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She stroked his chest. “I’m so sorry. What about your dad?”
“He wasn’t really in my life. He had another family, and they took his focus.”
This time she didn’t say anything.
“They met at work. She was his receptionist, and he used his advantage to get exactly what he demanded from her. I was the unwanted consequence.” The words pressed on his chest, imprinted there like a tattoo he’d never wanted. “She never got over their relationship. Over losing him. Then I lost her too soon too.”
She was quiet for so long that he craned his neck to take a good look at her. She was staring at him, eyes wide and wet. “You could’ve told me, Des.”
Shaking his head, he let out an abbreviated laugh. “How?”
“Just like this.”
“Yeah, after I’ve been inside you.” He gazed at the ceiling. “I tried, Wen. I really did. It was stupid, thinking that with all we’d done I could still pretend I wasn’t like him. I did everything I could to make it clear to you it had nothing to do with your job, and I never took advantage all the way—” He pinched his nose, unsurprised it didn’t relieve the pressure gathering in his head. “It was all just a bullshit game. All these weeks of denial… I lied to myself. Worse, I lied to you.”
“You did? I must’ve missed it.” She crossed her arms over his chest and leaned forward so that her hair trailed over his skin.
He couldn’t stop the shudder. God, he had so many plans for that hair and her mouth before the night was through.
If she didn’t tell him to go to hell.
“You didn’t lie. You just didn’t tell me everything. And that’s okay, because I didn’t tell you everything either.” She pulled back, retreating even farther when he pinned her with his stare. “Maybe we should hit pause right here.”
His stomach knotted. When she was nervous or upset, the southern in her voice grew more pronounced. Usually he couldn’t get enough of it. At the moment, the rich, silky tones only increased his need to command her to tell him every secret she had.
He was no expert, but he figured that meant he was in love with her. Or possibly a burgeoning psycho.
Inhaling deeply, he turned her face toward his. Whatever it was, he’d face it with her. He’d be damned if he gave her up now. “Tell me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking him out. “I’m in love with you.”
* * *
At least he didn’t laugh. She supposed she couldn’t complain at his lack of response or how he went as still as a corpse. He was still her boss, after all. They had their working relationship to think about, and despite his revelations, he might not be ready to take things public. Or maybe he just didn’t care for her that way.
She could handle it. She’d handled much worse.
“I don’t expect you to love me back.” Wendy reached for his hand. His skin was hot to the touch. “I just needed you to know. Every time I was with you and Cole, I wanted it to be just us. You and me, like it was tonight.” She glanced around her woefully tiny bedroom and sighed. “Though I wish we’d been at your place. This bed is one Des-powered thrust away from collapse.”
He laughed, and her tension seeped away. Well, most of it. “I like your house.” He kissed her collarbone with little serpentine flicks of his tongue. “We still have a tree to put up, you know, and Chinese to eat. I also might’ve gotten you a gift.”
“I don’t have anything for you,” she protested.
Grinning, he caressed her still sensitive pussy. “Oh, yes, you do. Santa says thank you.”
She forced herself to grin. To be lighthearted, jolly, and sexy. “I have
a feeling Santa will be even more pleased with me by the end of the night.”
When he rolled away from her and reached for his clothes, she made her peace with her revelation. Whatever happened after tonight, she would be fine. She felt lighter and heavier, all at once. If she hated him just a little for his honor in not even bothering to pretend to love her, she’d get over it eventually.
Getting over stuff was one of her new skills. Along with her speedy typing and her skillful cock-sucking, she was on her way to becoming a damn dynamo.
They decorated her tree and scarfed down the Chinese while they watched an all-night Christmas movie fest. He caught her eyeing his gift and plopped it in her lap, making her open it despite her complaints.
“You shouldn’t have done this.” She pulled on the ribbon and gave in to her urge to shake the box. It barely rattled. “How about I buy you lunch next week—” She thumbed up the lid, biting her lip. “Oh.”
“I know you said you didn’t like music boxes, but I wanted to try to change your mind. Or at least maybe improve your opinion.” He popped the lid of the carved crystal box, unveiling a small skater on a pond who did figure eights in front of a charmingly decorated house to “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”.
