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“Fuck,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
I vowed to get her beneath me because it was going to be so good. Explosive. If I felt like this just thinking of her, having her might just kill me.
I shut off the water, sighed. Stepped out and grabbed a towel.
I was an asshole. I was an old man in comparison to her. Her boss. Hell, worse than that. I owned the fucking company. And I kissed her. In the office. No, that hadn’t been kissing. If she hadn’t stopped me, I’d have had her jeans dangling from one ankle and my dick so deep inside her she’d be squirming because it would be too much for her to take.
I had zero control with her. Why her? Why did she have to be so fucking young? I didn’t understand how she made me this insane. Because that was the only explanation for how I was feeling.
She was clumsy and a touch awkward, which was endearing. She was also the victim of a–from what I could tell–a serial harasser for boss. Clearly, she hadn’t felt able to defend herself or felt she had a resource for help. The fact that she thought I would use her sex quiz as leverage over her made me wonder if Jimenez was the only asshole in her life. If she’d dealt with other men like him, like my dad.
That last thought had me feeling ruthlessly protective of her. It wasn’t because it was my responsibility as business owner to foster an environment of safety for all employees. She was young. A tiny thing. I wanted to hold her and listen to the list of men who fucked her over, then take that list and go beat the shit out of them. I wanted to do it because I knew the kind of man who did this shit and I refused to be like him.
I wanted to solve all her problems. Shoulder all her worries and fears because I was big enough to handle all of them.
Jason Jimenez, the fucker, was gone. I solved one of them.
And that quiz? It was, no doubt, meant to be silly and fun, like her friend Mallory. But for Bridget, it really was grounds for firing as she said. It also revealed her naughtiest thoughts which made my dick stir all over again.
She was exposed. Unprotected and with no safety net. How my father maintained his control. He made women vulnerable. Didn’t give them a way out that offered them any kind of respect.
I had to give her one. I was the only person who could ease her mind. Let her know she was safe with me. In her job, with her secrets and with her heart.
Yeah, that too. Because I was somehow falling for this woman. Age be damned.
The James Inn wasn’t the only thing I had to work on here.
I realized just how to start fixing this mess as I left the steamy bathroom and traded the towel for boxers.
My cell pinged. I picked it up from the charger on the bedside table and read the text.
* * *
Farrah - Call me.
* * *
I sighed. Not happening now. It was the second one from her today. She was my friend, but she’d have to wait. I had a different woman I had to tackle first.
Grabbing my laptop, I got to work.
12
BRIDGET
* * *
I reached into the dryer and pulled out a shirt, folded it and added it to the pile in my laundry basket. Lindy came in as I reached inside to grab the small pile of undies and socks that were left.
“Did you make a second pot of coffee?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe. She was in a pink nightie that skimmed her knees and matched her toenail polish. It had delicate lace edging around the neckline. Where I wore an old t-shirt to bed, Lindy wore actual bed things. Since she was a girlie-girl, that meant nighties. No sleep shorts. No pajamas. Short ones in summer, long ones in winter.
If there were two women any more opposite, it was me and my older sister. I had dark hair and green eyes like our father. She was blonde and blue eyed like our mother. I was small everywhere, she was tall and curvy. She was a perfectionist. I was… not. Even on a Saturday morning and having just rolled out of bed, she looked perfect. Her hair wasn’t even messed up from her pillow because it was long and sleek and yeah, perfect.
She was always perfect. Because I was considered ridiculously smart, everyone imagined me to be perfect, too. Except that was such a bunch of shit. I was always a mess. The day before was a realistic indicator of how my life went.
I was in my running shorts and tank top, my sports bra straps showing. On my feet were my older sneakers, worn out from pounding the pavement around Hunter Valley. My hair was in a sloppy ponytail and my skin was sticky with dried sweat.
I’d already had my morning iced coffee, run six miles and started a second pot all before Lindy woke up. It wasn’t that she slept late, but that I hadn’t.
