Chapter 7
Adrienne
I’m supposed to be initialing page fourteen, but my brain is still caught up in the memory of last night.
The way his hands engulfed my waist like he owned the blueprint of me.
That first tentative kiss… so soft, so careful, it was barely a breath.
But the second I pulled him closer to me, he knew what I wanted, what I needed.
Heat surged, his mouth taking mine, his teeth catching my bottom lip like he’d been starving for years.
When he lifted me onto the Mustang’s hood, I knew he’d finally given in.
I replay the exact drag of his thumbs up my ribs, the sound he made when I tugged his shirt, the little curse he bit back into my mouth.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the way his stubble rasped my chin and the way I indecently pressed myself against his hard cock while I clung to his shoulders, begging him without a word to keep going.
It wasn’t gentle by the end. It was greedy and hot and everything I’ve pretended I don’t want.
And then—his breath shuddering, chest heaving… I didn’t expect him to pull away like the kiss burned.
The pen stalls in my fingers. I’m not mad about the retreat, not really. I’m rattled by how much I wanted him to ignore every good intention we’ve ever had. I wanted him rougher. Slower. Deeper. I wanted him to pick me up and carry me anywhere that wasn’t that line he’s always so good at toeing.
I try to focus, turning my attention back to the contract in my hand.
It works for three sentences. Then I’m back under the garage lights with grease on my wrist and his voice low against my mouth, that rough chuckle when he teased me.
And then, the exact second, his restraint kicked in, and he set me down like a gentleman who wanted to be anything but.
I sign my name too fast and swear under my breath, reprinting the page. My pulse hasn’t leveled since I woke up. Every muscle remembers him. Every nerve is a live wire.
Maybe I should be angry that he pumped the brakes, but I’m not. Wanting like that isn’t a crush; it’s a cliff.
I take a breath, cap the pen, and reach for the next contract. The reflection in the glass door catches movement, broad shoulders, a familiar gait, the brim of a familiar cowboy hat cutting a line across the top of the frame. I blink.
No. He doesn’t come here. He hates coming here.
He once told me our polished hallways make him feel like he’s tracking mud across a museum.
The shadow passes again, and my heart thuds in my chest like I’m about to witness a crime. I shove back from my desk, heels biting carpet, and step into the hall before I can talk myself out of it.
And there he is… In a tight T-shirt stretched across that chest I had my hands all over last night, a ring of keys hooked on one finger. He really shouldn’t be allowed to look this fucking good. But he does, and my body knows it before my brain catches up.
“Scotty?” My voice comes out softer than I mean, breathy in a way that makes heat crawl up my throat.
He stops and turns, surprise flickering quick across his face before it’s replaced with a slow, sexy grin.
The hall shrinks. I’m instantly aware of every open door, every nosy assistant.
I should care. I don’t. All I can see is the thumb that held my jaw while he kissed me like his life depended on it.
I take a step closer because I can’t not. The scent of soap and clean cotton reaches me, undercut with the faintest whisper of oil that never really leaves his skin. My palm itches to find his shirt, to test whether the steady thud beneath it is as wrecked as mine.
“What are you—” I swallow. Try again. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes drop down to my lips, then just as quickly, they dart back up to look into mine. He has a look on his face, like maybe he’s on the same loop I am. His memory flashing with the hood, his hands on me, his lips covering mine.
He clears his throat and shifts his weight, the key ring clinking softly in his hand. “Brought Axel’s truck back,” he says, voice gravely. “Figured I’d drop the keys myself.”
“Since when do you return vehicles directly to people?”
He resists the urge to smile, crossing his arms across his chest slowly. I can’t resist the urge to take in his flexed biceps, the way his shirt is stretched to its limits between his pecs.
“I always try to go above and beyond, Miss Slade.”
The drop in his voice sends a lightning bolt of desire straight through me. “That’s the only reason you’re here?” It comes out lighter than I mean, teasing on the edge of needy.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with the faintest hint of a smile. “You lookin’ for another reason, darlin’?”
God, that drawl.
The word slides over me, hot and lazy. I try to summon professionalism, but all I can think about is the way that same voice had gone rough and broken when I moaned his name against his mouth.
