With an exaggerated sigh, I shut my door and head for my desk. She抯 fast with good aim and I抦 not risking a banana barrage to the head.
Honestly, I don抰 care how childish it looks to anyone else.
The way I touched her hand lingers in my mind.
If only I抎 walked my fingers higher.
If only I抎 caressed her face, traced my thumb over her lips.
My cock throbs as I lean back in my seat, caught in a vision of those pert, strawberry lips sucking my thumb.
Even now, after the crap that went down, I抎 still like to stroke that delicate skin where her neckline keeps falling.
I抎 like to satisfy this weird fuck-fantasy we both share and run my hands over her tits, up her dress.
Fuck, what I wouldn抰 give to grab her panties梑lack lace or dotted with ravens, no doubt梐nd tear them off her so I can feel what she really thinks of me.
Shit.
How the hell am I supposed to keep my head on straight now that I know she wants me?
It has to be the first poem anyone抯 ever written about me, and that wasn抰 some soapy love and loss piece.
That was an 慖 want to fuck you because you excite me?cry from the heart.
Or maybe that抯 my own projection talking.
Still, there抯 no denying one thing.
Miss Poe excites me in a way no one else has in ages, even if I抦 interchangeable to her like she said in the poem.
They抮e all the same.
Either way, it抯 going to be damnably hard not to try stealing her away, alone, now that I know she wants me to feel her teeth in a different way than I ever imagined.
And isn抰 that the problem?
Even if I didn抰 have an unbearably large, complicated machine to manage, I know too well that messing with romance only fucks with your head.
Wyatt will never be the same man after the way his ex-wife abandoned him.
I抦 sure Dakota isn抰 a similar self-centered witch, but my parents were married for over thirty years. They adored each other. Their love for me sprang from their own.
When they weren抰 working, everything they did was for our family, and it was beautiful and perfect until the day my father died.
He left a bottomless abyss梒omplete with pendulum since I can抰 get Miss Poe off my mind梚n my mother抯 soul.
Then there was her.
Regina Swann.
Once as graceful and bright and kind as her name might suggest. I was in over my fucking head.
I believed in an us that never existed, totally unable to imagine she抎 kiss me in the sweetest way when I came home. Right after having another man抯 cock in her mouth two hours earlier.
She was a walking demolition.
The woman, the siren, the nightmare who taught me beyond any doubt that I抦 not cut out for love. The murderer of hearts who made me a rabid monster.
I抦 a razor-sharp businessman above all else. Besides assessing marketing that plays on the right emotions, I抦 not in the business of love.
My one true mistress is sweat. Equity. Work.
I don抰 dream of anything besides chiseling my mark on this world in everlasting stone.
I don抰 get mixed up in relationships anymore. Why bother when they抮e glaringly predictable?
Sooner or later, they all end the same way.
Heartbreak.
Bruises.
Devastation.
As I break out a mineral water and stare out at the city, I realize there抯 another reason why I call her Nevermore, Poe fluff aside.
She might invade my fantasies, but she won抰 invade my life.
For my sake and hers, Nevermore is all Dakota Poe can ever be.
I knew it wouldn抰 be easy.
For the most part, Dakota avoids me after our conversation about the poem. When she does talk, it抯 like her tongue is glazed over. So fucking icy I want to shiver.
I抦 back to wondering if she spits in my morning coffee.
Weirdly, being ignored makes me crazier than anything she抯 ever said to me.
Ironic.
Anna Patel calls a marketing meeting on Thursday and asks me to sit in. Of course, there抯 a vacant chair beside Nevermore.
I hesitate a second too long, leaving an opening for this junior copywriter to step past me toward the seat. I can抰 even remember his name.
Jake? Jeremy? James?
He抯 a newer kid, and he抯 damn near undressing her with his eyes so obviously that if she ever looks up from her laptop, she抣l feel buck naked.
The punk thinks he抯 sitting beside her.
Like hell.
I speed up, stepping behind him and grabbing his shoulder.
揥hy don抰 you take the seat beside Miss Patel? I may need to talk to my assistant.?It抯 not a question. My words are professional, but my tone is barbaric.
I抳e never felt so uncivilized in the office, and fuck, it has everything to do with the hot prick of jealousy coursing in my veins.
揙h, sure thing, Mr. Burns!?he says, fear flashing in his eyes before he scurries off without looking back at me.
That抯 what I thought.
I sit down beside Dakota, grateful she抯 oblivious to my territory marking.
Until she laughs, leans over, and whispers, 揃ehave.?
揥hy??I ask, flashing her a clueless look.
揧ou practically gave the poor guy shell shock.?
I抦 not sorry.
He should be scared when he tries to usurp the boss?seat梠r his woman. Let him drool over a hundred thousand other beautiful women in this city.
揧ou抮e welcome, Nevermore. From the looks he gave you, I think he writes angsty poetry about you. If he抯 able to write at all. Is he any good??
I抳e never noticed his work when he抯 assigned to a less pressing line under Anna. Hell, like most new hires, I half forgot he even worked here until now.
揌e抯 where he should be, I think. We don抰 collaborate a ton,?she says diplomatically, hiding a rosy blush on her cheeks.
揌e should do more writing and less eye-fucking,?I growl in her ear, leaning close.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My nostrils flare at her scent. It抯 bad enough that I practically tossed the boy on the floor, and now I抦 low-key smelling her like a Neanderthal with a rose.
揗r. Burns, shut up!?she hisses.
I can抰 help smirking as her green eyes roll with shock.
揇id you see how he looked at you??I whisper, undaunted. 揑f he was looking for his muse, it damn sure wasn抰 interested in PG-13 poetry.?
She抯 bright red but she grins.
揧ou抮e such an idiot. Jim does not write poems about me. I doubt he even reads anything that isn抰 a bargain thriller. I mean, that抯 usually what he抯 got his nose stuffed in during lunch.?
Her quip shouldn抰 make me happy. At least Nevermore isn抰 impressed with his reading habits.
揟akes one to know one with writers, I guess. You are a Poe and a literary princess,?I tease.
Her eyes lock onto mine harshly.
揃oss, I will stab you with my pen,?she whispers.
揇oubtful.?
揥ant to bet??
揑 do. I抦 the guy who抯 signing your checks and your first performance bonus is coming up fast. Wounding me now would be monumentally suicidal.?
揧ou sure? It didn抰 stop me from nearly hitting you with an apple,?she says. 揑抦 still sorry I missed.?
I snort, shaking my head. 揟hanks for reminding me I should put you on an improvement plan.?
Dakota picks up the pen beside her laptop and jabs me in the center of my hand with the butt end.
Fuck.
I blink away the sudden sharp sensation.
揇amn you, are you out of your mind??I snarl, shaking out my hand under the table.
揝eems to be the theme around here, Lincoln.?
Damn her again.
My urge to flip her over my knee and slap some respect into her plump ass eases ever so slightly when I hear my name on her lips.
At least she抯 back in fighting form. I抦 about to demand a meeting in my office after this one when I look up at the room, now full with several late stragglers slouching against the walls.
All eyes are on us, and I realize we抮e no longer whispering.
揂re you two, um, ready? We should get started,?Anna says awkwardly.
揙f course.?I nod. 揝orry. Take us away, Miss Patel.?
揌e started it,?Dakota mutters under her breath.
The few people in earshot burst out laughing.