Page 11 of Does He Know?

“Thank you, Roman,” she says, using my full name.

I nod and avert my gaze back to my sketch. Hopefully, my client will be here before she gets back, and I can get lost in my work. I try like hell to block out everything but the task at hand. It’s working until Maddox knocks on my door.

“Hey,” he says, sticking his head inside. “I’m manning the phones while Em’s off getting lunch. Your client is running twenty minutes behind. You don’t have anything after on the books.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He nods and disappears to relay the message to my client. George is a longtime client of mine. He’s an attorney by trade, but beneath his suits, he’s covered in ink. We’re doing a tribute piece to his grandma, who just passed away. She was ninety-nine. So, we’re going to put her face in the center of one nine and her name, date of birth, and date of death in the center of the other. It’s definitely unique, and portraits are always fun to do. I love to see my clients’ faces light up when they see an exact drawing of their loved ones forever inked onto their skin.

One final adjustment and the design is ready. I’m sure George is going to love it. He already saw the preliminary when he stopped in a few weeks ago. I needed to measure the open area he had available on his lower back to make sure the design would fit.

Standing, I stretch out my sore muscles, knowing I’m going to be hunched over the chair for a good four to six hours, depending on how it goes. Not that I’m complaining. I love this job. Not one day has ever actually felt like work.

The chime over the door sounds, and from the commotion and chatter, it sounds like Emerson is back with lunch. I should go out there, but I stay in my room, pretending to be straightening up when there is nothing that needs to be straightened. We run a tight ship as far as cleanliness and organization go. This is our brand, our image, and the guys and me, we take that seriously.

“I’m back,” her sweet voice says. I turn to face her as she steps into the room. “You said to get whatever, so I got you a mushroom hoagie with pickle and onion and french fries.” She places the food on my desk, the one that’s far away from my drafting table. “I hope that’s still your favorite.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“Oh, I got you a sweet tea as well. Be right back.” She rushes out of the room and comes back with a bottle of sweet tea and a handful of napkins. She places them next to my food.

I should wait until she leaves, but I’m starving for her and for nutrients, and I have a client on his way. I need to eat quickly. So instead of doing what I know I should do, I take a step toward her. She makes no effort to leave as her pretty eyes follow my every move.

Her hair has fallen into her eyes, but she doesn’t move to fix it, and I can’t stop my hand from reaching out and tucking the silky strands behind her ear. My index finger lingers as I trace her soft cheek.

Fuck me, how is her skin so damn soft?

“Thanks for lunch.” My voice is low and does nothing to hide what she does to me.

I watch her throat as she swallows hard. “You’re welcome.”

I take another step, bringing us closer together. She licks her lips, and I can’t help but wonder what they taste like. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from leaning in and finding out.

“Is it still one of your favorites?” There’s something in her voice, something that sounds an awful lot like hope.

“Yeah, baby girl, it’s still one of my favorites,” I assure her.

She nods, and I lean in, bending my head, bringing us closer together. I want to taste her more than I want my next breath. My voice of reason is gone. It has a tendency to do that when she’s this close. I don’t think about what’s right and what’s wrong. All I can think about is how badly I want her.

The door chimes, and it’s like a bucket of cold water. Standing to my full height, I take a small step back. I take another and another until I’m backed up against my table. Emerson still stands there, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath she pulls into her lungs. She’s just as affected as I am, yet neither one of us are willing to talk about it.

I have to stop this.

I have to get this desire I have for her under control.

“You should go,” I tell her. Her face drops, and I can see the sadness wash over her before she schools her features. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some cash. “Keep the change,” I tell her. I just need her to go. I need to calm the fuck down and get my cock under control so that I can do my damn job.

Her mask is firmly back in place. She appears to be unaffected. My cock is rock hard, and there is no hiding what she does to me, but I bet if I were to slide my hands inside her panties, she’d be dripping for me.

Fuck.

Do not think about her wet pussy.

“I’ll send your client in,” she says, her voice void of emotion.

“No,” I snap. I gentle my voice. “Give me ten. I’ll come out and get him.” I didn’t mean to snap at her, but fuck me. No one needs to see me like this.

Emerson nods and turns, leaving me alone in my room. Closing my eyes, I will my cock to deflate. Once I have myself somewhat under control, I scarf down my lunch and go get my client.

ChapterFour

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