain-damp ground, and a fitted button-up that clings to the shape of his chest and shoulders.
His hair is slightly mussed, the ends curling from the misting rain.
He closes the door behind him with a soft click, leaving us in this too-bright, too-quiet box.
His gaze sweeps over me, eyes squinted enough that I know he’s taking inventory.
“What’s wrong?” he says, but his voice is lower than usual.
“I’m fine,” I lie, sifting through a stack of papers in an attempt to throw him off my scent.
“Sutton.” Just my name—uttered in a tone that leaves no room for pretending.
He crosses to me, every step sure and unhurried.
When he reaches my desk, he hooks a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his.
His hand is warm, calloused from work. The scent of clean soap clings to him, mixed with the cold bite of autumn air.
“What happened?” he asks steadily. A tether thrown across the storm in my gut.
“There’s a huge leak in the house,” I whisper.
“It ruined the guest bedroom upstairs and a portion of downstairs too. And the new paint in the kitchen is not what I thought it would be. Let’s just say it’s going to put us behind schedule and budget.
And the caterer . . .” I swallow. “I guess they’re double-booked for the day of the open house and might not have enough staff to do both. ”
His thumb sweeps slowly along my jaw. “That’s it?”
“That’s it?” I bark. “That’s it? If by it you mean replacing your whole freaking roof, most of the drywall and carpet in the upstairs bedroom, plus the damage in the kitchen, and my first major project reveal going up in flames, then—”
His lips crash into mine.
Firm enough to stop the words, stop the spiral, stop the frantic unraveling happening under my skin.
His palms cradle my face, holding me to his mouth.
I sigh, giving him the perfect opening to slip his tongue in.
My hands dive into his hair, and I try to press forward into his space, but a bite on my lower lip is warning enough to stay still.
I collapse back into my chair and allow him to devour me.
When he pulls back, he stays close and falls to one knee in front of me, the space between us crackling with emotion. The room is suddenly too small. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, the vibrato in his voice soothing my frazzled nerves.
My breath stutters. The papers in my hand slip from my fingers and scatter onto the floor. I’m suddenly too aware of everything—my knit top slipping off one shoulder, the rigged seam of my jeans, the rough lace from the bra I’d thrown on this morning. But most of all, I’m aware of him.
“Hunter.” My voice cracks.
“Sutton.” His tone stays gentle but firm, controlled in a way that makes heat curl in my stomach, reminding me of the way my body enjoys his more dominant nature.
His hands slide from my cheeks, brushing my overly sensitive skin, and fall to the outer part of my thighs. “These are all things you can handle.”
His hands squeeze my thighs and move up to grasp my hips. I moan, unable to hold back the sudden overwhelming need I have for him.
“I—” My throat closes around the word.
He shakes his head. “You can handle this,” he says, eyes searching mine.
“A leak isn’t a failure. A paint change isn’t too bad.
A staffing issue with the caterers isn’t your problem.
” His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Just because you’re overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’ve suddenly forgotten how to get shit done. ”
Something in my chest knots. I’m not sure if I’m about to cry or jump his bones right here in my office. My eyes drop to his mouth, my lower lip slipping between my teeth. “What are you doing here?” I manage to say.
He smiles, leaning in to press another kiss to my lips. “I was going to steal you away for lunch, and it looks like I arrived just in time.”
My brows dip. “Just in time for what?”
Hunter’s smile tilts into a dangerous smirk, like he’s weighing whether or not to cross a line we both know he’s halfway over.
“For this,” he murmurs. His hands grip my hips, and then he’s lifting me enough to push the chair back an inch. My pulse kicks hard. His mouth finds mine, and the kiss is nothing like the one before. This one is hungry, like he’s been holding himself back for too damn long.
I gasp as his fingers dig into my sides, dragging me toward the edge of the chair. His body presses me firmly back against the chair, and the friction steals my breath from my lungs. “Hunter,” I sigh. “Someone could walk in.”
“Let them,” he whispers against my mouth, voice low enough to melt bone as he pulls my shirt up. His lips trail down my neck. His teeth graze against my heated flesh.
I grip his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, trying to make sense of the sudden dizzying need that rushes through me.
He must feel it because his breath catches—a quiet sound I’ve only heard when he’s losing control.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, but the question vibrates against my skin, making it very clear which answer he’s hoping for.
“No,” I whisper, barely audible.
His hand slides up my thigh and under the hem of my top, fingers splaying over my waist. My breath shudders. My belly warms with desire.
He leans in, brushing my ear. “Let me lock the door.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I don’t move. I can’t. All I can do is nod.
He steps away only long enough to cross my office.
The soft click of the lock cuts through the silence.
The chatter and laughter from the staff coming back from lunch filters through the wall.
When he turns back to me, his pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he’s wrestling with restraint.
He comes back to me. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s stalking prey. “Last chance,” he says, fingers tilting my chin up.
I shake my head. I couldn’t make a sane and logical choice right now even if I tried.
He kneels, and everything blurs.
His mouth.
His hands.
The heat of his body pressing me back, swallowing every moan, unraveling the tension coiled so tight inside me I didn’t realize how much it hurt. My shirt comes off first, eliciting a groan from him.
He tangles his fingers through my hair and kisses the swells of each breast. “I love these.”
I push against him, making room for me to kneel right there on the floor with him. We make quick work removing our clothes, leaving me in nothing but matching white lingerie and him in his briefs and halfway unbuttoned shirt.
“Not on the floor.” He stands, offering a hand to me and helping me to my feet. He turns me around, placing my hands flat on the desk’s surface. Hunter trails a finger down the center of my spine, then runs it underneath the edge of my panties. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined doing this?”
“Having your way with me in my office?” I look back at him over my shoulder.