“I know,” I say, looking away from him.
“Why, though?” he asks, and his hands drop to his sides. “You have to know how I feel about you.”
My heart, which was already beating quickly, picks up its pace at his words. No one’s ever said that to me before.
I shake my head in fast, tiny movements because I need him to see reason. “You’re not thinking straight. It’s all the stress . . . from work.”
“It’s not,” he says. “I promise.”
“We’ve just been spending a lot of time together, that’s all.”
“Claire,” he says, his voice gentle. He takes a tiny step toward me, erasing most of the gap between us. “Do you know why I was glad you didn’t listen to that voicemail?”
I shake my head.
“I told you why I left Pulse, told you that you deserved the job, and then . . . I asked if you wanted to get dinner with me sometime.”
“What?” I ask, not following.
“You had that stupid rule about not dating coworkers,” he says, his lips pulling up slightly, like he’s remembering something fondly. “And I’d been wanting to ask you out from the first day I met you, so I figured now that we didn’t work together, I’d try.”
“You . . . really?”
“I thought you rejected me,” he says. “But then when I saw you again at the handover and found out the truth . . .”
He trails off, so close now that I have to tilt my face up to see him. Reaching up, he gently tucks some hair behind my ear and then slides my bag off my shoulder, setting it on the ground.
He places his hands at my waist, his fingers lightly pressing, his eyes searching my face. “So this isn’t me being tired or stressed orspending too much time with you because . . . there’s never enough time with you.”
His head dips toward mine, and I know what’s coming, what he wants to do. And even though my mind is telling me not to do this, not to let this happen, that there’ll be consequences, I know I won’t stop him.
Because I don’t want to.
Lifting onto my toes, I close the distance, my lips locking with his, my mind still telling me to stop, but my heart telling me to go for it.
I give in, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me, deepening the kiss. His five-o’clock shadow brushing deliciously against my skin, our mouths moving together like we’ve done this before, like we’ve both imagined this moment many times.
Luke’s arms wrap around me, lifting me up as he takes over, his tongue running over my bottom lip, and I feel like I might burst from the sensation. His kisses are a push and pull, wild and then tender, fast and then slow, like he’s forcing himself to take his time.
I’ve never been kissed like this. All forty-nine previous ones pale in comparison. They were nothing, and this . . . this is everything. And now I know what I’m sacrificing, as Luke holds me close to him, kissing me like he never wants to stop.
So I can’t help it when the tears come, quietly moving down my cheeks, and I taste the salt on my lips as Luke’s mouth moves tenderly over mine.
And they come even faster when he stops, mid-kiss, his body going rigid, his hands dropping from my waist as he pulls away and takes a step back.
“Claire?” He looks at me like he’s confused.
I close my eyes, the tears now dripping down my chin.
It happened again.
The conference room door swings open then, and I turn away, covering my face.
“Oh, good, you’re still here,” I hear the measured voice of Victoria say. “I need you to take out one of the clips you wanted to use. It gives away too much.”
It’s quiet for a beat, and I hold back my sniffling, not wanting her to hear me.
Then I hear Luke say: “Let’s go to your office.” The door clicks shut behind them.
