Chapter 7
Crazy Little Thing Called Lust
I get to work ten minutes before my normal time.
Thankfully, this morning Effie seemed to have forgotten I was in the doghouse.
Either that or she’s decided I’m eligible for parole.
It helped her class is spending the day in the outdoor classroom.
She dressed cheerfully enough, chattering away about her hopes to see a viper or a grass snake.
I trust she won’t be too disappointed – any sensible reptile will avoid thirty rampaging tots like the plague.
The fine weather is due to hold, but I dropped her off shrouded in rainwear because that was the instruction in the class round robin, and Effie won’t break the rules.
She was skipping as I walked beside her to breakfast club.
I even got a peck on the cheek as a goodbye.
Then I turned around and started rehearsing what to say to Anders about the inappropriateness of his gift.
But it isn’t going quite how I planned. I don’t know why I thought it would. It never does. Having psyched myself up, I stormed into his office, ready for the confrontation. Big mistake. I should have knocked.
Now I’m here and Anders is shirtless, mid-point of changing. He obviously cycled to work this morning in those black leggings, the ones that cling to every curve and bulge. Every bulge. And he’s wearing nothing else.
I can confirm that last night’s fantasy was one hundred per cent accurate. I remembered every detail of his broad shoulders correctly, every wisp of chest hair, every dip and shadow. I’ve always had an eye for detail and a good memory. It makes me an excellent assistant.
Unfortunately, the reality of Anders is even more potent than the fantasy. Nothing wobbles. Everything is firm, muscled, male, and present. And every part of me reacts. My heart rate kicks up. My chest heats and my nipples tighten to hard nubs. The temptation to touch him is almost overwhelming.
Locking my hands behind my back, I try to brazen it out.
“I said no gifts.” But my voice comes out higher pitched than usual. And, God help me, Anders will realise it.
He pulls a clean black tee over his head but that’s only a tiny bit of help.
He lifts his hands to finger comb his tawny locks.
The hem of his shirt rises, showcasing that suggestive mound in those obscene tights.
Then he drops his arms, hands on his hips, fingers literally pointing to his assets.
Liquid lust shoots through my belly as he smiles lazily and says, “Good morning to you too.”
I flush as he continues, “You said no inappropriate gifts at work. This gift was both appropriate and not given at work.”
I close my eyes and scowl. He has a point. I had been too specific. And, ironically, left too much wiggle room. You’d think I would be better at this after dealing with Effie.
“Okay. Take two. No gifts. Of any type. In or out of work.”
He rocks forward and back on his heels. The movement pushes his crotch out.
I don’t think he’s intentionally making my brain misfire, but that’s what’s happening.
It can’t get past the sheer virility he’s exuding.
“That’s harsh,” he says. “No doughnuts on doughnut days? No bonanza bags on game launches?”
I want to grind my teeth. Or… bite him. I struggle to regain my cool. “If the gift is from the company, it is acceptable,” I correct my earlier statement. “If it is from your pocket, it is not.”
Those heavenly lips purse for a moment. “Okay.” The ease with which he accepts makes me wary. Have I missed something? But try as I might, I can’t find a weakness in my terms. I nod, satisfied.
Finally, I remember the line I’d thought up in the car. “If I were the kind of woman who could be won over with gifts, you shouldn’t want to marry me.”
“And if I were the kind of guy who thought he could buy you with gifts, you would never want to marry me. Fortunately, I’m not.
The chocolates were my apology for upsetting you with my marriage proposal.
The food last night was compensation for helping me at considerable inconvenience to yourself.
You were clear from the start; your departure time is non-negotiable.
I infringed on that. It was only fair you were recompensed. ”
I study his face, keeping clear of his eyes. It sounds so simple. But this is a man who builds games so devious and layered they win awards.
“It was too much.”
“In quantity?”
I think of my fridge stuffed full of leftovers. I nod. “And in cost.” My overtime rate was probably a tenth of what he had spent.
“Noted.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, and I’d prefer not to do it in cycle-wear.” His lips curl up again as he reaches for his black jeans. “You are welcome to stay if you’d like to explore the benefits of becoming my fiancée.” His dimple winks at me.
