AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Everything was tied together, and the more time he spent with Tilda, the more she dazzled him. She assassinated items on the project’s to-do list like an Australian ninja, shining at whatever task she picked up. Sometimes it was dizzying when she really got going, but that’s why he’d fought for her to stay.
He needed her. Or rather, Flying Squirrel needed her. But they were slowly becoming one and the same. And, near the end of the week, he started to question whether it hadn’t always been that way.
On Friday, she emerged from her bedroom with chunky strands of hair falling to her temples on each side. Deliberately. He smiled and met her in the hall, as had become their habit. One he would never have said would become so entrenched in his routine so fast. But he enjoyed riding to work with her and then riding home again afterward as they recapped the day. So far, they’d eaten dinner together every night, too.
“That might be the sexiest hairstyle I’ve seen on you yet,” he murmured, then he indulged himself by first holding his hand up as a notice that he was about to touch her, and then doing it, sliding a finger along her jaw to turn her face to the side as he evaluated. “I like it when you experiment with ways to drive me mad.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” she volleyed back saucily. “Then you probably don’t want to know what color my underwear is.”
He groaned, which only made her laugh. She’d been experimenting with her flirting, too, and—not for the first time—it had taken a naughtier bent, which he fully deserved for creating this monster. “You’re so wrong. I absolutely want to know.”
She leaned into his touch, another jerky step forward in this dance. His reward for learning that he had to tread carefully with her.
“Ice-blue silk.”
“My favorite,” he murmured, his gaze tight on her as they stared at each other.
If she’d been any other woman, he’d have segued this serendipitous moment into a kiss, but he’d blown it twice now by getting too frisky too fast. And, of course, ice blue could be any number of shades, and he’d be hard-pressed to not slip a few buttons free as he kissed her so he could see this color for himself. Which was probably a bad idea.
This was a delicate balance of push and pull, and when she stepped back, letting his hand drop from her face, he knew he’d made the right call. Biting back his disappointment, he let her go ahead of him down the stairs and spent the day imagining the hell out of Tilda spread out on his desk in her ice-blue bra and panties.
To say that the day ended up a waste of time on his part was an understatement. Tilda did all the work while his brain stayed stuck in her cleavage. Which he could not actually see.
Clinical insanity might be a blessing at this point.
Things did not improve at dinner as Tilda launched into a discussion about a study she’d read in a trade publication about energy drinks and their positive effects on college students’ ability to concentrate. Animated, Tilda talked with her hands, and every time she gestured, the collar of her shirt wrinkled an iota. His gaze strayed to it over and over, but like all his other frustrations, nothing good popped out.
Interrupting the one-sided conversation, which she seemed not to notice he’d yet to participate in, he put his fork down. “Tilda.”
She paused midstream, mouth open. “I’m talking too much.”
“You’re not talking enough,” he corrected. “About the right subjects. Why did you tell me about the color of your underwear earlier? Just so we can be clear. Was it strictly to drive me over the edge or were you inviting me to see it? Because I don’t want to upset you, but I don’t want to miss a signal, either.”
She blinked and blinked again. “I…didn’t have an agenda.”
“The hell you didn’t.”
He reeled back his temper, which, rationally, he knew was only due to old-fashioned sexual frustration. But naming the source didn’t ease it any. Only a good long session between his wife’s thighs would take care of that, and at this point, he wasn’t particular about the nature of the activity, only that he was about to bust something inside if they didn’t move past this nebulous in-between place where they’d gotten stuck.
“Warren, I—” She rubbed at her temples. “I don’t know either. I like flirting with you. I think about letting you see my underwear all the time.”
“Really?” That piqued his interest in a big way. “Like you wish I’d burst in on you as you’re undressing again? Because that can be arranged.”
He’d clear his schedule for a week straight. All he needed was a green light.