“Don’t ‘darlin’ me in the middle of my office,” I whisper, stepping closer as I jab a finger against his chest. “Besides, last night shouldn’t have happened, remember?”
He smiles at me like he’s changed his mind, and my stomach flutters. “People will talk.”
He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath skim my temple. “Let ’em.”
The space between us goes electric. I can smell him. My heartbeat climbs into my throat.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I murmur, even as my hand betrays me, brushing against the fabric stretched across his chest. Solid heat beneath soft cotton. His muscles tighten under my fingertips, and his gaze darkens.
“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Seems like we both got a habit of doin’ things we shouldn’t.”
My laugh comes out shaky. “Like last night?”
“Exactly like last night.”
For a beat, the world shrinks to the place where his body almost touches mine. The hum of the office was replaced by the sound of his breathing. He looks over his shoulder, checks the hallway, then back at me. That teasing grin returns.
“What are you smiling about?” I ask, my voice soft but daring.
He lifts one hand, slow enough that I could stop him, but I don’t. His thumb catches beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. “You,” he murmurs. “Always you.”
His confession leaves me speechless. My lips part, ready to close the gap, but he hesitates, his eyes dropping to my mouth, then back up again, restraint fighting the inevitable. His thumb strokes the curve of my jaw once, twice, just enough to make me tremble.
I reach up, fingers sliding over the rough stubble of his jaw, and that’s all it takes for him to step closer. The air between us collapses. I feel his breath against my lips, the heat of his chest pressing mine. One more inch and we’ll be right back where we left off, wild and stupid and lost.
“Scotty—” I start, but his name turns into a gasp when his hand finds my waist, anchoring me.
“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he admits, barely audible.
My pulse trips. “Then don’t.”
His smile ghosts against my skin. He’s about to close that final inch when a familiar voice drifts down the hallway.
“Scotty? You still here?”
Axel.
His voice shatters the moment. Scotty’s hand drops away instantly, the warmth of his body retreating as he steps back. I stumble for distance too, trying to steady my breathing, smooth my hair, anything to erase the look that’s still blazing between us.
By the time Axel rounds the corner, Scotty’s posture has shifted into a casual, easy stance, like the air isn’t still crackling with what we almost did. He twirls the keys once on his finger, expression calm.
“Truck’s out front,” Scotty says, handing them over. “Oil change, new filter, she’s good to go.”
Axel claps him on the shoulder, oblivious to what was brewing. They start talking about torque specs or brake pads or something I can’t focus on because all I can feel is the phantom weight of Scotty’s hand at my waist.
When he turns to leave, he glances back at me just once. It’s a flicker, half a second, but his eyes linger long enough to light me up all over again.
And then he’s gone.
I stay rooted in the hallway long after Scotty’s gone, my pulse still drumming in my throat. The glass door swings shut behind him, cutting off that lingering look—the one that said everything he didn’t have the nerve to say out loud.
I want to chase after him and tell him we should blow the workday off and finish what we started last night.
Instead, I force myself back into my office, shut the door, and lean against it like I need the support. I look down at my hands and hold them out. They’re actually shaking.
You are so incredibly screwed.
I cross to my desk, stack a few folders just for something to do, and sink into my chair. The pen I dropped earlier is still on the floor. I stare at it and think about the way his thumb brushed my jaw.
It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.
I’m trying to will my heartbeat into something normal when my door flies open without a knock.
“Wow,” a familiar voice huffs. “That was... something.”
I look up to find Axel leaning in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame, that cocky grin spreading slowly and smugly.
“Do you not understand the concept of privacy?” I ask, deadpan. “Please knock before bursting into my office. I’m clearly in the middle of something.”
“Do you not understand the concept of subtlety?” he shoots back, stepping inside and completely ignoring my attempt to get him to leave.“Half the office just saw you practically melt into the wall watching Scotty walk away.”
I guess he did notice. Shit.
I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Oh my God.”
“You’re blushing,” he says, way too pleased with himself.
“It’s hot in here,” I mutter, reaching for the nearest contract and fanning myself. “Maybe you should lay off the commentary.”
“Hot, huh?” He laughs. “Sure. Has nothing to do with the six-foot-four cowboy who just had his hand on your waist in the middle of the hallway… at work?”