Page 32 of Trashy Foreplay

“I’m so glad we didn’t have this conversation up there,” I say, nodding heavenward.

He laughs. “I figured I’d spare you the terror.”

“You made me feel safe.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I hear him inhale a quick breath. Slowly, his hand slides over mine.

“You made me feel the opposite.” He dips his head, and his breath teases the space behind my ear. “You still do, Jules.”

We’re stalled at the top of the wheel. I’m afraid to move, and it has nothing to do with the distance to the ground below, or the way the gondola is gently rocking in the wind. I feel as if I could sit here forever with him, frozen in time. Barely breathing.

Just soaking up the heat of his breath on my neck and the sound of his voice in my ear.

He breaks the spell by removing his hand from mine. As the Ferris wheel begins moving again, he puts several inches of space between us.

“I promised I wouldn’t put you in a precarious position when I hired you.” A heavy beat passes. “I’m going to do my damnedest to keep that promise, Jules.”

There’s a note of reluctant determination in his tone. The selfish girl in me curses his resolve, and for a moment, I’m weak enough to wish he’d break his promise. Weak enough to break the promise I made to myself.

I want his hands on me—and more than just a brush of his fingers on the back of my hand or drifting over the small of my back. Fuck no. I want him naked and on top of me, taking me with the passionate fervor I somehow know is burning inside him. I’ve never craved dominance before, but something about the quiet authority in everything he says and does calls to me.

We’ve gone a full rotation on the wheel, and we spend another whirl in silence until I can take it no more. The silence or the worry plaguing me.

“Is this going to work? Because I just signed a lease on an apartment. I need this job, and if you think it’s a bad idea, I can—”

“Jules, stop.”

I fall quiet, not even questioning the gentle command in his tone.

“If you’re uncomfortable working directly for me, I’ll transfer you to another job with equal pay. It’s not your fault we met before you walked in for that interview.”

“It’s not your fault, either,” I point out.

“No, but I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable. Your job will never be in jeopardy because of how I—”

He breaks off abruptly, and I scoot to face him, completely uninterested in the view at this point. Not when Cash is sitting beside me, on the cusp of admitting his feelings for me. I’ve known it since that night on the plane, just as I’m sure he’s known how I feel, but we’ve never come right out and said it.

We’ve tiptoed around it, but we’ve never voiced the forbidden.

I study his expression, cataloging the resolute furrow of his brows and the unwavering line of his mouth. And that’s where I falter. That’s where I allow myself to wish he’d bring his tempting mouth down on mine.

Obviously, he has no intention of going there.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Jules?” His voice is a soft caress to my senses, and I find myself nodding.

Agreeing even though every fiber of my being revolts at the truth behind his words.

He’s married. I’m his employee. And that’s that.

“I understand,” I say, tingling under the steel of his gaze. Everything we’re not saying flows between us as the last leg of the ride passes. The gondola comes to a stop, and we finally break eye contact.

He falls into step beside me after we exit, and we head back toward Pike Place amid the flow of foot traffic and the constant swoosh of cars on the freeway overhead. A few minutes later, we stall on the brick road in front of the market.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Is your place close by?”

Chewing on my lip, I nod.

“I’d walk you home, but…”

“It’s okay,” I say, shuffling my feet like a fool. “You’re my boss, so…”

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