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Showing up here like this, openly flirting with him…well, there are only two possible outcomes, and I’m worried I’m headed for a world of hurt.
I walk forward and set the paper bag on his desk with a thunk, then I look around me in search of a comfy chair. There’s one behind me, but dissatisfied with its location, I start pushing it around the side of Walt’s desk.
“What are you doing?”
I pause. “Coming to sit by you. I’m not going to sit over there like I’m one of your employees. That’s weird.”
“Here, let me,” he says, standing up to steal the chair from me.
Then, like it’s made of marshmallow, he lifts it up easily and carries it over to set it down beside his chair. Voilà.
I take a seat and cross my legs, straightening my skirt. He’s watching me like a hawk, making me blush.
“What?”
He shakes his head and looks away. “Nothing.”
“I met your assistant just now. I like her.” He doesn’t respond, so I continue, “Y’know, I could play the part of the jealous wife and point out the fact that she’s very pretty.”
“April?” he asks, unmoved by my observation. “She’s young.”
I bite back my smile.
“I’m young.”
His gaze flits back to me, jumping from my legs to my skirt. Then his eyes meet mine for only a moment before he seems to come to some conclusion. “You’re a different kind of young.”
I blush and lean over to drag the paper bag toward us.
“I appreciate you bringing me lunch, but I have a meeting with the quality control department in half an hour,” he says, sounding brusque.
“So then we’ll eat fast.”
I stand up and step forward so I’m wedged between him and his desk. I start unloading our lunch, making it clear I won’t be deterred by his meeting or even by the fact that there’s not much room on his desk for our food. He’s forced to clear away papers quickly before I cover them with our sandwiches and side dishes.
“No, please, make yourself at home,” he mocks as I push his keyboard aside.
“Well what am I supposed to do? There’s not any room. You’re usually much neater than this.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been distracted lately. No, don’t move that. I like my mouse to sit right there.”
I laugh under my breath. “It must irk you so much.”
“What?”
“Me. It’s so obvious how much I get under your skin. I can feel how much you want me to get out of your hair.”
I glance behind me, and my smile immediately freezes once I see Walt leaning back in his chair, his gaze intently focused on the back of my legs, right where my skirt cuts off.
He doesn’t make any attempt to look away or conceal the fact that he’s openly checking me out. He just slides his gaze up to mine arrogantly slow.
“You don’t get under my skin nearly as much as you think you do.”
My eyes narrow, and I turn back around to refocus my attention on our lunch.
“Do you want me to prove it?” he asks as he reaches out and skims his hand around my leg, cupping it just above my knee so his fingers send tingles down my spine.
I freeze, suddenly finding it hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. His hand teases the hem of my skirt, just barely dipping beneath the fabric.
“I’m surprised you’re offering. I assumed you wanted to leave well enough alone. You’ve made it clear you don’t want to pursue anything with me.”
“Because that’s in your best interest,” he says, brushing his hand slightly higher. “You’re technically under contract with me. Our marriage was brokered by my lawyer. Or have you forgotten that?”
“How could I?” I ask, my chest rising and falling in quick succession.
“Good. So we should keep things platonic and easy.”
“Platonic and easy,” I repeat, waiting for him to remove his hand.
When he doesn’t, I bite down on a sinister smile.
Twenty-Two
“What’s the real reason you came to my office today, Elizabeth?”
“To bring you lunch.”
“All right then let’s eat,” he says, like he’s testing me. He wants me to break the connection first, to make it easier for him.
“No.”
Silence follows, seconds stretching to years as I wait.
His hand leaves my leg. Behind me, he slowly rises to his feet. At his full height, I’m outmatched. He steps forward and his chest brushes my back. Another step and I’m wedged between him and the edge of the desk.
Now, suddenly, this feels dangerous.
We’re at the point of no return.
With a grip of ownership, he returns his hand to the front of my thigh in a possessive grip, then slowly he slides it higher.
“I’ve warned you,” he whispers, almost like he’s angry.
It’s hard to breathe as he drags his hand up the inside of my thigh like a tease.
“You aren’t going to run for the door?” he asks.
