20. Spencer
Chapter 20
Spencer
I can feel her heart racing as she lies against my chest … or maybe it’s my own. I can’t believe I just blew my load in my pants, like some horny teenager. This has never happened to me before, but we’re talking about Delilah here. The sweet and sassy woman who’s wrapped up in a neat little bundle of pure fucking sin.
This is a line I never intended to cross, despite the temptation that has been constantly looming over me like a dark cloud. The guilt that will plague me going forward after what just happened hasn’t quite hit home yet thankfully. It’s coming, though, and I already know I’m going to hate myself for this by morning. For taking advantage. Shit , what was I thinking?
This was a mistake, one that never should have happened.
My hand slides along her spine until I’m softly stroking her hair. Hair that I’ve been dying to run my fingers through. The scent of her voodoo shampoo—the one that’s been driving me insane for days—is all over me. I bet I’m going to smell it on my clothes even after we’ve parted ways. I might keep this shirt as a memento .
That’s a stupid idea, I tell myself.
I don’t need or want a reminder of a woman I know I can never have.
Yet I apparently like to torture myself. I knew from the first night I met her she was different … a temptation , but I still gave her a job and invited her into my home.
You’re an idiot, Prescott.
Leaning in, I place my lips on the top of her head. I’m going to enjoy the last few seconds of my time with her, like this, and worry about everything else later.
“Do I still have legs?” she mumbles into my chest. “I can’t feel them.”
I chuckle into her hair. “Your legs are still there, sweetheart.”
Her pretty eyes sparkle when she lifts her face and gives me a lazy grin. “I like it when you call me that,” she admits, and something deep inside my chest cracks wide open.
I want to give her, the whole this can never happen again speech, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. I’ll have that talk with her tomorrow.
Instead, I stand, bringing her with me. I carry her across the room and deposit her outside her bedroom door. She looks up at me with confusion in her eyes. Did she think I was going to continue this? To finish what we started?
In a perfect world, I would do just that. I’d like nothing more than to bury myself balls deep inside her warm, tight heat, but I can never go there despite how much I want to.
I need to clean up the mortifying mess I made in my pants and down a bourbon, or seven.
“It’s late,” I say as I lean down to brush my lips against hers. “Get some sleep.”
Hindsight can be a very sobering thing. Often clarity is difficult to grasp in the moment, but as I lay awake last night reflecting on what we did, there was one glaring detail that I failed to see. Delilah may have been a willing participant, but I was the one who made the first move. Which means I ultimately took advantage of her when she was in a vulnerable state, and that is unforgivable.
I’d planned on talking with her this morning, but I ended up taking the coward’s way out and left before she was up. I’m certainly not going to ignore last night by pretending it never happened. I was just tired, confused, and I needed a moment to collect myself. Some time to formulate a plan to ensure this doesn’t happen again.
How? I have no clue.
Do I like her? That’s a no-brainer. What’s not to like? She’s beautiful, caring, sweet, loyal, resilient, and her sheer strength is something you can’t help but admire.
On the downside, she’s also my employee, my temporary roommate, not long out of a recent breakup, and possibly still has feelings for her ex. Not to mention the glaringly obvious: she’s far too young for me.
I have to play it smart here. The last thing I want to do is hurt her. She has been through enough, and I don’t want to be an addition to the ever-growing list of people who have let her down.
My mind is still racing a hundred miles an hour by the time I arrive at the office. My first point of call is to pull out my phone and send a message to my PA.
Me: What’s the best variety of flowers to send someone as an apology?
Simone: Oh no, who have you pissed off now?
Her response has me mumbling profanities under my breath. I have my moments, like everyone, but running a company the size of mine is stressful. You’d think I was an ogre the way these women carry on at times.
Me: Never mind.
Simone: Sorry boss. Male or female?
Me: Female.
Simone: Friend or foe?
Fucking foe? I wouldn’t be sending flowers to an enemy.
Me: Can you just answer my question?
Simone: I am just trying to find out what type of flowers are in order.
Me: The biggest bunch.
Simone: Shit! Okay. One more question. Is it a romantic gesture?
Me: No, they are for an employee.
Simone: Please don’t tell me you’ve upset Delilah. She is the sweetest.
Me: It wasn’t intentional.
Simone: Oh, poor girl. Leave it with me. I’ll get it sorted. Do you want me to send them to her house or the office?
Me: The office .
The last thing I need is for my staff to find out she’s staying at my apartment. I got wind of a few rumours that were circulating when Delilah started working here. Compliments of that damn relationship status she posted.
Simone: Will I attach a card?
Me: Yes.
Simone: Should I grovel on your behalf?
Me: A simple sorry will suffice!
Once that’s sorted, I scan through the contacts on my phone and press call. It’s early, but Laura has a newborn baby … I can almost guarantee she’s up. This is one conversation that can’t wait.
I feel relieved I have the makings of a plan in place. It’s a start. I need to proceed with caution, being mindful not to inadvertently hurt Delilah, or make her feel rejected. It’s the last thing I want, but I need to put some distance between us for my own sanity.
An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach when nine o’clock approaches. Delilah will be here any moment with my coffee.
I had Simone schedule an urgent meeting with Christine from Human Resources, and I’ll head down there as soon as I see Delilah. I can’t avoid her forever. I’ve got to rip that Band-Aid off. At the very least, I’ll be able to gauge how she’s feeling this morning.
Is she feeling guilty like I do?
Or is she angry at me for what happened?
I suck in a sharp breath and hold it when the elevator dings, depositing her on my floor. I hear her high heels clicking against the marble a few seconds later as she approaches my office. My gut churns with anticipation.
The moment my gaze locks on her, my heart begins to race. She always looks beautiful, but she’s outdone herself today. She’s dressed to kill in a formfitting red dress that hugs her body like a second skin. Her long hair is down, styled in loose waves, and if I’m not mistaken, her makeup is applied heavier than usual—dark, smoky eyes and ruby-red lips.
She’s sex on legs, and judging by my cock’s reaction to her, he agrees.
A tight smile forms on her lips when her eyes meet mine. My worst fears are recognised when she pulls her shoulders back and tips her chin a fraction higher. We are not okay.
“Good morning, Mr Prescott. I have your coffee. The barista made it just the way you like it.”
I clear my throat before replying. “Good morning, Miss St. James, and thank you.”
Her greeting is formal, and if I’m reading her correctly, a tad cold.
My eyes track her every move as she carefully places the hot beverage on my desk. “How are you feeling this morning?” I ask.
A pink hue forms on her cheeks as she retreats a step. “I’m fine, thanks. I have a lot of work to get through this morning. Enjoy your coffee.” With that, she turns and hurries towards the door.
“Delilah!”
She pauses but continues to give me her back. “Yes.”
There’s no denying she’s upset with me. I desperately want to apologise for my actions last night, but I can tell she’s in a rush to get as far away from me as possible, and this probably isn’t the place for that conversation.
Is she disgusted with me, or by what we did?
“Never mind,” I mumble.
I wasn’t sure how things would go once I saw her, or what kind of reaction I’d get, but I wasn’t expecting that.