Page 40 of Worth the Wait

Her fingertips trace the line of my jaw, the curve of my lower lip. Each touch is a spark igniting something primal and urgentbeneath my carefully maintained control. When her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, I can't suppress the soft groan that escapes me.

The sound breaks something loose in her. With a swiftness that takes me by surprise, Tarryn closes the last inches between us, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that obliterates eight years of separation in an instant.

Nothing—not memory, not fantasy, not dream—could have prepared me for the reality of kissing Tarryn Wells again. Her lips are soft but insistent, her body pressed against mine with an urgency that matches the desperate need surging through my veins. I back her against the conference room wall, one hand threading through her hair, the other gripping her hip, pulling her closer.

She makes a small, needy sound against my mouth that sends blood rushing south so fast I feel lightheaded. My tongue traces the seam of her lips, seeking entry she eagerly grants. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, familiar yet new, like coming home to a place I never thought I'd see again.

Her hands aren't idle—they roam my back, my shoulders, finally settling at my nape where her fingers tangle in my hair. She tugs slightly, angling my head to deepen the kiss, and the assertiveness of the gesture nearly undoes me. This isn't the hesitant high school girl I remember; this is a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to take it.

I press her harder against the wall, one thigh slipping between hers. Her warmth settles against my leg and I press a little harder. The moan that vibrates from her throat into my mouth is the most erotic sound I've ever heard. Her hips roll against my thigh, seeking friction, and I'm suddenly aware of how quickly this could escalate beyond the point of no return.

My lips leave hers to trace a burning path along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Her head falls back againstthe wall, giving me better access to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. When I nip lightly at her pulse point, her entire body shudders against mine.

"Jackson," she gasps, my name a broken prayer on her lips.

I return to her mouth, unable to get enough of her taste, her touch, the small desperate sounds she makes when I pull her lower lip between my teeth. One of my hands finds the curve of her ass, squeezing possessively, pulling her against the hard ridge of my erection straining against my slacks.

The contact seems to snap her back to reality. She tears her mouth from mine, eyes wide, lips swollen from our kisses. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, chests heaving, bodies still pressed together from chest to thigh.

"That shouldn't have happened," she whispers, but her hands still clutch my shoulders.

Before I can respond—before I can tell her that nothing has ever felt more right—she slips from between me and the wall, putting distance between us. Her expression is a complex mix of desire, confusion, and something that looks dangerously like regret.

"Tarryn," I start, reaching for her.

She takes another step back, shaking her head. "I can't— We can't—" She gestures vaguely between us. "This complicates everything."

"It's already complicated," I point out, my voice rougher than intended. "It has been since the moment I walked into this firm."

She touches her lips, as if still feeling the pressure of my kiss. "I need time to think," she says finally. “And at work? I’m not thinking clearly. Clearly!”

"You're right," I concede, though it kills me. "We should be more careful."

Relief flashes across her features, followed by something that looks almost like disappointment. "I should go," she says, gathering her things with trembling hands.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I open my mouth, I might beg her to stay, to finish what we started against that wall. Instead, I watch as she slips out the door, her composure visibly fragile.

For a long moment, I remain motionless, the ghost of her taste still on my lips, my body aching with unfulfilled desire. Then movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention—a shadow shifting in the darkened office across the hall.

Christine's office.

I move to the conference room door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway. Through the glass walls of her office, I can make out Christine's silhouette, standing motionless in the darkness. Watching. Waiting.

If I had to guess, judging on how much I can see of her… She saw us. Saw everything.

The question isn't whether she'll use this against us, but when—and how devastating the fallout will be when she does.

Chapter 11

Tarryn

Iarrive at the office obscenely early, the ghostly emptiness of the Blake Financial lobby matching the hollow feeling in my chest. The security guard barely glances up as I swipe my badge, his presence the only indication that I'm not completely alone.

"Early start, Ms. Wells?" he asks, his voice echoing in the marble expanse.

"Big presentation," I reply automatically, though that's only half the reason I've dragged myself here before dawn.

The truth is more complicated, more visceral. I needed space—from Jackson, from the suffocating intensity that's been building between us, and most of all, from the memory of what happened in that conference room last night.

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