Chapter 16 #3
She bends to collect the folder from the floor, but I reach it first. Our hands brush. The touch is small. Ridiculous after what we just did. Still, she inhales sharply.
I hand her the folder.
“Important files,” I say.
Her mouth curves, but her eyes are too soft. “Very.”
The softness is dangerous. It’s worse than the sex and the guilt. Because for one second, I don’t want to bend her over my desk again.
I want to take her home.
Not her apartment. Not a hotel.
Home.
I want to wake up with her and not sneak out of bed. I want coffee in a kitchen that doesn’t feel like a lie. I want things I have no right to want.
She steps back, reaching for the door.
“See you after work?”
I cross the room before she can unlock it. She turns, startled, and I catch her face in my hands. This kiss is different, full of things I want to say to her but can’t. When I pull back, her eyes are searching mine.
“What?” she whispers.
I brush my thumb over her cheek. “I’m looking forward to Seattle.”
Her smile is faint. “Oh?”
“I’m looking forward to holding you in my arms without a clock running.”
The words settle between us. Her eyes shine for one dangerous second before she blinks it away.
“Sin.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“I know that too.”
She swallows. Then she rises on her toes and kisses me once.
“After work,” she says.
I let her go. Because for now, that is the only thing I can still do right. She unlocks the door and leaves with the folder tucked against her chest. I stand there long after she’s gone, staring at the closed door, my office still smelling like her.
The rest of the day drags.
She attends a meeting with marketing. I speak with legal. She spends an hour in the lab. I review Seattle projections with Tate, who keeps looking at me like he knows there is something under my skin and he wants to poke it until it bleeds.
At four, Blaze drops by to ask about a production issue and casually mentions Jenna.
“How is she handling you being gone again?” he asks.
“What do you want, Blaze?”
“Just saying. You’ve been traveling a lot.”
“It’s a business.”
“It’s always a business with you.”
I stare at him. He stares back. For a second, I think he’s going to bring up what he heard outside my office again, but doesn’t. Lucky for both of us.
Instead, he pushes away from the doorframe. “Have fun in Seattle.”
When he leaves, I sit there for a long time, looking at the closed door.
Everyone is starting to see pieces. Hell, maybe everyone knows what a bastard I’ve been. And still, at five-thirty, I take off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and lock my office door so I can change for the flight. Because I am no longer pretending I’m trying to stop. Not tonight.
At six, Laurel meets me in the private garage.
She’s wearing a camel coat over a black dress, her suitcase beside her, laptop bag over one shoulder. Her hair is down. Her lipstick is dark enough to make my mind go blank for one brutal second.
“Ready?” she asks.
I take her suitcase. “Yes.”
I load her suitcase into the back, then stand there for one second with my hand on the tailgate as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I already know who it is before I look and, for a moment, I consider answering. Not because I want to. Because I should.
Because a decent man would answer his wife before driving his mistress to the airport.
I stare at the screen until it goes dark. Then I get into the truck.
Laurel is watching me.
“You can call her back,” she says.
I start the engine. “I know.”
“You should.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moves.
Then she looks out the windshield. “You’re not going to.”
“No.”
The answer is quiet. Honest. Ugly, if we’re being truthful.
Laurel closes her eyes for a second. When she opens them, there’s pain there. And want.
“We’re not even pretending anymore,” she says.
I pull out of the garage. “I know.”
“Does that scare you?”
I glance at her. The city lights move over her face, soft and gold and gone too fast.
“Yes,” I say.
Her hand rests on the console between us and I cover it with mine. Her fingers curl immediately. That’s the problem. How easy it is. How natural. How much it feels like something I have been missing instead of something I should have never found.
She whispers, “Then why are we going?”
I tighten my hand around hers.
“Because I missed you.”
The words leave before I can stop them. There they are. The words I deleted last night. The truth I should have buried.
Laurel goes still.
I keep my eyes on the road because if I look at her now, I will pull over and kiss her until neither of us remembers the question.
Finally, she says, “I missed you too.”
My chest aches. I hate that it feels better than anything in my life has in years.
I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles.
It’s not sexual by any means, but somehow it’s worse.
She exhales shakily and turns toward the window.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
But her hand stays in mine. And when the private terminal comes into view, I know two things with absolute certainty.
This trip isn’t going to fix anything.
And I’m going anyway.