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Great idea, asshole.
Now I’m doing everything not to stare at the smooth length of her neck, trying to forget the way her pulse quickened under my touch. The way she melted into me.
And she’s trying not to notice the way I’m fucking failing.
When we get back to the building, I help her out of the car and walk her through the lobby to the elevator. We ride up to our floor and the apartment I’ve always used as a retreat but now offers no escape.
“You want a water?” She reaches to the overhead cabinet for a glass.
Even the lower shelves are a stretch for her.
“Let me get that.” I step in, resting a hand at her hip as I reach over her. Only I’m not thinking about the way I’ve moved into her space until our bodies have overlapped and all the soft and womanly and warm I’ve been trying to shake from my awareness is right there.
The contact makes me suck a breath through my nose.
Mistake.
Because the air is infused with her. I can smell her in the shower, naked with suds slipping over her dips and curves. I can smell her getting dressed, dragging the stopper of her perfume over her pulse points. Behind her ears. Between her breasts.
I can smell her skin in the morning and that addictive scent that’s just her.
She turns, looking over her shoulder to where I’m watching her. And damn, those eyes. They’re vulnerable and questioning. Searching in a way I know better than to allow.
Retrieving the glass, I fill it from the tap and hand it off to her before retreating to the closet we share for appearances.
I yank my tie loose and shoulder out of my jacket. Toss it aside to start on my cuffs with jerky motions.
I feel her behind me before I see her reflection. Those questioning eyes meeting mine in the mirrored wall before I break the contact, focusing on the buttons of my shirt like it’s my first time using them.
“Ignore me. I'm having a hard time putting the lid back on the box tonight. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
She nods, coming in the rest of the way, a wry smile on her lips. “The cost of all that quality kissing.”
Without turning around, she stops in front of me and gathers her hair over one shoulder. “Help?”
The last thing I need is to get my hands on her delicate shoulders. But it’s not like a single stubborn clasp is going to make this any worse.
I need to get a grip. Get through the rest of tonight and start with a clean slate tomorrow.
Simple.
Except that once I make contact with the smooth skin at the back of her neck and free that tiny button and hook, my fingers take on a fucking mind of their own. Smoothing over her shoulders and slipping beneath the wide straps of her dress.
Her breath catches and, Christ, I know I need to let her go. Turn around and get out of here. But instead, I let my head drop forward so my mouth brushes the top of her pretty ear.
“Remind me of all the reasons why we decided this was a bad idea.”
I need her to tell me to stop. To remind me that at leastshehasn’t forgotten why this is a mistake.
But that’s not what she’s doing. She’s tilting her head, giving me more of her neck, and I can’t resist running my jaw over that perfect slope.
My knuckles skate down her bare arms, my fingers tangling with hers.
She takes an unsteady breath. “We didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about what this is or where it’s going.”
Because it can’t go anywhere real. We care about and respect each other, but I don’t want a real marriage. And if she ever decides she does, she deserves better than me.
I pick up the thread. “Too easy to let emotions get tangled up when things get physical.”
