24. Maeve
MAEVE
I stare at the spot where Gabriel vanished from view when he closed the door, stunned. I can feel my chest heaving, and yet I somehow feel like I’m not getting in any air at all. I feel vaguely like I’ve been electrocuted.
That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me, and we didn’t even kiss. We barely even touched .
And it was with one of my bosses. Oh, god.
I’ve tried for so long to deny just how attracted I am to Gabriel—to all three of my powerful, enigmatic bosses.
Even Hayden interrupting my dates and somehow inserting himself into every aspect of my life could so easily become intoxicating if I would just let myself think about it that way.
I cling to the annoyance and frustration toward him because it’s a shield.
And Gabriel… charming, seductive, worldly Gabriel with that accent that does unholy things to my composure…
It’s always been far too small of a step to admit that I want him.
Sometimes, when I’ve touched myself at home alone, I’ve had glimpses.
Flashes of forbidden thoughts. I never let them become more than that.
I never let myself think of actual scenarios.
When I let myself fantasize, it was always someone I’d met who was, say, a new client, or someone I’d run into in the rain who gave me an umbrella.
Silly romantic comedy meet-cutes that felt safe.
But in my heart of hearts, they all looked like Gabriel—or Hayden, or Ford. I just pretended they didn’t.
My mind flashes back to the way his forearm looked as he stroked himself, all controlled power and masculine grace, and my pussy clenches all over again. My clit throbs, as if I didn’t just get off. As if I still need more.
Honestly, I think I still do.
Nobody can know this happened. Everyone will think I cheated on Ford, and Ford will probably be furious that I put everything at risk by doing this, even if it was spur of the moment.
I quickly freshen up, trying to make myself look presentable and, well, like I didn’t just have a mind-blowing orgasm with my boss watching. My legs still feel unsteady, but at least I look reasonably put-together on the outside, no matter how chaotic I feel inside.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale and nod at myself in the mirror. Whatever the hell this just was, no matter how much it shakes me in both incredible and terrifying ways, I have a job to do. I’m literally being paid for this performance, and paid incredibly well. I need to get back out there.
I head out into the hallway, but I only make it around the corner before I nearly trip over a step stool that definitely wasn’t there before.
A small yelp escapes my mouth as I stumble. “What the?—”
Ford is standing next to the stool, and he quickly catches me by the arm, steadying me.
“You all right there, Spitfire?” There’s a lightbulb in his other hand, and he’s standing close enough that I can smell his cologne.
I swear I see his eyes darken as he studies my face. “You look a bit unsteady.”
“I’m fine,” I manage to get out, but my voice comes out higher-pitched than normal.
Did I clean myself up enough, I suddenly wonder with growing panic. Can Ford somehow tell that something just happened? Do I still smell like sex? Do I look too flustered, too obviously like someone who just had a mind-blowing orgasm?
“How did it go?” I ask in an attempt to redirect my spiraling thoughts. “The work call, I mean.”
Ford lets go of my arm, and I immediately miss the warm contact. “You don’t have to ask about that kind of thing. You quit as my assistant, remember? Now you’re my fiancée.”
My stomach does a complicated flip at the word. It’s not real and I know that, and he just said it that way in case anyone overhears us. But it still does something ridiculous to my pulse to hear him claim me like that.
“I’m not asking because I think I have to,” I tell him. “I’m asking because I want to know. I care about your work and what you’re trying to accomplish, and any decent fiancée would do the same.”
“You don’t know the girlfriends or fiancées of many wealthy men,” Ford murmurs, but he looks gently amused. “Most of them couldn’t care less about business. And it went well, thanks for asking.”
I peer more closely at him, noticing that there’s a slightly tired look around his eyes.
I missed it before in my post-Gabriel haze, and it’s not hugely noticeable, but I know Ford.
I see him constantly. Honestly, he and Hayden and Gabriel are the three people I see the most of, which is pretty depressing when I think about it. I truly spend all my time at work.
And right now, Ford looks worn out. Stressed.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask.
He waves me off. “This is a massive deal, literally, and that means extra work to pull it off, but it will all be worth it in the end. I’ve never been afraid of doing whatever it takes.”
“I know,” I tell him, meaning every word. “It’s why I respect you so much.”
I might complain about my bosses constantly, including to their faces, but I really do respect them. I wouldn’t have stayed in this job for so long if I didn’t.
I hesitate for a second, then decide I might as well handle this as soon as possible. I don’t want anything hanging over us. “I’m sorry for bringing up… what I did this morning. I didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Ford shakes his head. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have just stalked off the way that I did. Yes, it’s true, I don’t like to talk about it. But it’s in the past.”
