“What an interesting relationship you two must have.” I turn to the rack of lingerie. “What’s her size?”
He slaps a hand over his face. “She wants a robe, but thanks for putting that seriously uncomfortable image in my head.” His eyes revert back to the black thing I’m still holding. “Shopping for the big date? If you’re wearing that, he’s not going to settle for second base.”
I sigh. “If I’m wearing this, I’m the one who won’t be settling for second base.”
He runs a thumb over his lower lip, his nostrils flaring as if he’s scented prey, his eyes liquid under the store’s fluorescent lights. “So what exactly are you after when that’s on?”
There’s a trickle of delight in my chest. I don’t wear lingerie like this, and I don’t have the money for it even if I did, but suddenly I’m seeing myself through Caleb’s eyes: as a woman who might wear a merry widow on a date. As a woman who might go in with some demands of her own. I grin. “Use your imagination.”
He winces. “I am. That’s the problem.” There’s a rasp in the words, something low and dark and tinged with yearning.
He walks away, broad-shouldered and glorious in that perfectly tailored suit, his words on replay in my head.
I am. That’s the problem.
Those words—the rasp as he uttered them—pulse brightly inside me, deep in my core, so sharp it’s almost painful.
Molly reappears, looking at his retreating form in the distance and then me with pure glee. “Oh my God. I take back everything I ever said about him being a creepy weirdo who’s obsessed with his ex. Seduce him immediately. I want you to walk straight into his office, bend over his desk, and beg.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s interesting, the way you can suggest the boldest possible plan while failing to pursue your own boss in any manner whatsoever.”
She glances off to where Caleb disappeared. “The difference is that he was two seconds from kissing you in the middle of the store. I’m serious, Lucie. Be bold. Give him the smallest encouragement and he’ll fold like a deck of cards. The two of you were so hot.”
I laugh. “That wasn’t heat. That was the intense awkwardness of having your boss discover you with kinky, role-play shit during your lunch break.”
“Believe me,” says Molly with a small smile, “if I’m reading him correctly, he’s going to be imagining you in that thing for a good, long time. With his dick in his hand.”
THE NEXT DAY, I ask Caleb to meet me in the future break room so he can better visualize the plans as I show them to him. Molly found nothing objectionable, though she did offer several suggestions about surfaces upon which Caleb and I could have sex, leading me to conclude that once she wins over Michael, I’m never eating in her home again.
I’m in the room, waiting for Caleb, when she texts.
MOLLY
Go for it.
Go for what?
YOU KNOW WHAT I’M REFERRING TO. My God, he must be DYING after a year of celibacy too.
I swear I’m going to ignore what she’s said, but when he walks up behind me just as I’m leaning over the table, trying to get the plans to lie flat…I’m thinking about it.
He’s so tall. He’s not even touching me, but I can feel him along my spine, my tailbone, the back of my thighs. I picture him wrapping one large hand around my hip, the brush of his breath against my ear as he tells me to stay bent over, just like I am.
“I’ve got it,” he says gruffly, pinning the left corner of the plans down with my laptop.
I slide away, my face too hot, my breathing uneven.
“I’ll try not to take up too much of your time,” I begin. “I’d planned to just show you these at the lake, but we haven’t seen you around.”
He rubs his jaw, looking at the plans rather than me, though I suspect he’s not really looking at them either. “It’s been pretty busy,” he says. “I found a little engine for Henry to take apart, though. I’ll try to drop it off at some point.”
It’s kind of him, but I don’t want him dropping things off. I want him hanging out with us, the way he was. He seemed to enjoy it.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “School gets out in early July—he’ll need a project.”
“He should learn to surf once school’s done. He’s the right age for it.”
I glance up. I’m not sure if that was an offer or an offhand suggestion. “I’ve never surfed. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to teach him.”
He tugs at his collar. “I might be able to, if a little time opens up.”
“You know Sophie will insist on coming too. There’s no way she’d allow you to only teach Henry.”
His smile is wistful, as if he misses her, misses us. “Well, if I can find time to teach one, I can probably teach two.” He looks away, his face stern again. “No promises, though. Let’s see these plans.”
I move the layouts closer. “You can tell me you hate them. Not that you’ve ever been reticent about ripping someone’s hard work to shreds.”
“Why would I be?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. “It’s one of the few perks of my position.”
This is good. We’re back to playing grumpy asshole boss and reasonable employee. It’s normal and non-sexy and…well, it’s still sexy, I guess, because I find Caleb-as-grumpy-asshole unbelievably hot, but at least it’s familiar.
I rise, leaning over to indicate the upper lefthand wall of the room. “So, in the first option, we’d put a coffee bar here. And yes, they’ll be paying for the coffee, and yes, I know we’re not Google. It should completely cover its own costs.”
I start to sit and then stop myself. “Oh, I almost forgot. Over here”—I lean over once more—“we’ll have ping-pong and foosball.”
“Cool,” he says distractedly, but when I turn, his gaze isn’t on the plans at all. It’s on my ass. Molly would have any number of suggestions for things I should say right now. I’m just worried I sat on something, however.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, running a hand over the back of my skirt.
He pulls at his tie as if it’s strangling him. “I was wondering if you were wearing stockings. I noticed the garter thing yesterday and…Jesus, never mind. This isn’t anything we need to discuss.”
This is the opening I thought wouldn’t occur. This is where I say ‘maybe you should check,’ but I can’t quite summon the courage.
“So you wondered if I was wearing it?” I ask.
“Like I said, this is nothing we need to discuss.”
I could tell him the truth, which is that I wouldn’t have the first clue how to hook up garters. But I sort of like the idea of him considering it. I lean over once more to pin down the corner of the plan. “Use your imagination,” I reply.
“If you’re so insistent on your fairy tale,” he says between his teeth, “consider not bending over in front of me while suggesting I use my imagination.”
For a second, I don’t move a single muscle while I try to process what he just said. Until I realize there’s only one conclusion to be drawn:
He wants me.
This isn’t in my head. This isn’t because I stumbled into him in a bikini. This isn’t me persuading myself of something that isn’t there. And I should straighten and make a joke, play it off.
But.
But.
I don’t straighten. I don’t move an inch. “Or what, Caleb?” I whisper. “What will you do if I keep bending over?”
I’m breathless, waiting to see what he does.
His chair scrapes the floor as he rises, and then his hand lands on my ass.
Not a brush of his fingers, not an accident. His whole, hot palm is on my ass, fingers spread wide as if desperate to cover as much ground as possible. His swallow is audible.
He’s barely touched me, but there’s already an ache between my thighs that borders on unbearable. I press into his hand, silently willing him to take more, do more, and suddenly he’s gripping my hips, pulling me tight so that all I can feel is the very long, thick press of him against my ass.
“Lucie,” he says, his voice a low growl, “be very careful with what you say to me. I have a lot less self-control than you think.”
And then he walks away, and the door has slammed shut before I manage to collapse in a chair.