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He doesn’t blink as our gazes lock, and time seems to stand still. I need to look away, but I just can’t break from this man.
Charles Cavendish has his own gravitational pull, and I’m stuck in it.
Seconds pass, and I need to say something, but words feel heavy in my mouth.
He asked me something.Am I okay?
Coughing, I give my head a little shake, lifting the haze away.
That’s when I look down and see his hand touching mine. Our fingers both grip the material of my damp shirt.
We both drop the cotton at the same time.
He takes a step back. A loud, angry huff escapes his mouth, and the next thing I know, he starts to rummage through the cabinet directly beside him.
The racket he’s making could wake the dead, and a part of me dies of embarrassment at the fuss he’s making right now.
What the hell is he looking for?
Finally, the sound stops. He lifts up a towel, and I take it in my hand. Our fingers touch, and as they do, his jaw becomes tight. The utter mortification from the way he’s reacting to me is unbearable.
Will the world please swallow me whole?
“Thank you.”Blotting away the coffee, I move toward the other side of the room, needing distance from him.
My heart is hammering way too fast for my liking.
Continuing to clean myself, I notice that he hasn’t left the room. “Is there”—I stop my movements and lower my hand—“anything you need?”
He’s quiet for a moment. His rigid posture tells me he doesn’t like my presence right now.
“No.”
“Oh—okay.” I blink a few times, confused. “Did you want a coffee?” I mutter.
“No. I don’t drink that garbage. I... I went to your office to let you know I’ve pulled together a meeting for the top of the hour. Get yourself together and be there on time.”
Before I can say anything in response, he stalks off.
Who pissed in his cornflakes today?
Grabbing the half-empty mug off the counter, I take the last gulp.
If I have to sit through a meeting with that grumpy ass bastard, I need all the help I can get.
* * *
I arriveat the meeting exactly fifteen minutes later with a giant stain on my chest. I tried to cover it with a light scarf I had in my computer bag, but it’s still obvious I am a mess.
Sitting at the head of the conference table, the ever-irritable Mr. Cavendish holds court as I try to disappear into my seat.
The way he looked at me before still plays on a loop in my mind.
His warm hands on my shirt. The caring look in his eyes. As much as I try not to think of our connection, it just keeps coming back, day after day.
You’re in a meeting, Raven. Pay attention.
I need to get a grip. Narrowing my eyes, I try to keep focused.
