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“I’ll gather the reports you need,” she says, turning to walk away like we didn’t just have this intimate conversation. How can she be so hot and then cold? I’ve never seen another woman flip a switch so quickly. Before I comprehend what I’m doing, I step away from my desk and catch her in the doorway. I rest my hand on her shoulder and skim my lips across her neck.
“Thiswillhappen,” I murmur. A shudder passes through her, and then she pulls away and walks from the office without responding.
I sit back down, my tailored trousers way too tight, my erection throbbing. Still, I feel somewhat satisfied. I can’t wait for the next round of this epic war the two of us are waging.
A few minutes later I realize she managed to distract me from finding out what her phone call was about. Dammit! I’ll let her keep her little secret from me for now. In the end I’ll learn exactly what’s going on in her life. Then, whether she wants me to or not, Iwillhelp.
Chapter Eleven
McKenzie
After finishing the last of my work for the day, I hurry to clean up my desk. It’s nearing six thirty and I don’t want to miss my dinner date with Jewell. It’s the best part of my life lately. I collect my coat and purse, then waver on telling Byron I’m leaving. It’s well past quitting time so I don’t need permission, but as only the two of us are left on the floor, it would be polite to let him know I’m heading out.
The choice is taken from me when he steps through the open doorway, his coat hanging from his fingers. We haven’t spoken since the kiss, not even to go over the Boise papers. Maybe we can both forget about it... but probably not.
“It’s late, and I’m starved,” he says, blocking my exit. “Why don’t we get something to eat and finish the discussion we began earlier?”
There’s no way I’m going to get back intothatdiscussion. We’ll fight, he’ll kiss me, and I’ll fall into his bed. I’m not a stupid woman, and I know the way this is going to end if I’m not very,verycareful with what I do and say around him over the next couple of weeks.
“We finished that discussion,” I tell him as sweetly as possible.
“Not to my satisfaction,” he counters and doesn’t budge an inch from the doorway.
“Sorry, boss.” I have to remind him of his position and mine before continuing. “I have dinner plans. Maybe some other time.” I scoot a few steps toward the door, hoping he’ll move out of the way. He doesn’t.
“What are your plans?” The tone of his voice doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does, and if I was a stupid woman, I might think he’s jealous. But that’s absurd. He might want to bed me, but he has no feelings for me — no good ones, anyway — and he certainly doesn’t feel anything strong enough to cause jealousy. Still, I don’t want to push him — not with the way he’s been acting. And not with the weakness I seem to suffer in his presence. I’ll surely lose any fight we get into.
“I’m going out with Jewell,” I tell him, and the sharp look in his eyes fades.Hmm. Interesting.
“Where’s Blake?” he asks, though I’m sure he knows. Then again, maybe he doesn’t.
“This is a ritual for us,” I say. “We meet up at least twice a month unless a natural disaster occurs. So Blake uses it as an excuse to have a boys’ night, or do whatever it is men do when their wives aren’t home.”
“A boys’ night?” he asks before his lips turn up. “Please tell me what a boys’ night consists of.”
“I don’t know. I just saidsomething. I have no idea what he does when we have our dinners. I know he doesn’t complain about it because he’s not over-the-top possessive.”
“Invite me to join you.”
“What?” Did I hear him correctly?
“It’s rude to make someone repeat themselves, McKenzie.”
“You’re callingmerude?” I gasp. “You tried to invite yourself along to a girls’ night out.”
“I didn’t call you rude; I told you it was rude to make someone say something more than once, which you’re making me do again.”
“Ugh.” I throw up my hands in frustration. “I’m leaving now.” I’m finally brave enough to walk up to him and brush past. He steps back and our gazes collide as I move around him. There’s something in his eyes I can’t comprehend . . . almost like he’s genuinely hurt. What the actual hell?
A shiver wracks my body when I turn away and begin walking toward the elevators. His devilish eyes, rock-solid body, and kiss-me lips have my stomach churning, and it would be disastrous for me to remain in his presence for too long. Why do I feel bad about walking away? Insanity is my only guess. I have nothing to feel guilty about.
He isn’t disappointed not to be going out with me. He simply wants to interrogate me — that’s all. If Byron wants a dinner companion, he can open his little black book and find a thousand women to go out with him. That’s a gross understatement. A man like him has to have a million dates on call.
The elevator door is almost closed when a hand stops it. I tense all over again. The doors open, and Byron steps inside. When they close again, I suddenly feel incredibly claustrophobic.
When I think the silence can’t get any louder, Byron speaks, and I focus on the steel doors in front of me. “I’m going to the Boise offices next week. I need you to be there.”
Every instinct in my body tells me I have to get out of this. “I already gave you all of the information you need for the trip. My presence isn’t necessary.”
