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Nodding, he turned and ruffled a hand over his thick hair with a heavy sigh.
I touched my bun, which I had wrapped too tight earlier that morning and was giving me a headache. Without a thought, I pulled it loose. I sighed and ran my fingers through the long strands, eyes closing.Somuch better. Why I still felt the need to look all professional when Micah showed up barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt most days, I didn’t know.
Dina hadn’t ever dressed up to work the office. Had never worn makeup, she’d told me when I’d asked. What was the point when we didn’t have clients on site and only the escorts or the two limo drivers ever crossed into my reception area? Was I still trying to impress a man who didn’t seem interested in a forbidden office romance?
An ache blossomed in my chest, and I sighed again when I should have been snorting at my fanciful mind.
Sandals and comfy clothes on Wednesday, I promised myself while opening my eyes to get back to work.
Micah stood in the doorway, two mugs in his hands. The heat in his eyes slammed into my chest, knocking that ache into oblivion. While I might not be too familiar with men, the stare he pierced me with couldn’t be misunderstood.
“What are you looking at?” I heard myself whisper.
“You let your hair down.” His voice dropped lower than usual with a rasp that made my nipples pebble.
The desire to flirt swept through me, heightening my pulse. He was my boss, but there was no denying the draw—or how easily his presence encouraged me to be honest. Open with my thoughts and desires. I wanted him to know me in every way possible.
Ask.
“Do you like it?” I whispered, my face hot and pulse thundering in my ears.
He stared at me, the war in his eyes obvious. A man of integrity, he would want to choose right rather than crossing the lines our roles in the office dictated. The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Yes,” he finally said, his voice quiet.
The clock on the wall ticked in my ears. I wanted to make a move but, being a chickenshit, couldn’t.
Too much of a gentleman—or perhaps out of concern for me—Micah didn’t either. He cleared his throat and handed me one of the coffees.
I eyed his fingertips cradling the mug.
Do it.
Swallowing hard, I reached for the handle, brushing my index finger against his. My breath caught as good old anxiety shot adrenaline through my system. Rather than squeezing tight, my lungs reacted, filling with a rush of oxygen instead.
Micah released his hold, and my hand shook, almost spilling the coffee. “Okay?” he asked, blue eyes warm and attentive while watching my reaction.
I made a noise of agreement. My heart galloped as I smiled at him. “Thank you.”
His sudden grin caused my stomach to swoop. “You’re welcome.” With a wink, he disappeared into his office.
Blowing out a slow exhale, I sat back in my chair, cradling the mug he’d held in his hands. Steam rose to my nose, and I closed my eyes, inhaling until my chest threatened to burst.
I’d touched him without losing my shit.
It took a few seconds for my smile to ease enough that I could take a sip.
Chapter7
Micah
Iwanted to cross lines so fucking badly.
She’d touched my hand on Monday, intentionally. Her lungs had gasped for air but in the kind of way that suggested instantaneous arousal rather than anxiety. I’d hightailed it to my office before I suggested she do it again.
Sitting with her at lunch on Wednesday, I watched her eat. Her lips open and close. Her tongue flit out to catch a droplet of soft drink that leaked from her straw.
A constant semi filled my jeans whenever I was in her presence, and I imagined taking her in every which way, in every room of my house. I spilled more spunk than I had in my teenage years.
But I didn’t touch her. Didn’t initiate.
