Page 77 of More Than Pen Pals

No.

My hand inches toward him but then stops. I stare at it and then look up at him. His expression is unreadable. My gaze focuses on his lips, which are slightly parted. I wonder how soft they are.

“Okay,” Ash says as he stands. “Enough is enough.”

My eyes widen as he strides to the door, and my heart leaps into my throat when he closes and locks it. Then he rounds my desk, leans down, grasps my waist, and lifts me up out of my chair. My breath grows shallow as I look up at him, and my arms raise to loop around his neck. He’s so tall, my fingertips barely reach each other. His hands are still on my waist, and he pulls me flush to him. A ripple of awareness shoots down my body from chest to toe.

“Tell me right now if you don’t want this, if it’s too soon,” he practically growls.

I’m incapable of forming words.

Ash’s pupils dilate as his head descends to mine. My eyes close and my knees buckle when our lips finally meet, and his grip tightens. The kiss is tentative at first, each of us testing out the other. When one of his hands moves up and his fingers slide into my hair, cupping the back of my head, we simultaneously surrender and the kiss grows heated, feverish. Ash’s other hand travels around to splay across my back, and it feels like he’s branding me. Through my haze, I note that not only does he smell like cinnamon, he also tastes like it. I deepen the kiss even more. I can’t get enough of him. I’ll never get enough of him.

A knock sounds on the door.

We freeze.

The doorknob rattles and my heart lurches into my throat.

I whisper against Ash’s mouth, “What do we do?” I’m afraid I’m about to be fired. I don’t want to be fired. I can’taffordto be fired.

He presses one more quick kiss to my lips, sets me back down into my chair, straightens my shirt, and sticks a pen in my hand. Then in a flash, he’s at the door and opening it. Somehow, he’s composed, while I feel like the entire universe has dropped out from under me.

“Leslie, why—” Wendy cuts off her own question when she realizes Ash is at the door instead of me.

Her gaze shoots to me, and I give her a weak smile. Her eyebrows raise, understanding fills her eyes, and a grin slowly appears on her face. “Ah, I see why. Carry on.” She reaches around the door, pushes the lock button, and pulls it shut, leaving Ash and me alone again.

He leans back against the door, runs his fingers through his hair, and breathes in and out deeply through his nose. He’s not nearly as unruffled as he appeared to be.

“Thank you,” I eventually say, “for taking control of that situation.”

“Thank goodness it was only Wendy,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in that situation.” His hands curl into fists. “I would never forgive myself if you got in trouble at work because of me.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No. Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for what we just did.” While making out in my office wasn’t the smartest thing we’ve ever done, I don’t wish we could take it back. I touch my lips, and his gaze focuses there. “We probably shouldn’t do that at work again, though.”

“But we will do it again?” he asks, his eyes shooting back to mine. “Because I was right. It’s going to kill me if we can’t.”

His vulnerability is what’s going to kill me. But that kiss was so explosive I know we shouldn’t do it again anytime soon, even though every cell in my body is shouting at me to press my lips against his immediately.

It’s too soon. I desperately don’t want it to be, but it is. Although I know I don’t want to be with Glenn, I’m still too irritated with him to start something serious with Ash with a clear conscience.

“I need a little more time,” I say, and dismay flickers across his features before he tamps it down. “Let’s give it at least until Shannon comes.” He’ll help me figure out the right thing to do for both me and Ash. “Between now and then, we can’t be alone together, even for work stuff. We either do work by phone—with our office doors open, so we’re not tempted to say anything we shouldn’t—or if we need to meet in person, we bring in Wendy or Randall. Let’s see if one of them can meet with us tomorrow about Sanchez.”

He nods.

“And we can’t talk on the phone unless it’s for work. But let’s not put limits on the length or timing of letters anymore.” I, for one, will be able to control what I write more than what I speak. “We can write as much as we want, and we can write back as soon as we want. Does that work for you?”

He nods again. “Yes.”

“One more question before you go.” I can feel my face turning red for the first time since Ash walked into my office. “Why do you taste like cinnamon?”

thirty-eight

Ifeel like I ran the Boston Marathon … and won. I’m both exhausted and exhilarated. I’m filled with excitement at what happened, but I’m disappointed I can’t do it again immediately.

Leslie thinks I taste like cinnamon. That knowledge is almost my undoing. I want to give her the opportunity to taste me again. And I want to ask why she tastes like sunshine, but I’m afraid I’ll sound utterly ridiculous if I do.

Instead of doing either of those things, my response to her question is simply, “Dentyne.” I keep a pack of the gum in my pocket and chew a piece before each time I know I’ll see her, to ensure my breath is fresh—just in case.

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