Page 17 of Chilled and Thrilled

The possibility flits through my mind, dangerous and seductive, and it doesn’t leave. I allow myself to imagine closing the distance between us and lowering my lips to hers. I’m starving for her, and I’ve never been closer to giving in than I am right now.

Then, Sophie’s eyes drop to the floor. “Thank you for taking me in like this,” she says, as casually as if we were standing on opposite sides of my desk at E&V. The moment is gone, and she’s slipped back into the role she believes I want her to play, because I’ve done nothing to make her think differently.

Filled with a hollow ache of self-doubt and guilt, I gesture to the hall, offering her a polite smile. “Any time. Come on, the guest room is this way.”

I feel her eyes on me as I lead the way down the hall, and feel a reluctant pinch of pride at the way her breath catches when I flick on the lights.

“Wow. This is beautiful.”

Polite. Formal. Wrong.

“There’s a bathroom through here,” I explain quietly, showing her into the tiled space. “The switches on the wall control the heated floor, as well.”

“Fancy,” quips Sophie, setting the pile of clothes on the vanity and looking around.

I want to follow her into that shower and wash the blood from her hair.

I want to carry her into my bedroom and hold her all night.

I want to take care of her. Not as her best friend’s father, not as her boss, but as a man who takes care of a woman who means the world to him.

None of that is an option, however. So, swallowing my more possessive impulses, I step back. “I’ll leave you to it. When you’re done, I’ll make us dinner. You should eat something.”

Then, because there is no reason for me to stay, I close the door behind me and retreat to my own space. My heart is thundering in my chest, and though I don’t dare acknowledge it, somewhere in the back of my mind, I know what I’m about to do.

My muscles seem to be working independently of my body as I sit on the edge of my bed and reach into the pocket of my blood-stained coat, retrieving the phone I haven’t touched since I left my office earlier today. The dating app is still open, displaying the image of a bikini-clad Sophie.

Jesus.

My cock throbs, growing harder the longer I stare. The impulse to take myself out and relieve some of the ache is strong, but I keep my hands where they are.

I want her, not just her body.

I want her to the point that I’m willing to weather my daughters’ fury, deal with HR, andthe gossip that willinevitably come with pursuing someone so much younger than me. My entire adult life, I’ve prided myself on being realistic. My entire profession is owed to my respecting the laws of nature, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t fight gravity.

It’s become clear that Sophie’s hold on me isn’t going anywhere. This isn’t fading away, or becoming more bearable, and if I don’t do something—soon—I’m going to lose her forever. There’s only one way I can think to make sure we’re on the same page.

I swipe right.

7

SOPHIE

Okay, I’m getting really close to losing it.

Like, full-on, straitjacket-level cray-cray. My relationship expertise might be a little thin, but I’m a conventionally attractive twenty-four-year-old with an engineering degree. I get hit on. In fact, I’m pretty sure my Bram-inspired drinking spree the other night was the first time I’d paid for my own drinks in years.

I must have lost more blood than I could spare, however, because the way Bram Vogel was looking at me earlier… Yeah. It doesn’t make sense. As far as I know, he has a girlfriend, and his being so incredibly kind to me today was because he’s an incredibly kind man. That’s it. Any suspicions I had that my feelings might be reciprocated were firmly put to rest the other night, and the last thing I need is to talk myself out of moving on with something as flimsy as a look.

Sighing, I tilt my head back, letting the spray of water warm the chill that settled in my bones just going from Bram’s car to the house. The blood has long since run off, but I can’t bring myself to get out of the shower just yet. In a few minutes,I’m going to have to go downstairs and eat dinner with Bram, and it would be ideal if, before that happens, I could stop fantasizing about him telling me to get on my knees for him.

Groaning, as the reminder alone makes my clit pulse, I turn off the water, stepping out of the huge shower onto a fluffy white bath mat.

Before today, I’d been to Bram’s house only once, for a birthday dinner he threw for Honor six months ago. That night, I spent an hour in the bathroom, plucking my eyebrows and exfoliating every inch of my skin, as if I didn’t see the man every single day at work. It felt different to be in his home, though, the boundaries of our relationship expanding past E&V.

Nothing happened that night. Obviously. I wasn’t expecting Bram to declare his wild attraction and undying love for me at his daughter’s birthday dinner. Even so, I was excited to get a glimpse into his personal life.

I wasn’t disappointed. Bram’s house—a stunning, mid-century modern structure built right onto the side of a mountain—is breathtaking. After a year of working for him, I know his signature style, and every line of this house is a testament to what a brilliant architect he is. When the immediate sense of wonder wore off, I spent a good portion of the night imagining him fucking me against all those flawlessly designed walls.

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