AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sure,” Jonathan drawls, his thumb hovering over the 'off' button. “I'll ask my secretary to set something up.” He presses the button, and the cameras whirr back into the wall. The screen turns off, leaving the room dark, and it makes me realise just how late it is.
“Well, that was a ten-minute meeting dragged into three fucking hours.” Jonathan says, rubbing his face. “I don't know how many times we had to go over the bloody schedule, it's like they didn't believe us.”
“I hope you're not pissing off my clients,” Callum remarks sarcastically. “Anyway, since we charge by the hour next time try and drag it out for longer, okay?”
“Maybe you'd like me to dial in in my pyjamas?” Jonathan smiles. “Or perhaps I can send them a flash of my girlfriend's tits. Speaking of which, I was supposed to meet her at a restaurant half an hour ago, so if you'll excuse me.” He stands up and grabs his papers, stacking them neatly into a pile. “Thanks for staying late, Amy, you did well to keep your temper.” He looks over at Callum. “She's doing great.”
“She is,” he says softly.
Then it's just the two of us, and the room seems to shrink in size by about fifty per cent. Callum gently wraps his fingers around mine.
“I've been thinking about you all afternoon,” he murmurs. His thumb brushes my wrist. I wonder if he can feel my pulse race. “Wondering when I can kiss you again.”
“Not here,” I say breathily. Though if he tried I don't think I could stop him. “Somebody might see,”
“Delayed gratification then. Let's go and grab something to eat, and we should probably have a talk.”
Immediately, my stomach drops. “A talk?”
“After what happened last time I want to make sure we both know where we stand. I don't want to wake up in the morning to find you gone again.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You seem very sure I'm going to stay over,” I say. “What makes you think I'm not going home after dinner?”
He takes a step forward, holding my hand, until our arms are the only barriers between us. I still feel an intense need to press my chest against his. But somewhere in my horny, stirred up mind, I'm aware that I'm at work, and that a liaison with my boss is strictly forbidden.
“What makes me think it, Amy,” he lifts both our hands up, using his finger to trace along my bottom lip. “Is the way you look at me with those pretty blue eyes, the way your lips plump up whenever you do.”
“Maybe I have a new lipstick,” I murmur.
“Then I'll kiss it off.”
“Here?” I ask, a hint of alarm in my voice.
He shakes his head. “No, Amy, not here. When I kiss you—and I will kiss you—it's going to be so fucking hot it will blow the non-fraternization clause to smithereens. So I suggest we get out of here before I get us both sacked.”
I nip his finger before licking it softly with my tongue. His eyes blaze in response, and he retreats as if he's been burned.
I know I have, and I like the feeling much more than I should.
* * *
When we come to a stop outside Callum’s house I frown, glancing at him from the corner of my eyes. “I thought we were going to eat?”
“We are.” Callum pulls his key from the ignition before unbuckling his seatbelt. His movements are calm, collected. A contrast to the nerves that seem to be my constant companion. “I wasn't planning on starving you.”
“We're eating here?” I don't know why, but when he mentioned dinner and a talk, I pictured it happening in some dimly lit, expensive restaurant in the West End.
Not his house.
My question makes him smile. “That’s the plan. Is it a problem for you?”
I find myself backtracking. “Not at all, I just didn't know you could cook.” I unfasten my seatbelt. “You can cook can't you? You're not expecting me to whip something up or anything, because I have to tell you I can cremate water.”
It's a true fact. Neither Alex, Andie or I inherited my mum's cooking skills, in spite of her many attempts to teach us. We'd starve without microwave dinners and Mum’s Sunday roasts.
“No, Amy,” Callum says slowly. “I’m not going to ask you to cook for me. I'm thirty-three years old, I think I can manage to cook us some dinner.”
I don't tell him that cooking well isn't an age-related thing.
