Chapter 17 #2
She blows out a long, hasty breath.
“If it’s not about your employment—because I’ve promised you nothing will happen to that, then what is it?” I ask.
“I …” She falls back into her chair. “Honesty, right?”
“Always.”
“Okay, then.” She takes a shaky breath. “I haven’t kissed a man in a long time.
I mean, sure, I’ve kissed a couple of guys that Lisbeth tried to set me up with, but it was more like a peck on the cheek after a mediocre dinner.
But I haven’t kissed someone and had it take my breath away in …
” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes never leave mine. “In a very long time.”
If she’s trying to bewitch me, it’s working.
My cock comes to life, pressing against my boxers. All I can think about is having this woman naked and under me—over me, next to me, wrapped around me like a fucking glove.
I drop my hand under the table and adjust myself.
“I have a lot on my plate,” she says, watching me carefully. “A lot. A lot of things are still screwed up from my divorce or … my marriage’s end, however you want to phrase that. And I’m trying so hard to climb out from under the rubble.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
She smiles. “This isn’t something you can help me with. It’s all mine to fix, to repair. Mine to sort out.” She sighs sadly. “I’m trying to walk a balance of moving on from all of that mentally while still dealing with it in a fiscal way. It’s not easy.”
I study her. The way her hair catches the light looks like she’s wearing a halo. How she leans toward me with her shoulders, as though she’s asking me to hold her. The way her lips stay parted so the conversation doesn’t end.
My gut squeezes, pulling me out of the fantasyland of Shaye Brewer and back to reality.
She’s telling me she’s not in a place to deal with me. If I’m being honest, I’m not in a place to handle her anyway. I never will be.
Shaye is marriage material—porch-swinging, sweet tea-drinking, childbearing material. And I am not.
I can’t be. I’ve seen too much.
People are fickle. Their needs and wants change.
Hell, my parents are getting a divorce. My own father isn’t even the same person he was anymore.
It’s how the world works. I tried to put on a pair of rose-colored glasses once and buy into the false promises of forever.
She’s currently married to Charles Gamby.
“So, you’re not looking for a relationship,” I say. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Yes. I think so.”
I nod and stand, figuring it’s a good stopping point for the conversation. Shaye stands too and waits for me to come around the desk.
“I can’t argue with that.” I stop in front of her, breathing in the floral notes of her perfume. “You have to put your needs first. That’s the responsible thing to do. I respect that.”
She sucks in a shallow, quick breath. The sound fires through my body like a bolt of lightning.
I take a step toward the door—needing to get her out of here before I do something she doesn’t want—when my hand brushes against her.
The contact is light, a dusting of skin against skin. It should not feel like an electrical shock to my overworked senses, but it does.
I look down at her as she clamps her hand around my wrist.
Her pupils are dilated, filled with a plethora of emotions that I can’t begin to sort. I just stand completely frozen and beg myself not to react.
Let her take control.
“What if …” She swallows. “But what if putting my needs first means that I really want to kiss you again?”
Oh. Fuck.
My brain misfires, unsure if I’ve heard her correctly or if it’s a case of hearing what I want to hear. Sparks shoot through my veins, heat balling in my stomach, and all rationale and gut instincts that suggest otherwise are buried in a pool of desire.
Her grip grows tighter as she gives my arm a gentle, hesitant tug.
“Oh, Shaye,” I almost growl as I turn toward her.
“Kiss me, Oliver. Even though we shouldn’t—”
My mouth crashes against hers before she can complete the thought, swallowing all the reasons we shouldn’t.
I turn her in a circle so her back is against my desk and cage her in with both hands.
She doesn’t fight, doesn’t object—just parts her lips to allow my tongue entry.
My blood runs hot as I taste her. My body screams as I feel the softness of her lips. My brain loses control of the situation as I process how much she wants me.
A chill races down my spine as she reaches up and touches my face. Her fingertips press into my cheeks as she kisses me back.
I flick the stapler away from behind her with the back of my hand. It crashes against the floor with a clatter. My hands find her waist, and I hoist her up to sit on the edge of the stone.
“Oliver,” she whispers as I dot kisses across her jaw. Her head falls back, and she moans, leaning into the kisses I plant down her neck.
Her hands dance across my shoulders, skim down my sides, and slip under my blazer.
I grip her legs and spread them for me. She yelps with surprise but doesn’t argue. My palms sit heavily on her thighs, feeling her soft, muscled legs under my touch.
I’m going to burst. I can’t make sense of this anymore.
My fingers trail up the inside of her legs as I kiss her again. Just before they reach the apex of her thighs, my phone buzzes.
Shaye pulls back, her eyes wide, and gasps.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She tries to push me away, but I kiss her again, and she relents.