Page 45 of Worth the Wait

Her voice on the phone, husky with desire, repeats in my mind like a siren song I can't escape. I pick up the shirt again, smoothing the fabric with unnecessary precision. The Lake Geneva retreat looms before me—two days and two nights of forced proximity with the woman who's reclaimed territory in my mind and body with alarming efficiency.

"Focus, Hayes," I mutter to myself, tossing toiletries into a bag.

My phone chimes with a text from Miguel.

Miguel: Departure confirmed for nine a.m. Christine driving with Westfield team. You, Tarryn, and I will take my car.

Relief courses through me at the thought of avoiding three hours trapped in a vehicle with Christine's predatory observation. Then the implication hits—Tarryn and me inclose quarters, the back seat a too-intimate space given what's building between us, with only Miguel's presence as a buffer.

I run a hand through my hair, staring at the half-packed suitcase. Then I toss swimming trunks into the suitcase, a last-minute addition. The resort boasts a heated pool and private hot tubs—another potential land mine of temptation. The image of Tarryn in a swimsuit, water beading on her skin, sends heat pooling low in my abdomen, my body responding with embarrassing immediacy.

"Keep it together," I remind myself firmly, zipping the suitcase with a decisive motion that contradicts the chaos inside my mind.

But as I move around my apartment, shutting off lights and setting the security system, her words echo in my head.

I don't want to pretend anymore. I'm tired of fighting this. Fighting us.

"Beautiful country,"Miguel comments, gesturing to the rolling Wisconsin landscape unfurling beyond the car windows. "Ever been to Lake Geneva before, Hayes?"

"Not since college," I reply, keeping my tone casual despite the electric awareness of Tarryn beside me in the back seat.

Though we're not touching, not even close, the six inches of leather separating us crackles with invisible current. She looks resolutely out her window as if miles and miles of cornfields are anything to actually stare at. I force my gaze away, focusing on the pastoral scene outside rather than the way her pencil skirt has ridden up slightly, revealing an extra inch of thigh that's somehow more erotic than anything I can possibly imagine right now.

"The Westfield team is about twenty minutes ahead," Miguel continues, oblivious to the silent communication happening behind him. "Christine insisted on riding with Howard. Always positioning herself with the decision-makers."

Tarryn makes a small, noncommittal sound, her fingers absently toying with the delicate gold chain around her neck. The familiar nervous gesture creates an unexpected ache beneath my ribs.

"The resort's spectacular," Miguel adds, filling the charged silence. "Private cabins on the lake, main lodge with excellent restaurants. Perfect for relationship building with clients."

I catch Tarryn's eye at the phrase "relationship building," a spark passing between us that sends heat crawling up my neck. Her lips part slightly before she turns back toward the window, but not before I catch the slight flush spreading across her cheeks.

“This is Miguel.” He takes a call, his attention focused elsewhere so I take the opportunity to look over at Tarryn.

"You're quiet today," I observe, watching her methodically trace the shape of her phone in her hand.

She keeps her eyes forward. "Just focused on the presentation."

"Right," I murmur, not believing her for a second. "The presentation."

I pull out my own phone, typing out a quick text to her. I hit send, watching her face as her phone chimes softly. She picks it up casually, eyes scanning the message as her expression transforms.

Me: All I can think about is getting you alone. Pushing you against the wall, sliding my hand up your skirt, feeling how wet you are for me while you try not to make a sound.

The flush starts at her neck, spreading upward to suffuse her cheeks with vibrant color. Her lips part, tongue dartingout to wet them in an unconscious gesture that sends blood rushing southward. When she looks up, her pupils have dilated noticeably, darkening her eyes to molten honey.

"Everything okay?" I ask innocently, taking a deliberate sip of my bottled water.

She opens her mouth to respond just as Miguel hangs up. "Good news! The Westfield team just arrived at the resort. They're checking us in now."

“That’s great,” I reply, my phone buzzing with a reply from her.

Tarryn: Two can play this game. I've thought about dropping to my knees in your office, taking you so deep in my mouth that you grip your desk and try not to make any sounds that would alert everyone outside that you’re about to finish down my throat.

My body reacts instantly, blood rushing to my cock with such force I have to shift position to hide the evidence. When I glance at Tarryn, her expression remains perfectly professional, though the slight curve of her mouth suggests she knows exactly what she's done.

Game fucking on.

"Mr. Hayes, Ms. Wells,"the resort manager greets us with a rehearsed smile. "Your rooms are ready in the lakeside wing. Mr. Ramirez will be in the larger villa along with the Westfield team."

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