Chapter 11
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“What are you hiding?” I ask Nolan as I snoop through his sterile living room, unimpressed by his bare walls and empty tabletops.
Aside from a stack of mail on the coffee table, there’s nothing but a couch, a recliner, and a couple of lamps on end tables.
No décor whatsoever. If it weren’t for Gary’s lush dog bed—a boring gray color—with an orange moose stuffie draped off the raised side, it’d be hard to believe anyone actually lived here.
I should’ve known the uber organized man would keep a meticulously clean household.
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“So, you’re just against pictures and artwork in general then?”
“I haven’t gotten around to decorating. I’ve been a little busy with the Caribou North project since I moved here.”
“Do you have family back…wherever you came from?”
“San Francisco last,” he says. “And no. No family left I claim.”
“That sounds mysterious and a bit foreboding.”
“What about you?”
“Family?”
“Yeah.”
“Only Tony and Nana since my mom skipped town when I was two.” When I reach for a drawer handle on the sofa table, he drops his hands to my shoulders and steers me toward the kitchen.
Ah, he’s definitely hiding something.
“What about your dad?” he asks.
“Don’t know him. Hey, I could help you decorate,” I say as he gently pushes me into a cottage-style kitchen.
One with white cabinets, crown molding, and blue accents in the backsplash that match his eyes.
I could see myself in this kitchen, early in the morning or late at night.
It’s the kind of kitchen that is the lifeblood of a home.
It just needs a little spiffing up with personal touches to really come to life.
“You’re a website creator and an interior designer?” he teases, dropping his hands as he moves around me toward the coffee pot in the corner. The absence of heat makes me crave him more than I already do.
Ever since the plane orgasm yesterday, I haven’t been thinking straight.
The boost has been incredible for the website project, but for every moment I’m not working, I’ve been distracted as hell.
I keep fantasizing about all the ways Nolan could make me come.
About me unzipping those suit pants and sliding my hand inside to get a firm grip on that rod of steel.
I’ve been so wet it may as well be monsoon season between my thighs.
He’s not wrong. I have been avoiding him. I’ve never crossed this line with a boss before, and I’m still a bit mixed up about allowing it to happen. And even more tangled up in the head about how badly I want to cross that line again, but further this time.
“I don’t know how to make those iced coffees,” Nolan admits, sifting through an assortment of K-cups before selecting one.
“As long as it’s super sweet, I’m okay with a hot coffee. In fact, I could use something to warm me up.” Okay, guess we’re just going for it, aren’t we?
Nolan looks back at me, those blue eyes turning a shade darker at my comment. Though it could be a trick of the light, the intensity in his eyes is anything but. “If you want more than coffee, Bree, all you have to do is ask.”
I gulp a swallow, feeling suddenly shy. Which is so unlike me.
I’m about to take Nolan up on his offer when my phone starts chiming out of control.
“Nana probably saw a moose,” I say as I retrieve my phone from my back pocket. But any hope that the notifications are welcomed ones dies a swift death when I see a string of messages from a phone number I don’t recognize. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who it is.
Chad.
“What’s wrong?” Nolan asks, already halfway across the kitchen.
“More spam.” I block his number and make a mental note to hack into Chad’s dating profiles tonight to take care of this problem once and for all.
“Does this spam have a name?” Nolan asks, now standing in front of me.
I mean to say no, but Chad’s name slips out anyway.
“A friend of yours?”
“Ha! No, Chad is one bad Tinder date who won’t go away. He must have paid money on one of those sites and found my phone number.” A lot of good that’ll do him. I have a trick up my sleeve for that, too.
Something primal flashes in Nolan’s eyes—again, could be the light. But this close up, it’s hard to deny what I’m seeing. His protective side flares to life. It’s sexy, but completely unnecessary.
“Should we be expecting Chad this weekend?”
“I highly doubt that. He’s just throwing a manchild tantrum. Can we please not talk about Chad? It’s kind of killing to the mood for that inspiration.”
“As long as you’re safe—”
“Nolan, this overprotective thing is sweet—and a bit of a turn on—but I’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”
“You’re turned on by me, huh?” he says, caging me up against the wall.
“Of course that’s the part you heard.”
“I can stop,” he says, trailing fingertips down my side.
“Let’s not be rash, now,” I tease, fisting his shirt.
He cups my cheek, stroking the skin with the rough pad of his thumb. My gaze drops to his lips. Lips I’ve been dying to taste since the man first walked into the airport terminal. I reach for his bearded cheek and draw him down to me.
When our lips meet, I expect the crackle of electricity. There’s been a current between us since we met. But what I don’t expect is to melt so easily against him, as though my bones have instantly turned to liquid at the contact. I dig my fingers into the back of his neck and hold on for dear life.
I don’t expect to feel so…safe.
His tongue lines the seam of my mouth until I part my lips and invite him in. His hand glides down my side, fingers dipping beneath my shirt. His warm palm moves up my back, unhooking my bra as though he’s expertly trained.
“Fuck, Bree,” he groans when his hand covers a breast. “What are you doing to me?”
I arch my hips against him, desperate for this man I hardly know.
Our lips crash back together. Fuck, I could kiss this man for hours and never tire of it.
What is happening? If it was just lust, I could wrap my head around it.
But it feels like…more. The starved, intense look in his eyes says he might feel the same.
This can’t be…I can’t be…falling for Nolan Barnes?
It’s one thing to have a little vacation fling with my temporary boss. Once I get on that plane, I doubt I’ll ever see him again. I was perfectly okay with that.
But now?
Now I—
Nolan’s second hand covers my other breast, and he squeezes them both, gently pinching my nipples.
My chatty brain goes silent, and all I know is sensation. The callouses of his palms scraping against nipple, those strong hands kneading my breasts, his thumbs teasing my pebbled peaks in just the right way.
I need this man, consequences be damned.
“Nolan?” I ask between kisses.
“Hmm?”
“The coffee can wait.”