Chapter 15 #2
And if someone were to walk in here to find us in this compromising position?
I would probably walk away unscathed. But she’d have to try doubly hard to prove herself.
And even then, something like this would dog her footsteps for a long time.
I cannot put her in a situation where that's even a possibility.
So, with a superhuman effort, where I tell my dick to calm down and order my brain to take over, I force myself to let go of her. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Surprise filters into her eyes, then understanding. She looks stricken at the kiss that did not happen and takes another step back.
“So… What are your plans for the rest of the day? After that stupendous performance, is your fiancé taking you for a celebratory dinner?”
Her face falls. I curse myself for bringing him up. But I had to do it to remind myself of her engaged status. I’m grasping at straws here to keep my distance from her.
“Uh, he’s out of the country." She turns away, but not before I see the sadness in her eyes. “Guess I’d better return to my desk and get through my agenda for the rest of the day.”
She gathers up her various devices and papers, then begins to head toward the doorway. I get the feeling she’s embarrassed. Which she shouldn’t be. It’s that wanker of a fiancé who needs to be taught a lesson for treating this goddess like she doesn’t matter at all.
“It’s good that you’re going to be here. I need your help with one of the proposals related to driving company culture and leadership development.”
She pauses halfway to the door. “You do?” She turns to me.
I nod, relieved that she seems cheerier at the prospect. “Also, I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me?”
“Dinner?” She frowns.
“At my desk. Call it a combined celebratory dinner and working meeting. In fact, I’m so thrilled at the outcome of today’s board meeting, I’ll order the dinner.”
Half an hour later, she knocks on the door and enters, carrying the food that I ordered.
I stretch my arms up in the air, then roll my shoulders. "Just in time. My hunger was beginning to eat into my concentration."
I look up in time to find her staring at my biceps. The interest in her features, the parting of her delicate lips… All of it sets my blood on fire. I must be mistaking my hunger for food for hunger for something else. I wrench my attention back to my desk and push my papers aside.
She places the paper bags on the desk. Then, as if unable to stop herself, she jerks her chin toward my face. "You’re wearing your spectacles."
"I need them for reading, especially when my eyes are tired."
She continues to scan my features with a look I can only describe as…
lust-filled. Damn, it makes me wonder if it was a good idea to ask her to have dinner with me.
But no way, could I have let her spend the rest of the evening on her own.
Not when her performance at the board meeting was celebration worthy.
I lean back in my chair. “You like my glasses?"
"What?" She seems to rouse herself. "Oh yeah, they suit you." As if uncomfortable by what she’s revealed, she looks away, then seats herself.
I rise to my feet, grab some plates, glasses, cutlery and napkins from the kitchenette in my office, and set them in front of me and the seat across from me at my desk.
I plate out the food, dividing it between hers and mine. Turkey Ballotine stuffed with chestnut, sage, and cranberry, sliced into medallions.
She sniffs the food. "Smells divine."
I grab the bottle of mulled wine that came with the delivery and pour some out into our glasses.
"Bon appétit."
We dig into the food. I inhale most of what’s on my plate before I pause to take a drink of the mulled wine. The flavors of cinnamon, cloves, star anise and nutmeg explode on my palate.
"So good. It tastes both elegant and Christmassy.” She takes another bite of the turkey.
“I figured you’d like it, since you're a Christmas junkie.”
She looks at me with a weird look on her face. Her big eyes glitter at me.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” I only half-joke.
“Of course, not.” She sniffs. “But that was a nice thing to do. You’re a good man, Brody Davenport.”
I stare at her. I don’t want her to see me as a good man. Well, not only a good man. If she knew the things I want to do to her, she wouldn’t see me that way.
“What?” She frowns.
I shake my head and take another sip of wine to wet my suddenly parched throat.
She brings a forkful of the medallion to her mouth. I can’t look away from the spectacle of her lips curling around the tines of her fork. And I can’t stop myself from imagining how it’d feel to have her mouth wrapped round my cock, either. Said appendage instantly perks up.
The arousal I somehow managed to smother into submission tightens my pants again. Good thing I have the desk between us. Her fiancé. Yes, that’s it. Focus on the man who treats her so fucking badly, it makes me want to tear him from limb to limb.
I spend a few seconds relishing the thought before fixing my attention on her face.
"Will you spend Christmas with your fiancé?" The words are out before I can stop them.
Bloody hell, why did I have to bring up that tosser now? When I’m having dinner with her, when I know how much the mention of him seems to blight her mood.
Sure, enough her forehead creases. Then she smooths out the expression on her face. "Who else?"
I tighten my hold on my wineglass. The thought of her being with any man other than me…twists my guts and turns my blood to lava. I draw in a few breaths until I find my composure.
"What about your parents?" I manage to ask.
"They’re in California."
“And do you have any other family? Any siblings?”
She gives me a funny look. “You’re awfully chatty.”
"You know a lot about me. You’ve met my grandfather, and I’m sure you’ve heard about my brothers who work here.” I shrug lightly. “I want to know a little more about you.”
She purses her lips. “Didn’t you have me investigated? I’m sure whatever you want to know is in there.”
I pause. “I read the file, yes. But that’s paper. I’d rather hear it from you.”
The truth is, I want to understand her—what drives her, what she hides behind that calm exterior. I want the version of her no report can capture.
She frowns, guarded.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” I add. “It’ll help us work together better.”
She toys with the food on her plate. Then seems to come to a decision. “I have a younger sister.” She looks up at me. “She got a scholarship to study at the Royal Drawing School.”
“That’s impressive.”
She smiles. “Raya is very smart and talented.”
“She takes after her sister then.”
She narrows her gaze. “Are you blowing smoke up my arse, Mr. Davenport?”
I chuckle. I’m delighted that she’s mirroring the same words I once used with her. “Touché.” I raise my wineglass.
She clinks her glass with mine.
“You’re going to need time off after the wedding, aren’t you?” Can’t leave it alone, can you? It's something that, clearly, isn’t a favorite topic of hers. But I really want to understand how this smart, beautiful, gorgeous woman got involved with a knobhead like her fiancé.
“Time off?” She blinks.
“You’re going on a honeymoon, aren’t you?”
Saying it aloud turns my stomach to stone and my muscles to granite. The thought of her on holiday with another man, makes me want to throw something at the wall.
“Uh, hmm, not really.” She stares into her wineglass.
“You’re not going on a honeymoon?”
“This role is new to me; I didn’t think it was prudent to take time off.”
She lowers her chin.
“Also, Keith and I decided that it would be best to use the money we’d have spent on the trip toward a down payment for our mortgage.”
Her words say one thing. But the hurt in her eyes says otherwise.
Keith, huh? What a fucking loser of a name. And I can’t believe he wouldn’t take her on a honeymoon. Why the hell is she marrying this man?
To stop myself from saying something I might regret, which is only bound to upset her more, I finish off the contents of my plate.
Then because I’m sure it’ll cheer her up, and because I’m genuinely curious, I ask, “Why do you love Christmas so much?”
“I love this time of year." Her gaze drifts, a faraway look in her eyes. "The lights, the crisp air, the way carols float through the streets like everyone’s sharing the same memory. There’s this hush, like the world is holding its breath. For a few weeks, people soften. They let themselves hope. Believe. It’s like the season gives us permission to believe in something good again. ”
Her phone buzzes. She picks it up, her eyes widen, then she jumps to her feet. "Uh, I have to go.”