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Like she was his.
It was a dangerous way to feel under any circumstance, but never more so than this one.
They piled their plates high with wings and nachos and sliders and he watched as she started to relax, letting her guard down enough to give as good as she got from the guys, challenging them with a laugh and a smile and making them laugh in return.
It was hard to reconcile the woman next to him with the one who’d struggled to walk again, and harder still to reconcile her with the icy lawyer who’d marched into MIS just to shake them up.
He was grateful for the noise and chaos. It allowed him to sit back and observe, gave him an excuse not to worry about conversation. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk to her — she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met — but any conversation between them was a minefield: the AG’s investigation into MIS, the fact that they were on opposite sides of the law, that he knew more about her than he’d let on, that she probably knew more about him too.
This was easier. Her entire face changed when she smiled, opening like the gates to a secret garden he was desperate to explore. She had a hearty laugh, easy to hear even over the music and conversation, and a quick wit, something that served her well as she volleyed banter back and forth with his teammates.
As the evening wore on and the beer pitchers emptied he became even more aware of her physicality. Her arms were hidden under long sleeves, but he had no doubt they were strong and toned, and the coverage of her black T-shirt did nothing to hide the fullness of her breasts. He wondered what kind of bra she wore, imagined pulling it aside to take one of her nipples in his mouth, then stifled a groan when his cock responded by hardening in his shorts.
Her legs were long and lean inside tight jeans, her feet braced against the support of her chair. He almost knew what it would feel like to stand and spread her legs, step between them until his cock was nestled against the heat of her center, look down at her as he took her face in his hands.
He tried to turn his attention back to the conversations at hand, but it was too late. His mind was already lost in lustful fantasy, and he realized Alexa had stopped talking, that her thigh was pressed against his under the table and that she made no move to pull away.
He looked over at her and saw that her chest was rising and falling, like she was having trouble catching her breath. Her face was flushed, her lips parted as if she was waiting for his kiss.
Maybe it was the beer, maybe he’d had more to drink than he realized, but he didn’t think so: the air between them was almost liquid with tension, everything moving around them in slow motion as the world narrowed to nothing but the two of them.
“Want to get out of here?” He didn’t think about the words that came out of his mouth. What he was doing was beyond thought, in the realm of impulse and a need so rabid it might be called desperation.
She only hesitated a second, her breath hitching in the pause. “Yes.”
He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.
14
One thought came to her as she led Nick up the stairs to her apartment: she wasn’t drunk. She wouldn’t be able to blame what happened next on something as cliche as one too many beers. On the contrary, as the night in the pub had worn on, her senses had heightened — where it came to Nick anyway.
His body was like a forcefield next to hers, an energy she could feel even when he wasn’t touching her. His scent was like a drug, working its way into her bloodstream, worming its way into her nervous system. Wet heat blossomed between her legs, an abyss of need opening at her core as she imagined him plunging into her.
She didn’t need a bed. She’d been half-prepared to take him to one of the bathrooms in the bar, to free his cock from his shorts, to let him cover her mouth with his as he drove into her, forcing away every one of her completely legitimate objections.
By the time he’d leaned in to speak, to suggest they leave — together — she was so far gone there was nothing to say but yes.
She’d left her car behind with barely a thought, sliding into the passenger seat of Nick’s BMW as easily as if she’d done it a million times before. She was aware of making the decision intentionally: she didn’t want time alone in her own car to rethink her decision to go to bed with him, didn’t want to undo the decision she’d already made.
She’d given him her address and they’d driven into the city in silence. She could almost smell sex in the car, pheromones released by their animal need even before they’d consummated their desire. By the time they’d arrived outside her building, she’d been taken over by the lust roaring through her body.
She removed her keys from her bag with shaking hands. There had been no discussion about where they would go, but she knew enough about Nick’s living situation to know they couldn’t go back to the Murphy house.
Still, as she opened the door to her apartment she had her only flash of regret. Her home was so personal, such an intimate part of her life. She’d had men in her bed, although not many, but they’d been temporary, as disposable to her as she was to them.
She didn’t know what Nick was yet. It should have been an easy question to answer — what could she ever be to him, what could he be to her with what was between them? — but when they stepped into her living room, it felt anything but easy.
She threw her keys on the console table by the door. She expected him to check out the apartment, but his eyes were on her. There were only a few feet of space between them.
It didn’t feel like enough.
It felt like too much.
He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity before he finally moved toward her.
She could hardly breathe as he closed the distance, could hardly keep from shaking. He stopped less than a foot away and she closed her eyes, not trusting herself not to reach for him, not to fall into his arms without a word.
There was no denying that she wanted him, but now that they were alone, she couldn’t bring herself to make the first move. It was more than the obviously problematic nature of what they were about to do. That part was a big deal, but it paled in comparison to her desire for him, to the strength of her need.
