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Sandra Halen ruined my good mood, the one that started Sunday with him in my bed and began to dwindle with the first meeting of the week. It’s been slowly draining as the week progressed, only getting slightly recharged each evening by having dinner and conversation with him. Maybe I shouldn’t have canceled dinner with him by lying and saying I needed to have a serious conversation with Chelsea last night. I didn’t speak with my sister yesterday. I just needed a break from looking at his handsome face before I opened my stupid mouth and said something reckless that would make him rethink this whole just hooking up thing.
What the hell would Gaige Ward do if he found out that I was starting to get ideas about more than just wanting to hook up with him?
He’d probably run a mile in the other direction, and that may still be the case since I can’t seem to do the damn job BBS hired me to do.
“It would be fun,” I tell him. “Then your hands would wander down my spine.”
“Probably.”
“And then my knee would hitch up over your leg.”
“You’d have to take that skirt off. It’s too tight to get comfortable in.”
“Of course,” I agree.
“That would put that fire-hot pussy of yours on my leg.”
“I’d likely burn you.”
“I’d have to cool you off with my mouth.”
“See?” I tell him I as I push away from the doorjamb and stand to my full height. “Cuddling would never work.”
“I agree.” He flips the blankets back once again, fisting his cock.
His arousal is already beading on the tip when I turn around and close the adjoining door. He’s muttering about hard cocks, a perfectly wet, unused pussy and throat as I click the lock into place.
I press my forehead to the door because he’s right. I’m fucking soaked, and I have no idea where I found the strength to leave him naked in that room. I don’t think it’s bravery or willpower. Maybe it’s stupidity. Possibly self-preservation because I can picture myself with my head on his chest just resting in his arms while pretending to watch some dumb show on television.
It’s already going to be hard enough to walk away from mind-blowing sex. The last thing I need is my other emotions getting tangled up in Gaige Ward. The only problem is, I can’t be a hundred percent that they aren’t already.
I rush to the other door when I hear his door open, watching him stride past with gym clothes on. He doesn’t even glance at my door on his way.
Chapter 25
Gaige
Lifting weights doesn’t ease the tension.
The treadmill doesn’t come close to touching the strain in my muscles.
It’s an unfamiliar feeling, something deep but also on my skin, and I don’t know the cause or how to treat it. I head outside, thinking a run in the Texas humidity will fix the problem, but that doesn’t help either. I’m drenched in sweat by the time I make it back to the hotel, killing three hours of the time left before we have to head to the airport, but unfortunately, that still leaves three more to go.
I spend an hour in the shower, wondering if the weekend starts tomorrow. Even though it’s Friday, we aren’t working. Well, we don’t have meetings scheduled. My cock swells with just the thought of being back in St. Louis, knowing what her rules are. I think about ignoring it, but I know how that ends. I’ve tried it before. Ignoring it doesn’t work. It used to. Before Leighton Redmond, I had control of my life and my body. I no longer have power. She has that, and she doesn’t even know it.
I stroke myself to completion, biting my lip to keep from saying her name, and press my forehead to the shower wall. If the guys back at the office could see me now, they’d all give me shit. Oh how the ladies’ man has fallen. I wouldn’t say I’m in love with Leighton. I’m far from it. Like she said when I told her I wasn’t married, she doesn’t do love either. I have no interest in it. It’s not love, but it’s definitely obsession. I’m infatuated with her. Captivated. Enthralled. Haunted with thoughts of her.
Maybe that’s what this feeling is that I can’t seem to get rid of.
Climbing out of the shower, I dry off, shave, and get dressed in clothes I know will get her attention. My long sleeves are rolled up my forearms because I caught her looking at them the other day at dinner. I’m wearing those jeans I had on for the first dinner we met for in California. I find myself wanting her to notice me, to catch her looking at me with that same gleam in her eye she has when we’re alone and about to get naked.