“Our past can still affect us,” I point out gently. I’m walking evidence of that truth. My past literally affects me financially, keeps me from moving forward into my future. “Your whole world changed in an instant. Of course that will stick with you.”
He gives me a look that I can’t quite decipher. Something about it makes my breath catch in my throat. Not from arousal or surprise exactly—I can’t even tell what I’m feeling. Just… something. Something that feels precious and important.
He clears his throat and bends down to grab the step stool, and that’s when I really notice all the lightbulbs. “Um. What are you doing?”
It’s not just the one in his hand. There’s an entire box of them nearby as well.
“Installing new lightbulbs.”
“I can see that, but why?”
“You were sensitive to the lighting last night. I had some time, so I drove into the city to find a proper hardware store—we have a mom and pop place here but they don’t carry specialty items. The employee there promised that these bulbs would be much better for people with light sensitivity.”
“It’s part of the same issue as my colorblindness, I think,” I stammer out, taken aback by his thoughtfulness. “Are you redoing—please tell me you’re not doing all the lighting in this place.”
This house is enormous, but Ford shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well, I don’t want you confined to just certain areas.”
“What about your mother? She has everything planned out so precisely.”
“I’m not changing any of the decorations. She’ll be fine with it. And she’s a good hostess. She wants you to be comfortable. For that matter, so do I.”
I huff a quiet laugh, still trying to get over my shock. “Is that why you steal all my food at the office? Because going hungry isn’t very comfortable, you know.”
He doesn’t take the bait and banter with me like he usually would. Instead he says, quietly but with conviction, “I take care of what’s mine.”
That knocks the breath right out of me. I’m not sure which affects me more—the idea of being Ford’s, or the concept of someone actually taking care of me. Nobody’s ever taken care of me, not even my mother, the one person who should always take care of you above all others.
“My family would think I’m a terrible fiancé if I did anything else,” he continues. “And it might make them suspicious.”
“Oh.” I laugh, but it sounds a little hysterical. I can’t help feeling strangely disappointed that it’s just for the ruse.
Of course it’s for the ruse, you idiot, I tell myself sternly.
Ford isn’t the type of guy to do grand romantic gestures.
But he would take care of his partner, and this is exactly the kind of way he’d do it.
Practical, possibly unobtrusive, something you might miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but still deeply personal and thoughtful.
“What’s that look for?” Ford seems genuinely amused by my reaction. “Is it really that hard to believe I’d do something like this?”
“No, not at all. Liam never would’ve even thought of something like this, though. I don’t think he ever noticed I was colorblind, or my light sensitivity. But you two are so different—maybe this fake relationship actually has a chance of being believable.”
A hard look, harsher than I would’ve expected, crosses his face.
“You’re damn right we’re different. I’ve got my faults, but I’m nothing like that lazy, entitled asshole.
Liam should have noticed these things about you, and he should have been doing stuff like this for you constantly until you took it for granted.
It’s a damn good thing he doesn’t get any more chances to let you down. ”
As he talks, he keeps moving forward, and I find myself backing up instinctively. I’ve seen Ford this serious plenty of times—he’s a naturally intense man—but this feels different. More personal. More possessive.
My back hits the wall, and I have nowhere else to go.
He stares down at me from inches away as I stare right back at him. We’re so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
I don’t know what to say. This should be just platonic, professional, and yet?—
Ford cups my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. I’m trembling.
“No one is watching us right now,” I whisper.
“You sure about that?” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on mine.
I melt instantly as his body presses me against the wall, pinning me there with controlled strength. His hand is still on my chin, keeping me exactly where he wants me. His tongue sweeps over the seam of my lips and I shiver from head to toe.
My mind has gone blank. I can’t think of anything except the warm pressure of his lips and the way he tastes.
Ford’s tongue teases at the seam of my lips again, searching, pressing, and I’m just about to part my lips to let him in when I hear an amused, startled, “Oh, whoops!”
He pulls away from me reluctantly, our mouths making a soft sound as they part. I look over, feeling a bit dazed.
Lydia is standing there, trying valiantly to hold in laughter. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re not sorry at all,” Ford growls.
She shrugs as if to say you’ve got me there . “I wanted to know if Maeve wanted to help me make some Christmas cookies to take to dinner tonight. You know Mom’s rule—never show up as a guest empty-handed.”
He drags his nose along my neck, like he’s inhaling my scent or maybe imprinting himself on me, and then he pulls away, releasing me with obvious reluctance.
I nearly sink to the floor. I’m not sure my knees can hold me anymore.
Lydia just looks at me expectantly, that mischievous grin still playing on her face.
I force myself to move, amazed when my legs actually support me. I follow Lydia down the stairs, but I swear I can feel Ford watching me go.