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And to feel it in the first place is just plain dangerous.
* * *
I take the stairs to Lexi’s penthouse, admiring the converted Georgian home as I go. It’s full of character, impressive and bold, and definitely Lexi all over. The vibrant colour in the paintings and the contemporary sculptures that feature on every white-walled floor remind me of her fiery hair and alabaster skin.
It’s a foolish comparative, born of a long-forgotten romantic streak, and I scorn it even as I think it. But, hell, that streak is getting stronger, coming back with a vengeance the more I’m around her. The more time I spend with her and try to control it.
My stomach ramps up another gear in its chaotic fluttering as I get closer to her floor. Gut-flutters, for fuck’s sake. My hand practically trembles as I rake it through my hair and I try to breathe through it. This doesn’t work for me. This constant state of nervous energy, of anticipation, of arousal.
I live for our every meeting. Even a fleeting glimpse across the office and I’m there, watching until she passes out of sight again. It’s as if seven years of absence have only made this connection stronger, all the more consuming, and I’m powerless to stop it.
Something has to give.
I mean, Christ, I’ve not banged one out with my fist in years. I haven’t needed to. I date. I fuck. I move on. The women I see have a similar ethos. Sex is sex. Nothing more.
Only I haven’t wanted just sex since I came back here. I’ve only wanted her. And she’s forbidden.
She doesn’t want me.
I don’t want her.
That’s what our sense dictates—what our past determines. Except I’m starting to listen less to reason and more to my aching cock, which fears a case of blue balls if something doesn’t change soon.
Yes, it’s all about your aching manhood. Nothing to with your heart that’s never quite healed.
‘Shit.’
I’m on her landing, staring at her door. For all I know she’s staring back at me through the peephole and wondering why I’m standing here frozen to the spot and swearing to myself. It’s enough to shake me out
of it and I stride forward. A quick rap of my knuckles and the door’s swinging inwards and...
Oh. My. God.
I lose my tongue. It’s hanging somewhere in my mouth. The only reason it’s not hanging out is that my jaw is clamped so tightly there’s no escaping it.
‘You going to come in?’
She cocks her head at me, her words slow, her smile oh, so curious and her eyes dancing. She’s wondering why I’m dumb, mute... What would she say if I told her the truth? That her beauty, her appeal, has me wanting to forgo our plans for the evening—plans that are critical to the company—and slake this thirst.
Would she say Go to hell?
Or would it be Come on in?
Would we screw until neither of us can walk straight? Until the past is a distant memory and our present is all that matters?
Hell, it would work for me. But then life isn’t that simple, kind or easy.
I step forward and resist the urge to touch her, giving her a wide—safe—berth.
‘Nice place you have here,’ I say as she closes the door and proceeds to walk me through into what appears to be an open-plan arrangement: a kitchen, a diner, a living room and a study area... A study for two.
I swallow.
‘We liked it.’
Her words merge with the sight I’m seeing. Two desks at right angles to one another, sleek monitors, stationery, even matching charger cables. It’s as if at any moment Liam could walk back in and I’m frozen to the spot, my body chilled, my throat seizing up.
‘Can I get you a quick drink? I just need to find my earrings.’
