I probably have King to thank for that last one.
“Hi.”
“A B-rated movie plot?” How can one eyebrow hold so much censure?
“Princ—”
Her wide-eyed stare halts the word on my lips, and I glance around. The other handful of board members are trying to act like they’re not listening.
Katherine steps around me, striding to the buffet. I follow, squeezing the can in my hand.
“That came out wrong,” I say to her, keeping my voice low.
“Which part reminds you of a second-rate film? Where you and your best friend went head-to-head at the bachelorette auction, making me into a national hashtag? The part where my mother had me kidnapped and tried to force me into a marriage? Or was it the part where you knew for months you were putting in an offer on Cort and didn’t utter a word to me about it? You know what—” She pauses, staring up at me with so much pain and confusion in her eyes I feel like I’ve been sucker punched right in the stomach. “It doesn’t matter.”
What?
Alarm bells blare in my mind.
Of course it matters. Everything about her matters.
Even though I only took a handful of bites of lunch, it suddenly sours in my stomach.
Seriously, I should just stop talking. All it seems to do lately is get me in trouble.
How is it that Mr. I Have Trouble Expressing My Heart Words is hitting heartfelt communication out of the park all of a sudden, and I’m the one floundering? Not that I claim to be an expert at it. But the last few days, my lips have been locked, my tongue twisted, and my heart and mind in constant spirals of emotions, desires, doubts, and determination.
“Of course it matters,” I say, my voice even softer.We can’t let life’s bumps steamroll our future. The new me is not going to let that happen.
Katherine reaches for a bottle of water and then turns back. Her large leather purse dangles from the crook of her elbow and looks brand new. As is her style, the bag’s totally tasteful, simple, and screams wealth and money without putting a target on her back.
She gives the bottle cap a vicious twist. A sixth sense tells me she wishes it were my head. Lifting it to her lips, she takes a long, slow drink.
My gut tightens as I watch her swallow. Fuck me. I’m intimately familiar with that neck, the smooth skin there, the feel of her pulse against my lips.
Swallowing back my lust, I take a step back and glance down at my shoes. It’s that or start sprouting wood in the middle of the boardroom. I don’t think either of us would appreciate that kind of attention.
“Excuse me.”
I feel her move past me, sense it even without using my eyes. Because we connected all those weeks ago. She burrowed herself deep.
Frustration tightens my gut and my jaw. But I take a deep breath. As usual, she’s right. This isn’t the time or place. We need to get this meeting over with first.
Katherine saunters to the chair shealways sits in. Same side as the door. Two to the right of the center. I watch, transfixed as usual, as she sets her things down, pulls a tablet from her bag, and arranges her spot as if she’s setting the table for a twelve-course meal. She’s got that kind of precision.
I bite into my apple and move around to the opposite side, needing to keep my distance. Needing something to do with my hands and my mouth, for that matter. This would all be so much easier if we were alone. If I hadn’t instituted the no-touching rule. If I didn’t crave her like a drowning man craves air.
“Is everyone here?” Beverley Winter, the chairwoman, asks, gaze sweeping the room. She nods once. “Okay, let’s get started.”
Everyone takes their seat, as if I haven’t just stuck my whole foot in my mouth. Shame and frustration burn through me.
This feels too familiar. Her over there. Me over here. The air of coolness rolling off of her, as if nothing can touch her.
But that’s not true, and now we both know it.
I have touched her.
I’ve been inside her, filling her with my cum. Bringing her to orgasm with my fingers and tongue.
