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I would protest but that’ll be six months of rent, six months of breathing space. Plus, from his resolute tone, I doubt much I say will make a difference.
“Thank you.”
“Are you… staying here for a while? With Carrie?” he asks.
“She said I could, but… I don’t think so. I’m gonna go home tomorrow.”
“Look, Indie, I know things got weird today—”
“It wasn’t weird,” I reply quickly.
“I’m… I was your boss. It was an abuse of power. It shouldn’t have happened.”
His words irritate me because at that moment, I’ve never wanted anything more.
“Well, you’re not my boss anymore.”
“No…” He takes a step towards me, his figure dark, sheathed in a black T-shirt and loose black pants.
As he closes the gap, I realize that my arousal reignites the second he comes near me, just as ferociously as before.
Except after breaking things off with Kohl and the guilt I feel over that, this suddenly feels wrong…
“What is it that you want from me, Indigo?”
“Way to put the onus on me,” I bite back.
“I know you feel what I feel,” he replies.
“And what is that?”
He leans into me, his mammoth frame blocking out everything else. “This heat. Do you feel it?”
Feel it?
I can practically feel nothing else…
As I nod, caught in the warmth of his body, the sound of a loud click coming from near the elevators resounds through this floor. We both hear it, turning at the same time, waiting for someone to appear… only no one does.
He looks at me before walking in his bare feet down the corridor. I follow a few feet behind, my heart racing as I hear the chime of the elevator and then the doors rattling closed.
Grey’s steps quicken and he rounds the corner just as I hear the elevator doors close. By the time I make it around, he’s pressing the button hard, but the thing has left.
My appearance catches his eye. “Indie, go back.”
“Was someone there?”
“No. I… I don’t know.”
“It was probably nothing,” I say, turning to go back to Carrie’s apartment, aware she’ll be arriving within the hour.
Grey comes to stand before the door. “I can give you what you want,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “If you tell me…”
“Whatcan’tyou give me?” I ask, making his countenance soften.
Our gazes dance a slow dance, sometimes wandering to the lips of the other, sometimes to the neck, to the cheeks, to the eyes.
“I’m not relationship material, Indigo. I can’t offer you that.”
