AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Butterflies swarmed my belly, but I kept my tone light. "I'd like that. But just so you know, I don't pull punches when it comes to my work."
Time stretched between us again, filled with unspoken words and simmering tension. Swallowing past the permanently-lodged lump in my throat, I walked him to the door.
He paused, then lifted his hand to cup my cheek and brush his thumb across my lower lip, the gesture gentle, yet surprisingly possessive, his expression inscrutable.
My eyes widened.
That simple touch was like a live wire, sending a jolt of awareness through me.
Watching his broad shoulders disappear through the door, I collapsed against the wall, my heart doing somersaults. My entire body vibrated with need and I couldn't deny the truth any longer––I still cared about Ryker.
Far more than was wise.
The question was, what the hell was I going to do about it?
CHAPTER7
Ryker
It’d beena couple weeks since Meg and I went out for a casual dinner, mostly to sit and pore over the promo shots for tonight's gala. The evening wound up being a mix of business with an undeniable undercurrent tension, a prelude to something neither of us was ready to label yet.
When my team sent out the photos for the event promo, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were just a glimpse of the chemistry we kept tiptoeing around.
It was a chemistry we’d always had, but I guess I was a little shocked it had reignited so strongly and suddenly between us. I thought I’d moved on from Meg a long, long time ago.
Now, the night of the Christmas gala finally arrived. I strode into the bustling resort venue feeling like a coil wound tight––eager to see Meg work her magic and nervous about how our newly rediscovered rapport might fare under the glare of this big event.
Spotting her across the ballroom, I felt a jolt of something fierce. She was in her element, issuing commands with a cool authority that was all Meg––no nonsense, yet undeniably magnetic. Her dark hair was a wild, tousled cascade, a few strands rebelliously framing her face, and when her eyes caught mine, that megawatt smile hit me like a shot of whiskey––strong, heady, potent as hell.
All my doubts evaporated in the heat of that look. It was the same one that had lingered in my mind since our dinner weeks ago. Tonight, I knew, was going to be a night I’d never forget.
As the evening unfolded, I couldn’t help but be captivated by Meg. She was a force, weaving through the crowd, coaxing genuine smiles out of the stiffest suits with her sharp wit. Her camera was an extension of her, catching fleeting moments that others would miss.
And damn, she was good at it.
While I stood at the podium, delivering my keynote speech, I was acutely aware of Meg's presence in the room. Her lens wasn't just trained on me; it roved with a life of its own, capturing the audience's reactions, the glint of chandeliers, the subtle interactions between guests. It was her ability to seize those unscripted, candid moments that truly impressed me.
The gala continued in a whirl of music, laughter, and clinking glasses. I found myself stealing glances at Meg throughout the night, watching her navigate the crowd with a photographer's keen eye. Each time our eyes met, a silent communication passed between us, a shared acknowledgment of the evening's success and all the feelings simmering just beneath the surface.
As the final guests trickled out and the resort's staff began to tidy up the remnants of the celebration, I went looking for her. She had her laptop open on a small table in a quiet corner of the now-dim ballroom, her eyes alight with excitement.
"Come see these,” she beckoned, her voice tinged with pride.
I approached, looking over her shoulder as she brought up the images from the night. The screen came alive with the story of the evening––laughter, thoughtful expressions, stolen moments. Each image was more than just a photograph; it was a narrative captured in time.
"These are beyond what I expected," I admitted, a roughness in my voice that betrayed my genuine respect for her talent. "You have a real gift for visual storytelling."
Meg’s cheeks colored, that familiar rebellion dancing in her eyes, mixed with satisfaction. "Helps when the subject isn’t just another boring executive," she shot back, but the softness in her voice took the edge off.
We spent the next while scrolling through the photos, discussing angles and moments, our conversation meandering from professional to personal. We soon reverted back to an easy camaraderie, laughing and dissecting the shots, volleying snarky jabs back and forth.
Though the night had dwindled to a quiet calm around us, in our little corner, something raw and real was brewing.
Unexpectedly, I found myself sharing my shelved dreams of art school, the path not taken. I expected a jab, a playful dig, but Meg was all ears, her gaze steady and curious.
Her empathy cracked something open in me. This Meg I was getting to know now was an elegant, sexy, complicated tapestry of strength and softness. She was a fascinating blend of strange woman and girl I used to know, and it wrecked my usual cool confidence to smithereens.
Whatever was happening between us, I found myself reluctant to leave. Spending time with Meg, in the warmth and light of her presence, made the thought of my empty house all the more stark and bleak.
