Chapter 17 #2
“You seem so sure about that,” I say, my words confused. Definitely not something we should probably do? Clear as mud.
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.
“Shh,” I say, peering into her eyes. “Everything is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
I reach over and press the speakerphone. My eyes never leave Shaye’s. “Yes, Kelly?”
“Yes, Mr. Mason. I have Greg on the line for you.”
“Tell him that I’ll call him back in five minutes, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hit the button again, ending the call.
“Oliver …” Shaye’s cheeks redden. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I smirk. “Me either, but I like it.”
She smiles but bats at my arm. I step back, and she slips off my desk.
“Is this going to work?” she asks, straightening her dress.
“Is what going to work?”
She looks at me like I’m stupid. “This. You and me. This job. All of it. I feel like I’m just digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole, and I’m supposed to be climbing out of it.”
I give her some space and walk behind my desk. I pick up the stapler.
“I’ll agree that we need to get ahold of the situation,” I say, trying to forget the way her lips feel against mine before I grab her and kiss her again.
Before I pull up her skirt and watch my fingers enter her heat like they desperately want to do.
“What does that mean? I don’t know. But we can’t just go on and pretend we don’t want that to happen when we’re together. ”
She considers this as she combs her fingers through her hair. “So what’s the solution? Do I have to go work for Wade?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
She grins.
I run a hand down my face. How can I salvage all of this?
“What would make you feel better?” I ask.
She thinks for a moment. “I need to know that I can trust you.”
“You can.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Except that my word is the most important thing to me,” I say. “If we can’t figure this out, you can go work for Wade. And I assure you that he’d love nothing more than to have you in his office and deny me entry. It would make his fucking year.”
She laughs. “Okay. Also … I don’t know what you’re thinking or expecting or hoping, if anything, but I just don’t want anything serious.”
“You just want to be fuck buddies? Is that what you’re telling me?” I ask, laughing too.
“I mean, kind of?” She covers her face with her hands. “I need something easy. Something to get me back in the game, so to speak.”
I’m thankful there’s a giant desk between us because, if there wasn’t, I’d have her bent over this motherfucker in two seconds.
“Can we just … take it a day at a time?” she asks sheepishly. “No expectations. No rules.”
What a weird thing to say.
“Yes,” I say. “I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give me.”
Her eyes light up. A look of contentment stretches across her face. The same feeling spreads through my body.
“You control the shots,” I tell her.
“Okay.” She grins. “You need to call Greg back.”
Dammit. “Yeah. I do.”
“And I need to find the ladies’ room.”
I look her up and down and growl. It makes her laugh.
“You go do what you need to do and then come back so we can go over this legal file,” I say, sitting down. “I’ll call Greg now.”
She nods and heads for the door. Just before she gets to the doorway, I call after her.
“Shaye?”
She turns around. “Yes?”
“Will you go with me to the Landry Gala tomorrow? It doesn’t have to be a date or anything, if that worries you. You can go in whatever capacity you want. I just think it might be fun.”
Her brow furrows for a long moment before she finally smiles. “All right. I’d love to.”
“Great.”
“Great.” She smiles and turns, but just before she reaches the door, she spins back around. “Oliver?”
“Yes, Shaye?”
“This might be a stupid or presumptuous question, but would you have invited me if we hadn’t … kissed before?”
As Shaye knows, I’ve wanted to kiss her since the moment we met. Taking her as a date to the gala would have crossed my mind regardless if we’d kissed or if she worked for me or anything else as long as I had met her. So a part of my answer is most definitely yes.
But I don’t think that’s what she’s asking.
She said last night that she wants us to be friends.
If I’m being honest, I could use one of those right now who isn’t related to me.
I like Shaye. I like her for more than her soft, kissable lips and willingness to kiss me.
I enjoy her company. She makes me laugh.
When I’m with her, my load feels just a bit lighter.
So, yes, I would have asked her for the privilege—or torture, depending on how you look at it—of having her on my arm.
“Yes,” I say simply. “I would have. I would’ve asked you for the honor of accompanying me to the Landry Gala, and I’ll be looking forward to having you beside me now that you’ve said yes.”
The smile that lights up her face is dazzling. She dips her chin and disappears into her office, shutting the door behind her.
I lean back in my seat and take a long, deep breath.
A shot of tension curls around the back of my neck, and it has nothing to do with taking Shaye to the event. It has everything to do with it too.
“You probably just fucked all the way up, Mason,” I mutter before grabbing the phone and calling Greg.