He blows out a breath. “Fine, so there are some minefields to navigate. We’ll handle them.”
“We’llhandlethem? That’s it?”
“What do you mean,that’s it? You just laid this on me two minutes ago.” He squeezes my knee. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. Yet. I just know we can figure this out, if we want to make it work. And Iwantto make this work.”
“So do I,” I whisper.
He brushes some hair out of my face, trailing a finger down my neck, and I nearly stop breathing. “I can separate work from personal. Can you?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I can try.” I pause. “Along those same lines, I think we should keep this to ourselves. At least until we figure out whatthisis.”
His finger ceases its movement. He leans back, giving me alooonglook. “Why?”
“Because of all the reasons we just talked about! We work together. It’s frowned upon. I don’t want to be the subject of speculation. I don’t need people wondering where my loyalties lie. People who’ve made this mistake before have watched their careers implode. Take your pick! We have a lot to figure out and we hardly need other people getting involved.”
“This isn’t a mistake.” His voice is flat.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
He regards me silently and I squirm inside my skin.
“Come on, you just said it yourself. Separate work from personal.”
“That wasn’t whatImeant.”
He sits back on the couch, putting even more distance between us. A muscle ticks in his jaw and even though I know he’s not happy with me, it takes all my self-restraint not to press my lips to it and kiss the tension away.
“So what, we’ll be in a secret relationship? I’m not supposed to look at you or talk to you?”
“No,” I say calmly, resisting being drawn into a fight. “We can do what we did before. Talk. Eat lunch. Invent reasons to drop by each other’s offices. Pretend not to watch each other through the window.”
The corners of his mouth turn up briefly.
“Oh look, I got a smile.”
He rolls his eyes at me, and this time I do lean forward and kiss him. His hand automatically cups my cheek and I can feel when he relaxes, the taut muscles of his upper body loosening beneath my fingertips.
Eventually I pull back an inch and make eye contact. “Are we okay?”
“We’re okay.”
“And we’re agreed about...?”
He exhales. “Fine, we can keep this under wraps for now. Only because one day we’ll look back and laugh about all this hand-wringing you did.”
My eyes widen. It’s the closest we’ve come to talking about Long-Term What Does This Mean. My stomach’s twisting as I sidestep.
“I’m pretty sure only grandmas use the termhand-wringing.”
He smiles but his eyes dim a little, and I know it’s because I ignored his comment. I also know he’s going to give me a pass.
He pats my knee and stands, pulling me to my feet, but instead of dropping my hands he loops them around his lower back. When I step into his hug, his arms wrap around my shoulder blades, pressing me to his chest. Still bare. Still divine. I feel the pressure of a kiss to the top ofmy head and try to commit this moment to memory. Everyone should experience a hug like this.
“We’re going to be fine,” he murmurs in my ear.
“We’re such a mess.” My words are muffled by his magnificent chest.
“A beautiful mess.” He tips my head up and kisses me, gentle and sweet. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
