Page 4

When he finally pulls back, I blink up at him, dazed and breathless. His eyes, those brilliant sapphires, are locked onto mine with an intensity that could rival any candlelit confession. “Well, fuck,” he murmurs, shock coloring his voice.

“You can say that again,” I manage to say, though it comes out sounding a tad airy. I feel like I’m one of those cartoon characters with birds flying around their heads.

He laughs softly, a sound that seems to wrap around me like a comforting blanket, equal parts warmth and desire. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sullivan counters, his forehead leaning gently against mine. “I’m glad we’re on the same goddamn page.”

“Same page? We might be on the same paragraph or sentence,” I respond, without considering what I’m saying. “Though I’m a little fuzzy on the punctuation.”

“Well, semicolons are for when you’re not quite sure what else to use,” he jokes, his fingers caressing small soothing circles into my hips, keeping me tethered to the moment.

He kisses me again, softer this time, and my legs curl gently around him, pulling him closer. I feel the hardness of his cock pressed against my girly parts and nearly self-combust on the spot.

Every good sense I've ever had is drowning in the intoxicating pull of Sullivan's kiss. He’s standing between my spread legs, drawing me closer like gravity is a practical joke the universe is playing on us both.

Our shared oxygen is a tangible thread, weaving us together in this quiet corner of the world that’s momentarily ours. My fingers knot in his hair, dragging his lips impossibly closer. I’m pretty sure my heart’s forgotten every beat that isn't in sync with his.

Like a record scratching to a halt, there's a noise in the hallway outside the stockroom. It's nothing more than a clatter, probably just Shane grabbing bottles of liquor, but it's jarring enough to yank me from the magic of the moment.

Reality crashes through me, and panic jolts through my veins.

Abruptly, I pull away from Sullivan. His lips are warm and inviting, so it takes an enormous effort to break the connection. He's left blinking at me with those mesmerizing, blazing blue eyes, a layer of confusion quickly warming them.

"Romi..." His voice trails off as he sees the horror written all over my face.

“I’m… I'm sorry,” I stammer, the words tumbling out before they solidify in my brain. Somewhere, deep down, there's worry about jeopardizing my job, my carefully guarded heart, and every other precious thing I’ve arranged in this precarious balance.

Before he can react, I slide off the counter and cast Sullivan a hasty, apologetic glance before darting out of the stockroom, leaving him standing there, probably as bewildered as I feel.

My mind is an electric storm of thoughts, each bolt striking with enough power to split the precariously balanced composure I’m clinging to. The hallway is a blur as I race down it toward my office, frantically praying I don’t run into my boss or anyone else.

I slip inside and shut the door behind me, leaning my back against its sturdy reassurance. It's a small space filled with the comforting chaos of ledgers, order forms, and an old chair that squeaks its indignation at every slight move. Here, I’m safe from the pull of Sullivan’s allure and those damnable kisses that threaten to unravel me like a spool of thread spinning wildly out of control.

I dive headfirst into spreadsheets and schedules, anything to keep my mind from spinning back to his lips and hands. And the hardness that both scared and excited my girly parts.

Stop thinking about him,I order myself as numbers jumble and distort. The busier I stay, the less chance there is for memories to overtake me.

I imagine Sullivan out there somewhere in the bar looking for me, trying to piece together the reasons for my hasty retreat.

A part of me wants him to storm in here, demanding to know what the hell just happened, and a more terrifying part of me knows I'd probably make a fool of myself if he did.