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“No, but I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable. Your job will never be in jeopardy because of how I—”
He breaks off abruptly, and I scoot to face him, completely uninterested in the view at this point. Not when Cash is sitting beside me, on the cusp of admitting his feelings for me. I’ve known it since that night on the plane, just as I’m sure he’s known how I feel, but we’ve never come right out and said it.
We’ve tiptoed around it, but we’ve never voiced the forbidden.
I study his expression, cataloging the resolute furrow of his brows and the unwavering line of his mouth. And that’s where I falter. That’s where I allow myself to wish he’d bring his tempting mouth down on mine.
Obviously, he has no intention of going there.
“Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Jules?” His voice is a soft caress to my senses, and I find myself nodding.
Agreeing even though every fiber of my being revolts at the truth behind his words.
He’s married. I’m his employee. And that’s that.
“I understand,” I say, tingling under the steel of his gaze. Everything we’re not saying flows between us as the last leg of the ride passes. The gondola comes to a stop, and we finally break eye contact.
He falls into step beside me after we exit, and we head back toward Pike Place amid the flow of foot traffic and the constant swoosh of cars on the freeway overhead. A few minutes later, we stall on the brick road in front of the market.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Is your place close by?”
Chewing on my lip, I nod.
“I’d walk you home, but…”
“It’s okay,” I say, shuffling my feet like a fool. “You’re my boss, so…”
Something about my words seems to bother him, because he takes a step toward me, brows furrowing. “I’d like to think we’re friends.”
“Me too.” No matter how impossible that notion seems.
Friends or not, allowing him to walk me to my apartment is out of the question. It doesn’t have to be spoken by either of us; we both know if he walks me home we’ll be tempted to end our time together in my bed.
“Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun.” I want to ask if I’ll see him again next Saturday, but I bite back the question.
“Me too.” He runs a hand through his hair, and my attention is drawn to those long, lethal fingers. God, how his touch would set me on fire. My resolve to do the right thing would disintegrate so easily.
“I’ll see you Monday at work,” I say, slowly backing away. Thirsting for an escape from my own desires.
“See you Monday,” he says with a nod.
Somehow, we manage to turn at the same time and walk away from each other, and I wonder if it was as difficult for him as it was for me.
