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Not touching—or notreallytouching. See HR? He was a good boy.
“Why do I have the urge to punish you?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Her hair was like silk. He wanted it trailing over his naked skin again.
A tap to his lips. “You look mischievous.”
“Well,” he said, “now I’m thinking of how to punishyou, sweetheart. So thanks for that.”
She smirked.
“Previously,” he went on. “I was thinking about how respectful we were being with our not touching and being deferential to HR’s requests.”
A brow lifted. “Except for when you touched me?”
“That was just your hair.” He smirked. “Youtouched my lips, so it’s your fault.”
She tilted her head to the side, that silky hair of hers brushing her shoulders. “That’swhat you’re going with?”
He shrugged. “Yup.”
“And how do you think HR would respond to that?”
He inched closer. “They’d probably say it was better than me kissing you in the middle of the floor.”
She sucked in a breath, eyes going warm. “No arguing that.”
“So”—he gave into the urge and crept even closer, just one step, just so he could smell her shampoo, could see the unusual flecks of amber in her eyes—“are we going back to your place or mine?”
Laughter in those eyes. Then in the air. “My beautiful girl,” he murmured.
Her laughter cut off and then she was reaching out, squeezing his hand. “I’m so glad I got my shit together.”
“Me too.” He tugged her ponytail again. “Mostly because we both got to see how beautiful you are inside.”
Now her breath caught again, was accompanied by eyes that went damp. “Thank you.”
“For what, sweetheart?”
“For a multitude of things,” she whispered. “Saving my life, and taking care of me after, even though I was a total bitch.”
“Raven—”
“Andfor accepting my apology,” she added. “And listening to my explanation for why I’d acted like a psycho bitch. Giving me a chance and the space to figure out me and helping along the way. And most especially when I was panicked aboutnapkins.”
“Sweetheart.”
“And for taking the time to understand, even though you really shouldn’t have. Being kind and respectful when I wasn’t. Building my confidence when I didn’t deserve it.”
“Baby.”
“Oh. And the orgasms. And the puffed rice mix you stopped by Frankie’s to pick up for me when I mentioned I was out. And worrying about me late at night. Collecting cardboard. Talking to HR with me even though we’ve barely begun, and it was probably way too early and overkill and—”
“Baby.”
“And,” she said softly, “for accepting me. Joking with me. Smiling at me.” Her hand found his, squeezed lightly. “But most of all, for just being you.”
“Fuck, Raven,” he snapped.
