Page 52 of The Mogul: Leonard

“Take care of those cheeks; put on some after-sun cream, or your skin will peel off,” Leonard says to me when I park in front of his house.

“Sure.”

The silence that follows is awkward. We spent our day strolling around the Santa Monica Pier and Venice beach. We had lunch at a café, talking about everything and nothing but never addressing that moment in the photo booth. It’s like we silently agreed that it never happened. But now, in front of his house, everything is coming back.

Leonard should leave my car, and I should go home, but neither of us is making a move to end this day.

“If this were a date, I’d ask you to come in, but this is not a date, so I’ll just say goodbye here and see you tomorrow,” he says, looking me in the eyes.

I don’t know why he needs to point it out. Does he really assume I’m delusional enough to think otherwise? Still, I feel a pang of disappointment making its way into my chest.

Going in right now is the worst idea ever because the tension that was rising in that photo booth never got released. If I go in now, we’ll make the worst mistake we can possibly make. Leaving is the wise choice, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.

“Yeah, sure.” I shrug, putting on my best poker face. “Wait!” I stop him from getting out of the car.

I grab the strip of pictures in my back pocket, rip it in half, and give half to him. He says nothing, but he stares at the pictures for a long moment. I watch his jaw twitch, his knuckles turning white around the door handle, and then he gets out without another glance at me.

I look at the pictures in my hand for the first time and my heart hammers in my chest. We’re just inches apart, my hand on his chest, his on my neck. Seconds away from the most sizzling kiss in history. And we look like long-time lovers.

This is not good. This is not good at all.

17

Leonard

I stare at the two small square pictures in my hand. We look like we are going to fuck each other’s brains out. What was I thinking when I dragged her onto my lap? The truth is, I didn’t think at all. My body took charge and I gave in to my desire to have her close. Since the boat trip and after carrying her to bed the other night, my body has been craving her skin against mine. And this is a very bad urge to deal with.

I stare at Roxanne, biting her lower lip slightly, my mouth just a bit open, and the desire to kiss her returns, crashing like a wave against all my resolve to stay away from her. Every single reason I told myself about why it is the worst idea ever to give in to my desires has lost its significance. For every bad reason, I can find a good one to strike it down.

Yesterday, for the first time since college, I spent a day enjoying life without thinking once about work. It was refreshing. And she was responsible for that miracle.

For some unknown reason, two workaholics together are very good at enjoying their free time. Who knew I needed someone with my same toxic approach to work to find a way to turn off my brain?

“Why are you smiling like that?” Roxanne’s amused voice startles me. I hadn’t even noticed her coming into my office.

“I’m not smiling.” I totally am, and didn’t even realize it.

“Keep telling yourself that, but I saw it. You can’t fool me anymore with your mogul charade.” She plops into the chair in front of my desk and crosses those long legs, showing off her sparkly pink shoes.

When I finally move my eyes from her inviting legs to her face, I notice her reddened cheeks.

“Did you put on after-sun cream like I asked?” I’m surprised by the concern in my voice. I feel a strange grip in my gut. Since when did I start caring about her? I know I’ve rescued her a couple of times since meeting again, dancing with her after the creep molested her, or giving her a ride when her car broke down. But I chalked those up to something I did to protect Raphael’s little sister-in-law. This time hits differently. I care about her on a level that has nothing to do with my friend.

The brat rolls her eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

My cock twitches in my pants. Why should I stay away from her again? Difficult to remember the reason right now.

“Don’t say that again,” I growl.

A smug smile appears on her face. “Why? Does it turn you on?”

“You don’t want to find out,” I tease.

“Maybe I do,” she challenges, and I need to change the topic of this conversation before I bend her over the desk and fuck that attitude out of her.

The stare contest lasts for a long moment, but she’s the first to look away. I smile. I decide to drop it and steer the conversation toward a safer topic: work.

“I think we should ask Oliver to work with us on what we discovered about the money,” I suggest, and her smile immediately drops.

---