Part of me wants to close the gap between us, wants to peel those leggings off him, run my hands over his muscular butt and thighs.
I cough. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid.
And I’ve a feeling my confusion is clear on my face.
Anders would not stop me. It would play directly into his hands.
I scurry out of his office and drop into the chair behind my desk. I have no intention of marrying Anders, despite my libido seeming to have shaken itself from dormancy and roared into life around him. Maybe Nur, Dana, and Ginny are right. Maybe it’s time to find someone to date.
Of course, that might be a problem. How am I going to meet anyone?
I don’t have hobbies. I look after Effie and I work.
Cerium is drowning in single men, but very few of them are dateable.
There’s obviously Anders, but Ginny’s recent problem has more than highlighted the dangers of dating your boss.
She’s off today, but come Monday morning, she’s going to be sitting right beside him for eight hours a day, five days a week.
Back to when Mike left, much of my healing came from him being out of sight, so I could put him out of my mind and get on with my life.
Ginny won’t have that blessing; he’ll be telling her what to do and when to do it daily.
I’ll be amazed if she doesn’t spend the weekend searching for a new job.
I don’t want to find myself in a similar situation.
Besides, Anders has declared his objective to be marriage. I might be in need of sex – a roll in the hay as Dana described it – but I’m a long way from wanting that to come with a wedding ring.
Steve strolls up to my desk. “Morning,” they say, a warm smile reaching all the way to their eyes. It makes me feel like they’re genuinely pleased to see me.
Of course, Steve is the obvious contender.
We can cover all the first date, getting-to-know-each-other stuff at work.
They aren’t part of the senior management team, so professionally they’re safe.
And if it all ends badly, avoiding them wouldn’t be that hard.
I take a moment to study them in this new light.
They’re average height, average build, slightly puffy around the edges – certainly not as toned as Anders.
But when did I start judging a person’s attractiveness against Anders?
They wear straight-legged jeans, tan leather lace-ups, and a collared shirt.
It’s well-balanced, just the right combination of relaxed but professional.
On one level, they’re exactly the type of person I want to date.
Kind, personable, presentable. And if that personality carries over to sex, I’m sure they’d be a considerate lover.
Maybe not three orgasm material, but a guaranteed happy ending.
But then they turn their head as Ahmed joins us and I see the topknot is back.
Suddenly it’s a non-starter. My smile falters.
Turning away, I message Anders to check it’s okay before sending them in.
I’m not sure how they would respond to seeing Anders trouser-less.
Probably better than me. As they disappear into his office, I take a deep breath.
I will have to find someone else to have sex with.
By lunchtime, news about Piotr’s breakup with Ginny has raced around the office.
Nur and Chloe are abuzz as I join them with my packed lunch of delicious leftovers.
The food last night was divine. I don’t know how I’m going to return to supermarket hummus when I now know what it can taste like.
I dip a carrot stick into the swirl of yumminess and concentrate on eating, so I don’t have to talk.
“Do you think there’s someone else?” Chloe asks.
“In my experience, there’s always someone else,” Nur replies. “Men don’t jump until they have someone to jump to.”
That’s been my experience as well, but I keep quiet. Ginny didn’t say, and it’s not my place to speculate. Even if she had said something, it would have been in confidence.
“Well, his expenses are going to the back of the queue,” Chloe mutters. I pretend I don’t hear her by suddenly affecting interest in who’s just entered the break room. Nur’s her boss, not me.
Except it’s Steve, smiling their cheerfulness, stopping to chat with a bunch of programmers who fall about laughing at a comment they make.
“You could do worse.” Nur’s voice whispers in my ear. I turn to see both her and Chloe watching me watch Steve. “He likes you.” She gives a knowing nod to indicate like, not like.
“They, not he.” The hazards of being a mother. I correct automatically. “Some people think it’s a new thing, but did you know that Chaucer used ‘they’ in the singular? To refer to a person of uncertain gender.”
“They like you,” Nur corrects herself. “And it’s good to know an English degree can be so useful.”