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I don’t have the nerve to speak, this tangible thing between us is frightening me with its intensity.
Regret tightens his features as he turns around and leaves the way he came.
I don’t know why seeing that particular emotion hurts.
5
Oliver
I can hear the party music as I sit at my desk.
The floor beneath my feet vibrates from the speakers I had seen two of the IT guys lug in. I had paid no heed to the dark looks tossed my way as I’d walked away from Lana’s office, as if I were going to shut down their party just to be petty.
Being disliked or feared doesn’t bother me.
But at the same time, I don’t think I’d be particularly welcome at the office party.
I’m not here to play nice. If these people just did their damn jobs, I wouldn’t have to rip up their contracts and toss them out.
I have managed to befriend the front-desk receptionist. For some reason, she likes to spend at least five minutes talking to me when I pass by. She’s a friendly person who seems determined to get me to string five words together, which are not good morning or good night.
Lucas had given me a disapprovin
g look one morning when he saw me in front of the reception desk as Elise told me about the security guard who nearly tripped into the fountain and had to go home to change out of his uniform because passersby had given him funny looks.
I have never seen Lucas wear that annoyed expression, and it intrigues me. The lawyer and I have started spending time together since our work demands it, and an uncertain friendship has brewed. It surprised me to know he and Lana are childhood friends.
Speaking of Lana…
My eyes darken as I recall her vulnerable expression. It woke something inside me.
I would have very likely kissed her, I think with a mixture of horror and resentment. The woman stirs me up with every breath, every word.
It’s not like I have sworn off women. But I haven’t met one who drives me crazy like she does. There is defiance in her every breath, reluctance to concede, and God help me if that doesn’t make me want to bend her over and fuck it out of her.
The dark-haired woman who wears her frowns and scowls like other women wear accessories, makes me feel and do things I normally wouldn’t.
The words on the paper in front of me are blur into each other as I bring up the vivid memory of spotting her in that short dress. It hadn’t been revealing by any means, but it had stricken me mute at seeing her wearing it, her fair skin exposed, begging to be touched, licked, bitten.
Lana had been absolutely delectable in that dress.
My fingers tap impatiently in a growing rhythm on the desk when I imagine other men seeing her in it, lust in their eyes.
A seething rage flares inside me, which is so unreasonable considering the woman isn’t mine. Until now, I hadn’t even considered the possibility, but the way her breathing had quickened, the way she had let my touch linger on her skin, the blush that had crept to her chest… oh, was she showing me opportunities.
Not that I would ever take advantage of my position.
This desire for her infuriated me.
What is she doing to me?
Lana is so different from all the other women I have dated, from the woman I married.
They were soft-spoken, delicate women who preferred to let me pamper them, shower them with jewelry and gifts.
I can just imagine trying to gift Lana with some stunning bracelet handcrafted by an Indian jeweler, adorned with shining gems that fit her beauty.
A faint, unwilling smirk settles on my lips.
