I don’t even think. I shove the door open harder than necessary, and every head in the room swivels toward me.
Matilda’s eyes meet mine, and instead of surprise, she looks… smug. Self-satisfied.
Payback.
“Matilda. A word, please.”
My tone is sharp, too sharp, and I know it. I also know I have no right to be this pissed off — but here we are. One step away from firing the prick for daring to breathe near her.
She holds my gaze, cool as anything. Then, deliberately, she empties her cup, rinses it, sets it carefully on the draining board. The defiance in that simple act makes my pulse spike.
Christ, I didn’t know stubbornness could be this much of a turn-on.
I walk out first, waiting in the corridor. No point having half the office witness the state she’s got me in.
The door opens, and her brown eyes lock onto mine. Something molten slides low in my gut.
“What can I help you with?” she asks, voice perfectly calm, but her eyes are burning. She’s jealous. And I’m not too good a man to admit — I fucking love it.
“I need you to look over something for me,” I say, cupping her elbow and steering her down the corridor.
I open the nearest door and pull her inside.
“Erm, Henry,” she says, blinking. “This is the supply cupboard.”
I turn, closing the door behind us. Logic? Gone. Sanity? Gone. All that’s left is the sound of her breathing and the way her body stiffens when I step closer.
Her back hits the shelving, and her mouth opens like she’s about to speak — but nothing comes out. So instead she bites down on her bottom lip, drawing it in slightly.
“Stop doing that,” I murmur, leaning down until my lips graze her cheek.
“Stop what?” she breathes, her voice barely audible.
“Biting your bottom lip,” I whisper, tracing my mouth toward her ear. “Because if you keep doing it, I’m going to take it between my teeth, and I won’t care who sees it.”
Her breath catches, sharp and shaky.
“Then you’ll have to stop too,” she whispers, and when her lips brush my neck, I freeze.
“Stop what?”
“Kissing other women in front of me.”
Jas.
Of course.
A smile threatens, and she instantly narrows her eyes.
“Don’t smile at me.” She turns to leave, but I catch her hips, holding her in place — firm, not forceful.
“Jas is my oldest friend. Nothing romantic. Never has been. Never will be.”
“Oh.”
That’s all she says before I crash my lips onto hers.
For a split second, she’s still — and I think I’ve ruined everything — but then she moves against me, matching the kiss with equal hunger.
