“So you don’t want to fuck me.” She lifts her chin, pulling self-consciously at her blouse, and her knees start to close.
“Stop.” I step forward, my hands settling on her knees and pushing them apart, her body opening like a flower for me, that fucking pink silk flashing at me from between her thighs. I pull my gaze from it and back to her face. “If you want me to fuck you, Kate, just say the word. Don’t ever be confused over whether I want that. There’s not anything on Earth I want as badly as you. I’d love to know if the chemistry that we have … if it could be how I imagine it.”
One of her hands moves, a tentative reach that runs along my right collarbone before settling on my chest. “And if it isn’t?” Her eyes dart to mine, and the fact that there’s insecurity in them breaks my heart.
“God, I hope it isn’t. I hope it’s terrible. It would make our lives so much easier.” I smile, and her eyes warm, and holy shit—this may actually happen. I wet my lips and say the one thing that may destroy it all.
“But I meant what I texted you, back in Vegas. It’s too risky.” I slide my hands off of her knees, my fingers memorizing the contours of her legs, the silky feel of the stockings. I step back and put my hands in my pockets before I make another mistake with them. “There’s too much—”
“At stake,” she finishes, her knees meeting, and she pushes off of the counter and down to the floor, gripping the edge for support. “Yeah, that sounds familiar.” She bends down and pulls on one heel, and then the other. “When do you leave for New York?”
“Tomorrow night.” I hesitate, second-guessing my next move. “Want to come?”
She shakes her head, reaching for her purse. This must be it, the end of her visit. I used to like the solace, the moment when I would step inside my home and hear NOTHING. Now, it only feels lonely.
She pauses next to me, on her way to the door. “We good?”
“Always.” I lean into her and she brushes her lips against my cheek. “Drive safe.”
“I will.” She squeezes my arm, and then, her heels clipping out of the kitchen, she is gone.
“We good?” If my answer had been lingerie, it’d have been a bustier. Deceptive as hell.
chapter 12
Her
I turn on the shower and unclip the garter belt, rolling the expensive hosiery down my legs and stepping out of my damp panties, leaving the pile of lingerie on the floor of my bathroom, the rest of my undressing done with less ceremony. I consider the suit, then toss both the jacket and the skirt in the direction of my bed. He’s right, it is ugly. And I’ll never be able to wear that skirt again without thinking of his pen pushing up the fabric, his hands so close behind it. Naked, I open up the door and step into the shower, closing my eyes as the hot water hits my skin.
I don’t know what to do with him. I’d almost begged him. I’d almost said I didn’t care about commitments and risks and had him take me to his bedroom right there.
Put your hands on the counter. Flat. Palms down. God, the places my mind had run. I could feel the heat of him when he had moved behind me, the brush of him against me. If he had knelt, had lifted my skirt and bared my ass, run his fingers along the Brazilian cut of my underwear, if he had dragged my panties to the side … I slide my hand down, to my swollen clit, and softly brush my fingers over it. Had he realized how wet I was? How badly I wanted him? Even now, I throb at the thought of it, the huskiness in his voice, the dominant way his hand had closed around my thigh.