But instead of pushing him away, I pull him closer.
“I’m only your client for another four hours,” he replies. The hunger in his voice rivals mine. “You decide what happens next.”
I close my eyes, letting the words hang between us.
This could ruin my career if word gets out.
He steps back just enough to leave me wanting more.
I try desperately to regain some sort of composure.
“We shouldn’t be in here. We can't...”
Amos steps behind me, easing the tension from my shoulders.
Those strong hands feel unbelievably good.
He reaches behind the door.
His fingers clasp something smooth hanging from a small hook.
A vibrant green necktie.
He places it gently in my hand. The silk is cool against my palm.
Low and hushed in my ear, his voice holds me captive.
“Wear this after midnight, if you want me to kiss you.”
Then he steps back, opening the door, and walks out into the hallway again.
???
The sound of the bass rushes back in, no longer muted.
I scrunch the tie into my pocket.
Our little secret.
The party has found its rhythm, softening into a steady hum of conversation.
Glasses clink. Laughter rolls across the room in waves.
Porter’s food has disappeared faster than anyone predicted.
I allow myself a moment to take it all in.
Then as always, my attention drifts back to him.
Amos stands near the bar, one arm resting casually along the counter.
He listens attentively to an athlete who has flown in from Sydney.
I’m not much of a sports nut, but I recognise his face and know the invite list by heart.
They laugh at something he says, and gesture toward the tattoo on his leg.
Moving through the crowd, he seems completely at ease.
