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As I got closer, I could hear Magda whispering on the phone. “No, I’m sure he didn’t see us at breakfast,” she said.
I froze in my steps. She had breakfast with someone? And I was sure that she wasn’t talking about me, but it sure as hell felt like it, something knotting up in my stomach.
“He doesn’t know,” she said. “So don’t bring it up.”
My blood started boiling. She was out having breakfast with Mark Windham while I was stressing out over her getting into the office. While I was worried about how she might feel if I broke off our physical relationship, she was out having a grand time with Mark.
Jealousy knotted my guts and anger rose to the surface of my skin. I felt hot all over and like I was going to start shaking, I was so mad. I shouldn’t be. She had the right to do whatever she wanted, this had never been exclusive, and I was about to break it off anyway, but I couldn’t help the way I felt.
I could wait, listen more, but when I pushed the door of her office wide, she paled and immediately hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” I demanded to know. It was like my brain had shut off, like there was nothing inside me but instinct and anger.
“Nobody,” she said quickly, moving things around on her desk while I closed her door and shut her blinds. She frowned at me. “What are you doing?”
I shrugged. “Just giving us some privacy.”
Magda licked her lips and I wanted to kiss her, mark her, claim her. And I wished I had left the blinds open so Mark fucking Windham could see it.
“What do we need privacy for? Did you find out something bad about the Martinez case?”
I shook my head, putting my hands in my pockets and taking steps toward her. She was standing in front of her desk, looking at me.
“Roarke,” she said, sounding exasperated. “We can’t do this here.”
“Do what?” I murmured, as if I was walking toward her with no intent but to talk to her. I didn’t lean down and kiss her, not yet. I put one hand on her hip and she took in a breath but didn’t push me away.
“You know what,” she said in a low tone, looking up at me from underneath dark, long lashes. I knew for a fact they were natural because I’d watched her sleeping in my bed, seeing them fanned across her cheeks.
I kept eye contact with her as I slid my fingers across the waistband of her slacks. They were high-waisted and looked great on her. I pushed my hand beneath the waistband, down to her sex, which was hot underneath my hand before I ever spread her lips with my thumb.
“Didn’t have time to put on panties this morning?” I asked in a low timbre.
“Left them at your place,” Magda said throatily. “Thought you might like a souvenir.”
Lust rushed through me, almost replacing the jealousy and anger, but not quite. I still wanted to claim her, wanted to make her mine. I knew that was a dangerous thought. I knew that it meant something was happening to me, that I was developing feelings for her. I was only ever truly jealous when I really cared about a woman, and I felt like I was on fire with it.
“I didn’t get you anything in return,” I said, and slipped my fingers over her clit.
Magda’s back arched, her hands grasping for purchase on the desk as she rocked her hips toward my hand. She was already so slick that it was hard to keep my fingers on the right spot.
When I slid my fingers down and into her, she breathed out my name.
“Roarke,” she sighed. “Roarke, that feels so good.”
I knew that soon she would want more, and I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to put her up on her desk and press myself inside her, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.
“So, you went out to breakfast,” I said, and her eyes popped open.
She looked guilty as sin, and I swallowed around the rock in my throat. There was no reason for her to feel guilty, but I hated the way it felt to think of her spending the night with me and going to breakfast with someone else.
“You were eavesdropping,” she accused, but she kept rocking her hips against my hand to get me deeper.
“Maybe,” I muttered, “I just don’t like the idea of you leaving my bed to see someone else.”
Her face changed, anger flashing in her bright blue eyes. “You left me first.”
She was right. I’d walked out first, leaving her only with a random note. But it seemed different to me, or at least the instinctual, caveman-possessive part of my brain.
