"I'm always happy."
He shakes his head. "You're always amusing yourself. But this is different. Like… no… that's not possible."
"No?" I hoist myself onto the counter. Tap my feet together. "Go on."
"Nah. I must be imagining shit."
"Yours is vivid."
His smile gets dreamy. He looks out the windows, taking in the blue sky and the ocean view.
He sighs that I'm thinking about Leighton sigh.
At first it was sweet. It was nice not seeing him a miserable shell of himself.
Then I got sick of the swooning.
But now…
Fuck, it's like I want to hug him or something. Don't get me wrong. I always want to hug Ryan. My older brother is squeamish about affection from anyone but Leighton. Hugging him is fucking with him.
And fucking with people is my favorite pastime.
Damn. I'm losing track of my point. It's Chloe. My brain keeps going back to her. The way her lips part with her groan. The way her back arches. The way she pulses around me.
But my brain doesn't stop at sex.
Her smile, her laugh, the trust in her eyes, the soft murmur as she falls asleep, the way her fingers curl into my skin when she's nervous—it's all bouncing around my brain.
"Fuck. That is it." Ryan drops his pen. "You're into someone."
"Get real."
"Wish I could." Incredulity streaks his expression. "How the fuck did this happen?"
I offer him my best coy shrug.
"Dean. Don't fucking tell me—"
"Wasn't gonna tell you."
"Don't tell me it's Chloe."
"Wasn't gonna tell you," I repeat.
His brow furrows. "Fuck. Seriously?"
Am I really this easy to read? "Don't know what you're talking about."
Right on cue, the bell rings. Chloe's footsteps move toward the counter.
Ryan's gaze flits from her to me. Then back to her. "Are you fucking Dean?"
Her cheeks flush. She stops dead in her tracks. Deer in headlights.
Busted.
Ryan shakes his head. "Ask you to do one thing."
"It's not like that." The earnest tone of my voice burns my ears. This is fucking weird. "It's serious."
"You're serious?" Surprise creeps into his voice. He looks to Chloe for some help, but she's still deer in headlights.
Slowly, she nods. "It is."
"Shit, really?" Ryan runs a hand through his wavy hair. "You two ever planning on telling the rest of us?"
"Not really, no," I say.
"With all due respect, Ryan—and I have a lot of respect for you—I'm not sure how it's any of your business," Chloe says.
Ryan chuckles. "You've been working here how long?"
"Three weeks," she says.
"You really think anything stays secret here?" he asks.
She laughs. "No. But… Um… you're not going to try to fire me or something?"
"No." His brow screws. "But… Not sure it's cool for you to stay Dean's apprentice."
"We'll work it out. Draw strict lines. Compartmentalize. Promise." Vulnerability fills her eyes. She can't lose this job. She'll die if she loses this job.
Ryan shoots me a concerned look. "Can you do that?"
"Yeah. No problem." Huge problem.
But I will figure it out.
Somehow.
Ryan stays at the counter, coffee in his hand, eyes on us, until his client arrives. He shoots me a don't fuck this up look as he moves to his suite.
I should borrow some of his caution—there are way too many ways this could go up in flames—but I can't seem to find any. My heart is too full. My body is too warm. My soul…
Fuck, this cheesy shit isn't me.
Even if I can't bring myself to care at the moment.
I take Chloe's hand and lead her to the office. Nerves fill her eyes as she looks back to Ryan, but he's not paying attention to us. He's already enraptured in his work.
"You think he's serious about the whole we shouldn't work together thing?" She presses her back against the door, shutting it.
"It's Ryan."
"Right. He's always serious." She digs her index finger into the pad of her thumb.
"He's not gonna fire you. I promise." I bring my hands to her hips and pull her body into mine. "He can't."
"'Cause you're all co-owners?"
I nod.
Her brow softens. "We're not making the best case for keeping work and play separate."
"He isn't here."
"Still." She leans closer anyway. Rests her head on my chest. Digs her fingers into my sides, pressing the cotton fabric of my shirt into my skin.
Yeah. We're doing a shit job compartmentalizing.
I'm here for a reason.
She's just so fucking distracting.
Her fingers skim the edge of my t-shirt.
Then they're on my skin.
Fuck, her touch does shit to me.
I force myself to take a step backward. "You finish Han for me?"
"Oh." Disappointment flares in her eyes for a second. She blinks, and it fades to that fiery determination. "Yeah. In my backpack. Give me a second."
I do.
She's conspicuous about opening the door wide on her way out then leaving it open on her way in. It's smart leaving the door open, proving we have nothing to hide, but doing it this much is like screaming hey, we have nothing to hide. Calls attention to us being alone.
He was right. It's not a good idea for me to teach her if I can't draw that line.
I've got to draw that line.
Somehow.
She sets her backpack on the desk, pulls her sketchbook from it, and flips to the right page. Anticipation spreads over her expression as she shows off the design.
"Is it perfect?" Her voice perks.
"Yeah."
"Really?" She taps her toes together. "Are you sure?"
Positive. If I was the type to get a joke tattoo, this thing would be going on my arm today. I roll my shirt up my sleeve. "Do me one last time, sunshine."
Her lips curl into a half smile. "Only one? I'm not sure I can promise that." Her ass brushes my crotch as she moves past me, to the scanner. She's quick about scanning, printing, and cutting out the mock-up. She's a pro now. "Within a week, you'll be begging for more."
"Will I?"
"Yeah. I already worked up a Lando and a Chewbacca for you. So you have options."
"You did not."
"Did too." She wets a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol and drags it over my shoulder. Her fingers skim my skin as she holds up my shirt. "C3-PO too."
"R2-D2?"
"And Luke. That one is probably the best. In my opinion."
"'Cause he's holding his lightsaber like it's a massive dick?"
"Maybe." She presses the paper to my skin then dabs with a wet cotton swab.
"Maybe?" I raise a brow. "That's it."
"You're being greedy. One free design at a time."
My gaze shifts to her sketchbook. It's still sitting face down on the scanner. I can't marvel at the design. But I know it well enough. "I am. This is good shit."
"You really think so?"
"I do."
She drops the cotton swab and peels the paper off. Her eyes go wide with enthusiasm. Her jaw drops. Her fingers curl. Her toes tap together. "Does this ever get old?"
Yeah. But not with her sitting next to me. Not with her reminding me what I want. "Only if you let it."
"Have you?"
"Yeah. But I'm getting it back."
She looks up at me with a wide smile.
Fuck, her smile does shit to me.
I feel it everywhere.
Her fingers curl into my skin. She takes a step backward. "You need to see this in the mirror."
She's right. I do. But her voice isn't I'm excited about what you're teaching me. It's I never want to stop touching you.
Still, I follow her into the main room. All the way to my suite. To the mirror.
Soft light streams through the sheer shades. The room hums with the sound of Ryan's gun and the quiet grunts of his client. Neither one of them is talking. Of course.
My gaze shifts to the mirror. "That really is fucking perfect."
Chloe's eyes light up. "You sure?"
"Positive. You aced this." I turn toward her. Let my fingers brush her shoulder. "Bring me Lando tomorrow."
She nods.
"And work up something else."
"What else?"
I rack my brain for something that's just challenging enough. "An abstract design. For my forearm. Something geometric."
"Where?" She traces my bare forearm with her index finger, from my wrist to the crook of my elbow. "All that. Or less?"
"All that."
"I think I need a ruler."