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He kissed her temple. “But what’s in here. The ziggurat of Zarley, I’ll never know what comes next, never find all the secrets, and I’ll never have enough of that.”
Don’t think about all the pretty things he says. Don’t think about the fact he means them. “My big bad boss is a huge flirt.”
He flicked her bra catch open. “Your boss has a huge urge to give you dictation.”
She smothered a laugh. “I take excellent dictation, sir.” She emphasized the take.
He laughed aloud, gripping her by the waist, lifting her and tossing her on her back on the sofa. He pulled her bra away, her panties. “You’ll take it, Miss. Halveston.”
“Take it till I get it perfect.”
His hand over her breast, eyes locked on. “Already perfect.”
The kiss she launched at him wasn’t perfect. It caught his lips on a smile, it grazed his cheekbone with her knuckles as she grabbed for his neck. All her confusion and longing, the game that hid her feelings, and need to pull away from him was in that kiss. When it centered on his mouth and opened into pure heated desire with licks of her tongue and the taste of him, she moaned in grief and ecstasy.
Her breath caught but so did his, the kiss breaking but merging again. Reid’s arm was under her back, his thigh braced beside her hip, securing her against him as if he knew the risk of losing her. With hands and lips she found the places on his body that gave him joy and was merciless in attacking them, using her body to tease and tempt and draw him on; losing the sense of cause and effect in the mad rush of sensation that rippled through both of them.
His fingers inside her were sweet relief but he had the touch of a torturer she’d never taught him and loved all the more. He bit her earlobe, used a well-placed thumb and other evil insanely good tricks to make her try to climb over his back to get away and dig into his skin to stay.
“Miss. Halveston, I want to hear you scream.”
Now the game was making him work for it, because he craved that, buzzed to know he could tear away her discipline and wreck her control. She’d begun to live for it; for the moment it was all blurred, the sharp and soft, the give and take, the part where she ended and he began, where they breathed through each other’s mouths and absorbed each other’s quakes. Where her scream was his doing and his shout was her triumph.
This time it wasn’t what he did but what he said that made release thunder through her body and rip free. Not her name. Not I love you. Nothing dirty or mindlessly erotic.
It tripped from him like shock. “You’re the beginning of me.”
She screamed.
Because loving him too much would be the end of her.
Eventually they made it to the bedroom, settled curled around each other. Reid fell fast and heavy, his arms going loose over her. Zarley didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to waste being with him sooner than she had to.
She whispered
the thoughts in her head to his sleeping form. I love you. It wasn’t meant to happen. You snuck under my guard. You’re not to sulk. Okay, maybe for a few days. But no drinking to excess and don’t forget to eat. I love you. Don’t miss me. You have everything you need to know. You don’t have to be alone.
He didn’t see the tears so she let them come and her eyes were full of grit when he woke her. It was early, he was dressed to go. He generally let her sleep.
“What’s wrong?” It seemed the right question and his answer was a threat.
He shook his head. “Wanted. Last night, you were.” He shook his head again as if his gears hadn’t meshed. “You were beautiful.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “Always are. Have a good day, Flygirl.”
She sat, reached for his face and rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. If she kissed his lips he’d read every distress she felt. She’d shift his suspicion to knowledge before she was ready to face that consequence. She kissed where her thumb had traced. “You too.”
At the bedroom door, he turned back, a half-smile, half-puzzled look on his face that he shook off with a wave and left.
It was early but she didn’t go back to sleep. She got up, showered, dressed, packed and sat at the dining table to write him all the things she couldn’t say before she left.
Dear Back Booth
I’m sorry to run out on you. I’m not usually a coward but this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Maybe in a few weeks I’ll be able to tell you face to face what I’m going to say here, but right now I’m afraid if I see you, I’d give in to you and in the end I’ll have learned to hate you.
I don’t ever want to do that.
I love you.
I know you love me.
