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I might also need the time to get my hormones in check, because I can't stop staring at his mouth. The way it ticks upward at the corner when he hears something he disagrees with but knows better than to verbalize. The way it twists into a scowl when he hears something he doesn't like—I get that one a lot, obviously. Its generous contours, not to mention the dimple that appears on the rare occasions when he smiles.
What would it be like...
No. Stop. Absolutely not.
But he did go out of his way to compliment my appearance tonight. And I can't pretend I didn't see the look in his eyes when he said it. I might have spent a lot of time being out of shape and generally unattractive thanks to having no clue how to manage my hair and no money to get Lasik, but I got my act together in college and men noticed the way men tend to do.
In other words, I've seen that look before. I know what it means.
And maybe it's because I'm a weak idiot, or maybe because I haven't gone on anything resembling a proper date in longer than I care to remember, but I found myself feeling giddy and fluttery inside. It took everything I had not to show it, and I think I did alright, but who knows?
“Really,” he continues, smiling my way, “I don't know what I would have done if it weren’t for Willow. She's kept me centered through all of this craziness—craziness of my own making,” he concludes with a self-deprecating grin which turns into a full-fledged, warm smile once he directs his gaze my way.
Is that my heart skipping a beat? The worst part is, I can't deflect the way I normally would with a snarky comment or a roll of my eyes since we're not alone. There's nothing to do but absorb that warmth and fight like hell to make sure it doesn't translate to heat in my core.
Whoops. Too late. As usual, my body’s determined to sabotage me. Pressing my thighs together does nothing to ease the throbbing that’s now beginning to distract me.
I wonder if he'll ask me back up to his office to celebrate a successful meeting, which this seems to be. I wonder if I should accept. Should I place that sort of temptation in my path? Because once we're alone, celebrating a win, it would be all too easy to let my guard down and let him do whatever he wants.
It's a fantasy, pure and simple. I don't even know if he would take that step. But in my imagination? Oh, yes. He takes that step. He takes a lot of steps, in fact.
He pushes me onto the leather couch and kisses his way up the insides of my thighs until he finally makes contact with my aching, throbbing bundle of nerves.
He parts my lips and drags his tongue through my wetness, while I moan his name and run my fingers through his thick, soft hair.
He strips every piece of clothing off me and explores my body with his hands, his lips, his tongue. All of that before he finally claims me with his—
It's the sharp clearing of his throat that snaps me back to reality. My cheeks are flushed, my pulse racing, and one furtive glance toward the man who lives at the center of my fantasies doesn't exactly help things.
Because there is something lurking in those dark depths that gives me a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what I was thinking about.
That's not possible. I have gone out of my way—I mean to the point where I'm practically twisting myself into a pretzel—to make sure he's clueless when it comes to this insane yearning I have for him. A yearning so intense I almost hate myself for it because I'm better than this. Aren't I? What's wrong with me that I'm practically creaming my panties over someone who destroyed my self-esteem and made me a laughingstock?
When he won't stop with that knowing look he insists on giving me, all I can do is narrow my eyes at him.
And the arrogant son of a bitch has the nerve to smile.
Once again, like everything else in his life, I'm making it way too easy for him. It's enough to make me wonder if he hasn't been deliberately getting under my skin all week. He obviously seems to enjoy knocking me off my game, watching me sputter and try to pull myself together if only for the sake of professionalism. What if some of the messages he was sending all week—the texts, the voice memos, the emails—weren't always serious? Have I let my guard down too much? Has he been flirting with me while I was too busy focused on work to pay attention?
I'm reading too much into this.
But there's no reading too much into that smile. That wicked, knowing smile.
It's a good thing this is going so well because my concentration has hit a wall. All I can think about is that mouth while picking at what's left of my salmon and vegetables. Occasionally, one of the men makes a joke, and I part my lips at the appropriate times.
Otherwise, all I can think about is whether I've made a big mistake in taking this job at all. I don't want him thinking there's anything more to our relationship than business.
I don't want myself thinking about it, either, but it seems like it's too late for me to do anything about that.
“Thank you, gentleman. Truly, it's been a pleasure spending time with you. And I'm glad we could come to an understanding.” Sawyer looks my way, maybe waiting for help or any additional niceties, but I'm too tongue-tied for any of that. All I can do is offer a handshake and a smile that I hope is professional and not pained or anxious.
And that leaves the two of us. Well, the two of us along with everybody else in the dining room. They're operating at roughly three-quarter capacity—not terrible, but not great, either. I notice the way Sawyer looks around, the worry lines that seem to magically appear over the bridge of his nose and across his forehead. “You've taken the first step,” I assure him in a soft voice. “You sweet talked most of the hardest nuts in town into brushing this off as a misunderstanding. It's going to get better from here.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” When he turns my way and meets my gaze, the most unfortunate thing happens. Suddenly, I can't breathe. He has stolen the breath from my lungs. I need to look away but I can't do that, either. There's a thin, invisible tether joining us, demanding I stay rooted to the spot, lost in him.
Code red. Code freaking red. I need to put some miles between us, and now. Otherwise, I could make a big mistake, the kind I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for.
Somehow in the midst of my growing panic, I manage to think clearly. I brought my bag down with me. I have everything I need.
